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Planeptune was in the middle of one of its most important events in recent memory. It wasn’t just an announcement for the citizens gathered in the capital, it was a statement broadcast across all of Gamindustri. The landscape of the industry was shifting, and the Goddesses themselves had to adapt with the times.
That morning, the focus had been on unveiling the future: a brand-new console, upcoming tech innovations, and upgraded models of Planeptune’s existing hardware. There were also announcements of new partnerships, most notably with Lastation, signaling a joint effort in developing games that would bridge both nations’ strengths. For the people, it was a vision of progress. For the CPUs, it was a declaration of their continued relevance.
At the heart of it all stood Purple Heart. Neptune, normally playful and carefree, entrusted her transformed self with the duty of delivering the speech. In this form, she was flawless, every word measured, every movement confident. She spoke with authority and elegance, inspiring both pride and loyalty in her citizens. Her voice rang across the plaza and through the broadcast channels, carrying that aura of divinity that only a CPU could summon.
The response was overwhelming. The crowd erupted into cheers, hope and faith swelling, shares flooding into Planeptune like a tidal wave. It was everything Neptune wanted, proof that her people believed in her, that her nation was thriving.
And yet…
Bllorp…
She really shouldn’t have eaten all that pudding for breakfast.
On the outside, Purple Heart maintained her poised, ethereal smile. On the inside, Neptune was locked in a private battle. Her stomach had been bubbling since the speech began, every pause between paragraphs punctuated by a threatening gurgle deep within her gut. Her toned abdomen, held firm by the suit of her HDD form, wasn’t helping matters. Each subtle clench of her muscles only seemed to make the cramps worse, and she’d had to will herself not to double over on stage.
Now, as the speech ended and the formal part of the event gave way to celebration, the real nightmare began: the after-party.
The plaza had been transformed into a ballroom worthy of Planeptune’s prosperity. Chandeliers glittered above the long tables lined with wine, fruit, and pastries. Nobles mingled with developers, guild leaders, and visiting dignitaries. Music filled the air, laughter followed, and everywhere she turned, people wanted a word with their Goddess.
Normally, Neptune wouldn’t mind basking in the attention. It was the fun part of the job. But right now? Every polite bow, every handshake, every congratulatory toast was just one more delay between her and the restroom.
Her steps were measured, elegant, and steady, yet her stomach was anything but. The cramps twisted through her like a tightening screw, threatening to force their way out at any moment. Her perfect composure masked the reality: the CPU of Planeptune was on the verge of a humiliating disaster.
“Great,” she thought dryly, her lips never losing their practiced smile. “I can lead a nation, inspire faith, and talk about new hardware without missing a beat… but I can’t survive a pudding binge without suffering the consequences…”
She didn’t just “run into” people, she was being swarmed. Every step she tried to take toward freedom was met with another cheerful face, another outstretched hand, another congratulatory remark. It felt like she’d stumbled into an endless gauntlet of unskippable cutscenes, the kind where the player’s mashing every button on the controller but still stuck waiting for the dialogue box to fade.
Purple Heart’s smile never wavered, but deep down Neptune was groaning. Really? I can save the world but I can’t save myself from small talk? Her stomach answered with a low, angry churn, the kind that made her thighs tense and her composure wobble for half a second.
Why did goddesses have to suffer through such base mortal functions anyway? She could lift a battleship with one hand, deflect bullets with her blade, and call down divine energy to smite entire armies, maybe even destroy a dimension or two, but pudding? Pudding had her on the ropes. It was humiliating.
It didn’t matter. She couldn’t stay here. Every passing moment was another risk, another chance for her pristine image to crumble right there on the ballroom floor.
“Excuse me for a moment,” she said, her voice as cool and composed as ever, masking the tightness in her chest and gut. She gave the guild-woman she’d been speaking with a graceful nod. “I will return shortly.”
Before anyone could intercept her again, Neptune slipped away, her long purple dress swishing with each quick step, heels clicking across the polished marble. She told herself she could be spending this time catching up with Noire, basically her other half, her anchor, her wife in all but paperwork. Instead, she was fleeing to save her dignity from the pudding apocalypse brewing inside her.
The balcony doors opened with a soft creak, and she stepped out into the night air. The crisp breeze greeted her, cool against the heat that had been trapped beneath the chandeliers inside. She shut the doors behind her, making absolutely certain no one had followed. Alone at last.
Her hands gripped the balcony railing, knuckles whitening, though she was careful not to crush the ornate metal. She leaned forward slightly, hair swaying, breath hitching as her body finally, finally allowed her the relief she’d been craving all day.
“Finally…” she whispered, voice trembling with equal parts embarrassment and anticipation.
BSPRPLLRRRRRBBBPPPPPT!
It tore out of her like an explosion, wet, messy, and obscene, a bubbly detonation that would have had her entire reputation in shambles if anyone inside had heard. It was the kind of fart that vibrated through her whole frame, rattling up her spine until she had to grit her teeth just to stay steady.
The smell followed quickly, acrid and sour, like overripe fruit and old eggs. Neptune winced, her face heating despite being alone. The night wind carried it off, mercifully dispersing her shame before it could linger too long.
“Oh, thank goddesses…” she muttered, her voice shaking as her body trembled. The relief was so sharp it almost felt good, like releasing a taut string that had been threatening to snap. She sagged against the railing, sighing.
But she wasn’t done. Not even close.
PRPRRBRBSSPRBBPPPPPPPT!
This one was even worse, another long, bubbling blast that gurgled wetly at the end, echoing like someone blowing into a straw stuck in a thick drink. It pushed with such force that the back of her gown fluttered upward, the fabric lifting an inch as if caught in a mischievous gust. If anyone had been watching from below, she could’ve blamed it on the wind. Maybe.
Her stomach groaned again, an audible gurgle that rolled under her ribs like thunder. Her knees knocked together as she gasped for breath. “I swear… I’m never eating pudding before a speech again.”
Yet even as she said it, another sharp pang twisted inside her, demanding more space.
“Just a little more couldn’t hurt. I deserve this, anyhow.”
Purple Heart muttered under her breath, her cool, composed mask cracking into something far closer to Neptune’s usual tone. She braced herself against the railing again, willing her body to relax just a bit more. Her chest trembled with a stifled grunt as her abdomen clenched, the pressure finally moving downward. She didn’t care if her perfume was drowned in stink or if her elegant dress carried the shame with it, this gas had to get out before it forced its way out.
PRBSSPPLBBRRRRRRRPPT.
Her knees buckled slightly, the hiss-bubbling fart gurgling as if her guts were a cauldron left too long on a boil. Her face heated, eyes fluttering with the relief that poured through her like static electricity.
Then came the aftershocks.
RRRRRRRBPPPTPTPTPTPTTP~!
SSPPLLAARBBPPBbbBLLRPPPPOPPP!
Each one was grosser than the last, erupting in messy bursts that sputtered at the edges like bubbles popping in a swamp. They got louder, sharper, with a wet trill to them that made her cringe. For one terrifying moment, Neptune swore the sound might’ve traveled through the glass doors behind her.
The smell that followed was catastrophic, spoiled pudding curdled with sulfur, so thick it made her eyes sting. She waved her hand desperately in front of her nose, fanning the air as her stomach growled on and on.
“Ughhh… grossgrossgross. That’s enough for now.”
Straightening her posture, Purple Heart gathered her poise like a warrior sheathing her blade after battle. She turned back toward the doors, quickly slipping inside and shutting them before the air could drift in behind her. That balcony was going to need divine purification before anyone dared step outside again.
Her goal was clear now: the restroom. Preferably her private one, where no one could witness her breaking character and sprinting for salvation like a child. The mere idea of being caught in a shared stall, of someone hearing her unleash… no, that was worse than an accident.
She shook her head, long violet hair flowing around her shoulders, and pressed forward. The “big golden ring at the end of the zone,” her ultimate flag-point, was just a hallway away.
Her stomach churned like a blender on high. Every step was a negotiation with her own body, keeping her face calm and her stride regal even as she clenched with every ounce of strength.
And then—of course—she was intercepted.
“Hey, Nep!” A familiar voice.
Oh no.
IF, sharp-eyed and sharp-tongued, stood in front of her, a small smile quirking her lips. “That was a pretty good speech out there. It’s hard to remember you can actually work hard when you try. You must be rolling in Shares after that.”
Neptune smiled—Purple Heart smiled, serene and flawless. “I appreciate the kind words, IF. Your confidence means a great deal.”
“Neppyyy!”
Before she could breathe, Compa appeared at her side, bouncing with a spoon in her hand. “You haaave to try this pudding! It’s reaaaally good.”
Before Neptune could object, Compa shoved the spoon into her mouth. Sweet, creamy pudding slid down her throat, and for a split second, she thought she’d died and gone to pudding heaven.
Don’t get distracted. Don’t get distracted. Don’t—
Her gut gave an ominous gurgle, almost mocking her.
“Thank you, Compa, IF,” Neptune said, voice smooth despite the sweat pricking her forehead. “I have a few more things to attend to, but I promise we’ll talk more later. Please enjoy the festivities.”
“Aye aye, Nep-Nep!” Compa saluted.
“Knock ’em dead, Nep,” IF replied with a wink.
She swept past them, relief washing through her as she widened the gap. But her body had other ideas.
Brrfffsssssssssspppt.
A silent hiss of pudding-fueled gas slipped free as she walked, clinging hot and foul beneath her dress. The air soured instantly, a sulfur-sweet stench curling like smoke around her legs. She kept moving, keeping her face blank even as she caught a few guests coughing behind her. Shame burned in her chest, but her people, her people mattered more than her pride.
She pressed onward.
“Nepsy!”
A sudden slap on her back nearly made her lose everything right there. Her body jolted, her cheeks clenched, and she fought not to squeak aloud. Turning her head, she found herself staring at Uzume Tennouboshi, the previous CPU of Planeptune herself.
“Uzume,” Purple Heart greeted, voice even though her stomach lurched. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself.”
“You know it! This is pretty badass. I mean, I’m not one for fancy dresses and all, but hey, it’s not the end of the world. Way different from what I’m used to, though.”
“I imagine. Please, do enjoy yourself, there’s something here for everyone.”
“Hehe, will do, Nepsy!” Uzume grinned before bouncing off, her hair bobbing with each step.
Purple Heart waited a single second, muscles trembling as another bubble of gas threatened to slip free. She needed to keep moving. Every second lost was a risk.
Her goal—the restroom, was still ahead. But her body was fraying, her facade cracking. And the worst was yet to come.
She couldn’t endure this much longer. Every step, every polite nod, every forced smile was like walking across a minefield with her bowels ready to betray her at any second. The pressure in her gut was molten, churning like a cauldron about to bubble over. Worse, there was that stinging burn against her backside, a warning flare. Either she let go willingly, or her body was going to take the choice away from her.
Her path through the crowd was a gauntlet, a proper bullet hell that not even her gaming reflexes could dodge. Every time she thought she was clear, another familiar face appeared to chat, laugh, or congratulate her. Planeptune’s beloved CPU couldn’t risk looking careless, but she was unraveling, fast.
Mid-conversation with one of the guild’s reps, it finally happened.
BPPPPPPPPPPPPPPTP!
A bubbly, frothy blast slipped out with a wet trill, like someone had just upturned a carton of spoiled milk and shaken it out. The sound hit hard enough to snap her shoulders stiff, but the smell… oh, the smell was merciless. Sour, milky rot flooded out from beneath her gown, coiling through the air in sickly waves. Perfume couldn’t hold a candle to it; her lavender fragrance was drowned instantly. Eyes watered, faces twitched, and the atmosphere of the room thickened like a swamp.
Neptune’s smile cracked at the edges, her perfect facade threatening to break with every waft. She fanned her gown with a discreet twitch of her wrist, but it only seemed to stir the stink like smoke from a bonfire.
That’s when she spotted her wife—no, no, her frenemy, Noire, standing proudly as Black Heart among her own circle of admirers. Neptune’s eyes narrowed, a desperate but mischievous idea bubbling up through the haze. It was shameful, yes… but if she couldn’t bear the shame alone, maybe she could share the load. She could always make it up to Noire later.
She glided toward the group with regal grace, steps measured and deliberate.
BRSPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRT!
A thunderous, bass-heavy explosion rattled from her as she passed, long and rolling like a drumbeat. It vibrated the floor under her heels, humming through the chatter like an uninvited fanfare. Neptune didn’t even break stride, pausing just long enough near Noire’s group to make it believable.
The smell landed fast, a spoiled pudding stench thickened with rotten dairy and sulfur. Guests gagged, one man coughed into his sleeve, and the circle of admirers wavered in visible discomfort.
Neptune tilted her head, shooting Noire a sly side-eye. Just for good measure, she stuck out her tongue playfully, a flicker of her old self bleeding through Purple Heart’s stoic mask.
“Nep- grr!” Noire’s voice cracked like a whip, furious and embarrassed, but before she could snatch her by the wrist, Neptune was already gone, weaving deeper into the crowd. She left Black Heart surrounded by admirers and, more importantly, by the toxic fog she had unleashed.
Her steps quickened. She could feel her time running short.
But the bullet hell wasn’t done.
Another wall of conversation blocked her path, and this time it wasn’t Noire, it was Blanc, or rather, White Heart. Small but fierce, with arms crossed and her sharp gaze pinning Neptune like a dagger.
“Oi. Neptune” Blanc said flatly, raising a brow. “What’s with the face? You look like you swallowed a bug or somethin’.”
“I… I assure you, everything is under control.” Purple Heart’s voice wavered, her regal tone struggling against the bubbling swamp of gas in her belly.
Blanc leaned closer, squinting suspiciously. Neptune froze, her stomach cramping. Her legs trembled—
FRRBBBRRRPPPPLLLBLBLBLT!
A sputtering eruption blasted out, rattling like a machine gun jammed with pudding. It echoed off the walls, a sloppy, brazen roar that had several nearby guests gasping in disgust.
The smell hit instantly, rancid and oppressive, like sour cream left out under the sun.
Blanc blinked once. Twice. Then gagged, waving a hand in front of her face. “What the hell?! Did you just—”
“Not me,” Neptune said quickly, pointing behind Blanc with divine composure. “It must’ve been someone else. Perhaps… Lowee’s cheese exports?”
“Like hell it was!” Blanc snapped, but she was already coughing into her sleeve, eyes watering from the foul haze swirling around her. Guests muttered, pinching noses and fanning themselves.
Neptune took her chance, dipping into a curtsy that doubled as a desperate squeeze of her thighs together, and slipped past White Heart while she choked in the stink cloud.
Her goal was still ahead. But now, the entire event hall was tainted with suspicion, whispers, and pudding-rot air. She could feel her grip loosening, and her control breaking.
Come to think of it, she hadn’t spotted Green Heart anywhere. Neptune barely registered the thought at first, her mind far too occupied with clenched muscles and a stomach that was gurgling louder than the party’s music. But still, it lingered. Where was Vert? Surely the woman would’ve made herself known by now, if not for conversation, then for the food and wine.
It didn’t matter. Not really. Neptune had bigger problems brewing. But as she shuffled toward her golden-ring finish line, the restroom, her thoughts drifted, if only for a heartbeat, to the missing CPU.
Green Heart, Vert, was on the balcony Neptune had abandoned earlier. As soon as she stepped out and pulled the glass door closed behind her, her nose wrinkled.
“...Goodness gracious.”
The air was rancid. Stale and sour, like the unventilated backroom of an internet café after a summer LAN party. Vert coughed politely into her hand, her elegant poise cracking for only a moment. It was thick, lingering, an odd stench of spoiled pudding, dairy, and something else she didn’t dare place. It reminded her of a gamer who refused to shower for weeks on end. Well… not that she was in any position to judge.
She waved a hand, brushing it off quickly. She had come here for a purpose, after all.
Vert’s stomach had been churning all evening. While she wasn’t quite the fountain of gas that Neptune often proved herself to be, she had been holding back her own brand of pressure for hours. The rich foods, the cheese platters, the indulgent champagne, all of it was bubbling inside, begging for release. She had excused herself from the crowd under the pretense of fresh air, but what she really needed was privacy to let go.
She walked to the railing, her gown brushing softly around her legs, and positioned herself just so.
SPPPPPPPPPLLLLLLLLRRT!
The release was sharp, wet, and gurgly, echoing against the stone. Vert exhaled a long sigh, shoulders sagging in relief. The fart’s texture was distinct, thick and watery, like air forced through a swamp. Its scent followed soon after, acrid and unmistakable: potato chips left in a sweaty gym bag.
“Much better,” she murmured, fanning her gown slightly.
But one wasn’t enough. She pressed a hand gently to her stomach and pushed again.
SSPSPSPRTPTPTLLRFFT!
SPPLPLLLLLLLLLLLLPPTPTP!
SSPLPPPPPPPPPPPPPROOORT!
Each burst was wetter than the last, spraying audibly against her poor underwear. The balcony grew dense with a chip-and-grease reek, layered atop the rotten pudding stink Neptune had left behind. Vert winced, cheeks flushing.
And then—
Her eyes widened. A sudden warmth spread across her backside, damp and unmistakable. She gasped, clapping a hand to her bottom.
“Oh no…!”
She had pushed too hard. What should have been just gas had betrayed her. A shart. A humiliating, messy mistake staining her undergarments.
Her composure cracked entirely, her face burning bright red as she shuffled quickly toward the door. With all the grace she could muster in her flustered state, she slipped back inside and made a beeline for the restroom, praying to the goddesses above that no one would intercept her.
Back inside, Neptune wasn’t faring any better.
Her stomach was a storm, rolling and bubbling like magma in a volcano. Each step was agony. Each breath came with the risk of another slip. She pressed forward anyway, her bathroom goal finally in sight.
Then disaster struck.
Someone bumped into her—an elbow, right in her stomach.
Her eyes went wide. Time slowed.
BRRRRRRRRRRRRRBBBBBLLLLLLLRRRRRPPPPPPTTTTTPPPPPPTTTTTPPP!
The dam burst. A monstrous, trumpeting fart tore from her with cataclysmic force, wet and vibrating, rattling through the floor and echoing off the party hall’s walls. It was more than a fart, it was a proclamation, long and unstoppable, shifting midway from bubbly gas to something wetter, sloppier.
Her gown fluttered violently with the sheer blast. And then came the warmth. A terrible, spreading, pudding-like warmth that filled her panties and leaked downward in horrifying defeat.
The sound was revolting: splattering, squelching, punctuated by more bubbly bursts as her body gave out entirely. The stink hit within seconds, suffocating and undeniable—a spoiled dairy nightmare, sulfur and rot flooding the hall.
Guests froze. Gasps, whispers, hands shot to faces as people recoiled. The CPU of Planeptune, regal Purple Heart, had soiled herself in the middle of the after-party.
Her composure crumbled. Her hands clutched at her gown as her legs trembled, her cheeks flushing crimson. There was no hiding this. No blaming it on Noire or Blanc this time. This was her shame alone.
Purple Heart staggered, knees buckling, her hands clenching desperately at the front of her gown as another cramp seized her gut.
“No, no, no—”
SPPPPLLLLLBBBRRRRBRRRTTTTTSHHHHHHPLLLLRRRRRRTTTT!
The second wave came with brutal force, splattering hotly into her already ruined panties. The fabric couldn’t take it; the mess pushed through, streaking down her thighs beneath her gown before puddling onto the polished floor. The noise was obscene, an unholy marriage of bubbly pudding-squelches and trombone blasts, echoing loud enough to silence the chatter of the entire hall.
The smell followed instantly. Rank, sour, spoiled-milk foul, the kind of stench that could peel wallpaper. Guests gagged, fanning themselves desperately, some stumbling back as though Neptune had transformed into a boss monster instead of a goddess.
She wanted to cry. The CPU of Planeptune, regal, inspiring, untouchable, brought low by pudding and bowels. Her carefully maintained Purple Heart poise shattered. Her face burned, tears pricked her eyes, her trembling lips opened—
—and then, Noire was there.
“Everyone, calm down! Please!” Black Heart’s voice cut through the whispers and gasps like a blade, strong and commanding. She moved to Neptune’s side in an instant, sliding an arm around her waist. From the outside, it looked like a gallant gesture of support, like a fellow goddess coming to the aid of her sister-in-arms.
Inside the embrace, Noire hissed in her ear.
“Idiot! Why didn’t you just go earlier?!”
“I-I tried!” Neptune stammered, her voice cracking, trembling with humiliation. Another small splpppttthhhplrrt hiss escaped her as she spoke, worsening the stench. “It’s not like I wanted this!”
Noire’s glare softened, her grip tightening just slightly. “…Don’t worry. I’ll handle this.”
With that, she straightened, keeping Neptune close as if guiding her out of the room in grace rather than disgrace. “Our dear CPU has been overworked lately,” Noire announced to the crowd, her tone commanding but smooth, buying time with confidence only she could muster. “It seems she pushed herself too hard tonight, even for the people she loves.”
Whispers shifted. The judgment softened. A few murmurs of concern, even sympathy, floated through the room.
Meanwhile, Neptune buried her face against Noire’s shoulder, red as a beet, half from shame and half from relief.
“…You’re amazing, Noire,” she mumbled, voice muffled.
“Shut up,” Noire muttered back, her cheeks pink. “You reek.”
Despite everything, a small laugh slipped out of Neptune. A weak, embarrassed laugh, but genuine.
As Noire guided her toward the exit, Neptune whispered with a trembling smile, “Guess I owe you one… maybe two, if you help me out of this dress.”
Noire rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “You’re impossible.”
And with that, the two CPUs disappeared into the hall’s back corridor, one hiding her face in shame, the other shielding her with fierce devotion. The after-party would be remembered not for scandal, but for how the goddesses stood together.
And as much as Neptune’s gut might hate her later… she couldn’t help but feel a little happy. Noire had her back, mess and all.