Emperor Computer Chair の小説・ストーリー

"If an old senile like you could pique Firmament's jealousy, what makes you think I can't? What makes me inferior to you? It only took me three millennia to become an Immortal Emperor. Do you honestly believe you could've beaten my record?" "Old senile?!" Emperor Ao's eyes widened lividly with disbelief. With a face as fair as the whitest of precious jade, and a physique as lean and strong as stone, Emperor Ao had always prided himself in his features that had left many a hearts swooning. "How could I ever be described as 'Old senile'?! Are you blind, Chu Xun?!" he almost screamed out loud. "Where else could you find 'an old senile' as dashing as I am?" the monarch scoffed irately.

He only kept his ultra thin MacBook computer on his desk. The office was very spacious, lush in taste and very rich in furnishings. On the right side was a brown leather chesterfield lounge with two single chairs to match. Cat looked away from this quickly, remembering a time when she had met Eric here one night and he had taken her from behind as she had leant over the armchair.

“A lot of the work is filtered through my secretary and assistants. By the time it reaches me, it’s usually something crucial. “If I were involved in everything, I’d be exhausted. “My efficiency is pretty impressive if I say so myself,” Landon said, showing off a bit. “Come. Sit down and see for yourself.” Landon gestured for Emma to take his seat. Emma hesitated as she looked at the large, luxurious office chair behind the desk. “Me? I don’t think it’s appropriate.” She understood the significance of the chair. Even though it was just a chair, its position meant something more. Not just anyone could sit there.

His gaze swept the room, acknowledging no one individually, and came to rest on the single, glaring point of focus: the chair at the head of the table. Joe’s chair. It was a massive, high-backed leather throne, worn smooth in places by the pressure of its former occupant. It was positioned at a slight, commanding angle to the table, a king’s perspective on his court. It had been empty for months, a sacred relic no one dared to occupy, a tangible manifestation of the power vacuum that had nearly torn the empire apart. Now, it waited for him.

He understood that, but it didn't mean that he had to like it. Steele groaned and leaned against the soft cushion of the chair that was his throne when he was in the cave. Every time other members of the club came in, they would give him shit about how he sat in a recliner and not a computer chair, but he just brushed it off. Let them sit at a computer for most of their damn day and not be comfortable.

He rolled his eyes. “Anyway,” he decided to ignore them as Oswald did the damage control by smacking their backs once. “For starters, we all know that First and Second actively coveted what is not theirs.” “A.k.a the throne,” Sleepy said with deep resentment. “Mm.” Everyone mumbled the same thing as if they were united. “Yes, the imperial throne.” “What is the imperial throne?” Aidan; the first prince of the lion tribe asked him. “It was the throne of the empire. The emperor’s throne.” Smiley answered for him. While the other two who sat next to him on both sides simply gave them a simple nod.

"Massage chairs. Quick nap." I was already standing up. ... The chilling room was one of the few things about this office I genuinely loved — a small concession Adrian had made years ago, probably less out of care for his employees and more out of the pragmatic understanding that exhausted people make mistakes and mistakes cost money. But the result was the same regardless of the motive: two proper massage chairs, low lighting, a small couch, and the particular quality of silence that only exists in rooms specifically designed for rest. I took the chair on the left. Davel took the other one.

Heavy chains dangled from the ceiling, and various whips, paddles, and accessories were meticulously arranged on glass shelves. I continued to explore cautiously, my eyes scanning every corner as my body seemed frozen with shock and a fascination I couldn’t suppress. At the far end of the room, there was a high chair, almost like a throne, covered in black leather with metal details that gleamed in the dim light. It was the seat of someone in command. Masato’s throne. My mind was racing in all directions. Masato had been strict with me, but I had never imagined he could be this... extreme. And worst of all, part of me felt a sick curiosity, an excitement mixed with fear.

Who the hell has a chandelier in their office? “This is where you’ll be working,” he said, pointing to the smaller desk placed in front of the shelves. It was perfect for assistant work, with a laptop and swivel chair. “So this is where the magic happens,” I said, making my way to his desk. The buttery smoothness of the black leather executive chair looked inviting. I plopped down, sighing at the comfort of being cradled by soft leather. The desk’s surface was cool to the touch, with a textured fabric of the rug beneath my feet.

"The Empress is a survivor. But I know that she will be better with you both by her side." Two servants helped the Emperor out of bed and into the wheeled chair before Brinn stopped them. "The chair is for the princess and her injured feet." "But His Majesty!" One of the servants objected. "His Majesty only took a nappy-poo due to what I suspect is some sleeping powder. He should be the most rested of us all." The elf tapped her foot impatiently. Instead of being offended, Devrim was relieved. He stood and helped his daughter to sit down. "Thank you," he said softly to the spymaster.