Dead Man's Harem. Since I can't kill myself, I'll find other ways to be happy.

The short black haired girl that was hosting this party today was about 155 centimeters tall, with a youthful and pleasantly pretty face that was twisted in a snide expression as she talked to the other noble women near her. "Father always knows how to get the best toys for me~" the girl said. She was eighteen this year, and spoiled out of her mind by her rich baron father.

Devon stepped out and walked towards her, sensing that she was in charge among the group of girls. "Hi miss," he said politely. "I'm here for the tomato run?"

Devon was already steeling his heart for any humiliation that they could sling his way. Out of all of the things that he was confident about, his confidence about his mental fortitude could not be any higher. He had the mental fortitude strength of a stone colossus, immovable and unshakeable. Largely because he was already dead inside.

This was the best kind of job for him, allowing him to play to his strengths to earn points on his black card as well as tons of gold. For now, this was an easier job to do than anything combat related, at least before he got stronger.

"Yes, yes, dear mister rabbit~" the short black haired noble said, then pointed at a pile of clothing near her. "I don't know why you're dressed as a chef, but it doesn't matter. Wear this."

Devon obediently walked over past the crowd of noble girls all giggling with their hands in front of their mouths and jiggling their chests lecherously, and picked up the clothes. It was a set of fluffy shorts and shirt woven to look like a bunny, using real animal fur as well, probably wool by the looks of it. And to the side was a pair of bunny ears.

Devon put on the bunny ears and began taking off his chef's shirt as the girls watched his every move.

"Heehee~"

"Wow, look at his muscles~"

"Take off your pants!"

Devon was already in the middle of taking off his pants, to put on the rabbit wool shorts.

"Oooooohhh…��

To the side, several slaves just walked up with large baskets of tomatoes freshly grown from the fields. One of the slaves was a muscular lizard man, and the other a wolf-man.

"Yay, the tomatoes are here~"

"Remember the rules girls, each hit on the body is one point, the tail is 2 points, and bulge is 10 points~"

Oh god, Devon thought to himself internally. They were actually going to pelt him with tomatoes and aim for his bulge too. This was going to be one hell of a long day of work. He finished putting on the shorts, which had a small fluffy tail at the back, and donned the ears.

"Alright, I'm ready."

The black haired heiress nodded with that snide smile on her face again. "Good. Now start running, rabbit. Stay within this courtyard. Now go!"

Devon didn't need to be told twice, launching himself from the starting area as fast as he could and beginning to sprint in a lap around the courtyard.

"Hey, don't run so fast!" a blue haired noble girl yelled, grabbing a tomato from the stack while laughing.

The first tomato went flying in an ungraceful arc before splatting on the ground near Devon. These noble girls who never lifted a thing in their life were pretty garbage at throwing, but Devon remembered from his encounter with Countess Ilyana sprinting at full speed with heels up a hill that anything could happen in this world.

The jiggly blonde was the next to throw, running down the side of the courtyard and lobbing the tomato at Devon. It splatted near his leg, right in front of where he was about to run and making him slip.

"Agh," Devon groaned while regaining his footing from slipping on the splatted internals of a tomato.

So far, he was okay with this job. He could see how some people would have trouble going through hours of this kind of torture, but to him it was just a bunch of girls having fun and playing out a power fantasy in their own depraved way.

This was nothing compared to getting gored by a minotaur for over half a day. Now that was a painful and horrible experience, and Devon still thrived through it by taunting the minotaur, deriving pleasure from seeing its frustration.