Title: I Was Isekai'd With My Wife and Now She's the Final Boss of the Fandom Author: H. Behevras Genre: Comedy, Isekai, Music, Married Protagonist, Parody Tags: #FinalBossWife #MetalheadMC #BoybandHell #TrashIsekaiButActuallyGenius
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Chapter 31: The Rise of the Stomp Cult. Part 2
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Previously:
REQUIEM6's concert took a bizarre turn when the fans, desperate for a sign of approval from the ultimate Final Boss, began a new ritual: creatively insulting Raiko in hopes of earning a single, judgmental STOMP from his wife, Noona.
The arena chanted "YOUR HAIR LOOKS STUPID TODAY" instead of song lyrics, merch sales skyrocketed by 340%, and management officially declared the chaos "performance art." Raiko has reluctantly accepted his new role as a professional insult target, while Noona, the unwitting goddess of this new stomp-based religion, questions all her life choices from the VIP section.
The cult of the "Divine Sole" has been born. And business has never been better.
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Home Sweet Chaotic Home
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Later that night, at Yu-Riella's house in the Market District, the aftermath of fame felt surreal.
Yu-Riella's 4-year-old son sat at the kitchen table with his crayons, working on his latest masterpiece—a drawing of Noona with a golden crown, angel wings, and what appeared to be lightning coming from her feet.
He was adding purple scribbles with the intense concentration only toddlers could achieve.
"More fan mail came today," Yu-Riella announced cheerfully, dragging in a sack that could have held a small dragon.
"The postal sprites are getting overtime pay."
Noona, sitting at the table sorting through letters, looked like she was facing a natural disaster.
One envelope was literally glowing.
Another was making small whimpering sounds.
"What's that one?" Raiko asked, pointing to a package wrapped in what looked like silk and tiny bells.
Noona held it up with the expression of someone handling a cursed artifact.
"Marriage proposal."
"From someone claiming to be 'Prince of the Seven Realms of Emotional Devastation.'"
She opened it.
Inside was a tiny golden pedestal with a plaque reading:
"FOR THE DIVINE SOLE THAT CHANGED MY LIFE" and a detailed seventeen-page essay about foot worship theology.
"They're... they're sending love letters to your *feet* now," Raiko said weakly.
"At least this one put in effort," Noona replied, tossing the whole thing into her growing "absolutely not" pile.
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"What about that one?" Raiko asked again, this time pointing to a pink package that smelled like roses soaked in honey, tied with a floral ribbon and adorned with a swan's feather.
Noona held it up with the expression of someone handling a cursed artifact.
She opened it, and her face went through several stages of disbelief.
"It's… a marriage application."
"To you." She held up a thick folder.
"From a fangirl. She wants to be your second wife."
"With me as the primary wife."
Raiko choked on his tea.
"She wants to… what now?"
"Full criminal background check, medical records, financial statements, a five-page essay titled 'Why I Would Be an Excellent Sister-Wife,' and…" Noona flipped through the pages, "…a recipe collection to prove her domestic skills."
"That's... thorough," Raiko said weakly.
Noona pulled out another envelope.
"Here's another one."
"This girl included a compatibility chart, astrological readings, and a detailed plan for shared household chores."
She opened a third letter.
"And this one has photographs of her cooking skills arranged chronologically to show improvement over time."
Yu-Riella's son looked up from his drawing, crayon still in his tiny fist.
"Auntie gets lots of letters!"
"Are they love letters?"
"Papa reads Mama love letters sometimes and makes funny faces!"
"Something like that, sweetie," Yu-Riella said, patting his head while trying not to laugh.
Noona systematically placed all the letters in a metal basin.
With surgical precision, she set them on fire.
"At least they're putting in effort," she said calmly, watching the flames consume detailed medical records and domestic skill assessments.
"Auntie made fire!" the little boy announced excitedly, clapping his tiny hands.
"Fire is pretty! Like when Uncle Raiko sings loud!"
—
From the backyard came a tremendous crash, followed by Tong Li-Fat's voice bellowing: "TECHNIQUE #127: REVERSE GRAVITY DUMPLING SLAM!"
Yu-Riella didn't even look up from her tea."
""He's been watching your concert videos."
"Now he thinks he can incorporate 'stomp energy' into his martial arts."
Another crash. Then: "The chi flows when the heel strikes true!"
"TONG-LI-FAT! YOU BETTER NOT BROKED OUR NEIGHBOR'S LAUNDRY LINE AGAIN!!" Yu-Riella yells to her husband.
"My darling, every time you scream, angels get promoted in heaven." Tong-Li-Fat smiled like a proud husband.
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The Business of Chaos
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That's when Jinwoo burst through the door, his glasses glinting with the cold fire of unbridled capitalism.
"EMERGENCY MERCH MEETING!" he proclaimed, his voice a venomous purr as he brandished an armful of prototype products, lenses flashing ominously.
"First," Jinwoo hissed, adjusting his glasses to catch the light as he unveiled, pulling out what looked like a stuffed animal having an existential crisis, "the 'Screaming Raiko' plush—a masterpiece of torment!"
He squeezed it.
"YEAHHHHHHH!!" erupted from the toy with enough force to rattle the tea cups.
Tong Li-Fat's voice drifted from the yard: "WORTHY OPPONENT!"
Noona nearly choked on her tea.
"I hate everything about this."
"But wait, there's more!" Jinwoo sneered, producing a pair of elegant black heels with a flourish, his glasses glinting like a predator's eyes.
"Behold the Limited Edition Stomp of Justice shoes—enchanted to deliver the perfect stomping sound on any surface, a symphony of dominance!"
He demonstrated by stepping firmly on the kitchen floor.
*STOMP.*
The sound was deep, authoritative, and somehow carried the weight of divine judgment.
"Those are actually impressive," Noona admitted grudgingly.
"And finally," Jinwoo's voice dropped to a wicked whisper, his glasses flaring with unholy light as he revealed his pièce de résistance, "the Insult Generator Crystal! A fiendish device to arm our fans with the sharpest roasts for pre-concert warfare!"
He activated a small crystal that immediately announced:
"Your vocal range is smaller than your emotional availability!"
Raiko stared at Jinwoo in horror.
"You made a device specifically designed to help people insult me better."
Jinwoo's lips curled into a sinister smirk, his glasses glinting malevolently.
"Market research revealed an insatiable demand for premium insult content—our profits will pierce the heavens!"
Yu-Riella clapped slowly. "Jinwoo, dear, you've turned marriage into a performance art and insults into a business model."
"I'm genuinely impressed."
From the backyard: "TECHNIQUE #128: FLYING NOODLE REVENGE!"
Another crash follows—something shatters.
Yu-Riella stands, storms to the backyard, and—
THWAP! (sound of slippers connecting midair)
"Ahh! My darling's throwing accuracy has improved 20% since yesterday! I am so proud!" Tong-Li-Fat beams.
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The Toddler Theologian
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Yu-Riella's son held up his finished crayon masterpiece—Noona with a crown, wings, and stick figure people bowing around her feet.
Purple scribbles filled the sky, and what might have been hearts or explosions surrounded the central figure.
"I drawed Auntie!" he announced proudly.
"She's the queen of making bad people go away!"
"See?"
"She go STOMP—" he brought his tiny fist down on the table.
"—and all the mean peoples run away fast fast!"
Raiko stared at the drawing.
"That's... surprisingly accurate theology for a four-year-old."
"What's a fee-ology?" the boy asked, tilting his head with genuine curiosity.
"Nothing, sweetie," Yu-Riella said quickly.
"It's very beautiful art."
—
The child beamed and immediately started on another drawing, this one featuring stick-figure Raiko with what appeared to be sound waves coming from his mouth and tiny stick people falling over.
"Now I draw Uncle Raiko being loud and making everyone happy-scared!"
"Happy-scared?" Raiko repeated.
"Yeah!"
"Like when you watch the scary puppet show but it's fun scary, not bad scary."
"Uncle Raiko is fun scary with his singy voice!"
Jinwoo, who had been scribbling notes with his usual fervor, looked up, his glasses catching the light with a malevolent glint as his voice dropped to a silky, scheming purr. "Happy-scared… a brilliant marketing angle, ripe for exploitation!"
His lenses flashed ominously. "This toddler's genius will revolutionize our brand—merchandise that captures the thrill of fun-scary fandom!"
"You are NOT making merchandise based on a toddler's art analysis," Noona said firmly.
Jinwoo's smirk widened, his glasses glinting like a capitalist demon's.
"But the demographic insights—a goldmine of untapped consumer sentiment, begging to be monetized!"
"No."
Yu-Riella's son held up his second drawing.
"This one is Uncle Raiko and the scary-fun music!"
"And this—" he pointed to purple scribbles.
"—is all the peoples getting happy-scared feelings in their tummies!"
From the backyard came Tong Li-Fat's voice:
"THE CHILD SPEAKS WISDOM!
HAPPY-SCARED IS THE ESSENCE OF TRUE COMBAT!"
Followed by a tremendous crash and Yu-Riella yelling "THAT BETTER NOT BE MY FLOWER POT YOU BROKE!"
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The Growing Phenomenon
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As Yu-Riella went to contain her husband, the weight of their new reality settled over the kitchen table.
"The fan forum has fifty thousand members now," Jinwoo reported, scrolling through his enchanted mirror.
"They're organizing."
"There are *regional chapters.*"
"Regional chapters of what?" Raiko asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted to know.
"The Stomp Cult. They're calling themselves 'Disciples of the Divine Sole.' Each chapter has a specialty—creative insults, stomp timing analysis, theoretical foot worship studies."
Noona put her head in her hands. "Theoretical foot worship studies."
"There's also a splinter group called 'The Church of Justified Violence,'" Jinwoo continued enthusiastically.
"They believe your stomp represents the perfect balance of grace and destruction."
"I stepped on someone *once,*" Noona protested.
"Once was enough to start a religious movement, apparently."
From outside: "THE MUSTACHE HOLDS THE POWER OF A THOUSAND SUNS!"
A window rattled.
"Your husband is having another episode," Noona said.
Yu-Riella sighed, reached over, and hefted what could only be described as a comically oversized ornamental stone frog from the patio.
"THUNK!"
From the yard: "Worthy opponent..." — thud.
"It's fine!" Yu-Riella called back sweetly.
"He's just expressing his artistic vision!"
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The Philosophy of Chaos
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As the evening settled into its usual rhythm of contained pandemonium, Raiko found himself staring at the pile of fan mail, the ridiculous merchandise, and his wife who had accidentally become a deity.
"How did we get here?" he asked the universe.
"You screamed beautifully and I defended your honor with footwear," Noona replied pragmatically.
"Everything else is just consequences."
Jinwoo looked up from his sales projections with his usual eager focus, then his glasses caught the light, glinting wickedly as his voice slid into a smug, venomous purr. "Speaking of consequences, three rival idol groups dared to mimic our Stomp Phenomenon—pathetic attempts to siphon our glory!"
"Two even hired professional insulters for their concerts, hoping to rival our empire."
"And?"
Jinwoo's smirk deepened, his lenses flashing with malevolent glee. "Utter failures."
"Their counterfeit chaos lacks the authentic divine judgment energy that fuels our profits!"
Yu-Riella's son, now wearing his toy cape, struck a dramatic pose.
"Auntie is the real stomp queen!"
"The others just do pretend kicks!"
Jinwoo's eyes narrowed, his glasses glinting with unholy capitalist fervor as he muttered, scribbling furiously, "That… 'Real Stomp Queen' slogan will adorn t-shirts and flood our coffers with fan adoration."
From the backyard, Tong Li-Fat's voice rose in what sounded like a victory cry:
"I HAVE ACHIEVED ENLIGHTENMENT THROUGH INTERPRETIVE COMBAT!"
"That's nice, dear!" Yu-Riella called back.
Then, after a pause:
"Keep it down, the neighbors already think we're a cult!"
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The New Normal
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As the chaos settled into its evening rhythm, Raiko realized something profound: this was their life now.
He was married to an accidental goddess, managed by a marketing genius with questionable ethics, living with the most supportively delusional family in the kingdom, and leading a boy band that had somehow become a religious experience.
"You know what the strangest part is?" he said, watching Noona methodically burn another batch of marriage proposals.
"What?"
"I'm actually... happy. This is insane, but I'm happy."
Noona looked up from her ceremonial letter burning, a small smile playing at her lips.
"Even though your fans literally pay money to insult you?"
"Especially because of that."
"It's the most honest fan interaction I've ever had."
Jinwoo held up his enchanted mirror with his usual eager grin, then his glasses caught the light, glinting malevolently as his voice dropped to a smug, venomous purr. "Speaking of honest interactions, tomorrow's concert is completely sold out—a testament to our empire's allure!"
"And behold, the fans have birthed a betting pool on which insults will earn a divine stomp, ripe for our exploitation!"
"Are we taking a cut of the betting profits?"
Jinwoo's lenses flashed with unholy capitalist fervor. "Already handled—our coffers will swell with their fervor!"
From the kitchen: "TECHNIQUE #129: MEDITATIVE DISHWASHER WHIRLWIND!"
Followed by the sound of what was definitely dishes breaking.
Yu-Riella's voice erupted immediately, no trace of serenity:
"TONG LI-FAT!!"
Another crash.
"GET OUT OF MY KITCHEN!!"
A teacup sailed through the doorway, missing Tong Li-Fat's head by less than a finger's width before smashing against the wall.
"But the kitchen chi is perfect for my—"
"OUT!!"
Tong Li-Fat let out a high-pitched "AIYAAAAA—!!" and scrambled backward, slipping on a spilled puddle of tea.
He flailed his arms, somehow did a full spin, and then scuttled out of the kitchen on all fours like a giant crab.
Noona stood up, dusting ash from her hands.
"I'm going to go supervise before he accidentally invents a new form of property damage."
—
As she walked toward the back door, her heels clicking against the floor with that now-famous precision, Yu-Riella's son whispered: "Wow... even her walk is magic."
"Kid's got a point," Raiko admitted.
Jinwoo was already scribbling with his usual frantic energy, then his glasses caught the light, glinting wickedly as his voice dropped to a sly, venomous purr. "New merch idea: Magical Walking instructional crystals—a treasure trove to enchant the masses and swell our coffers with their adoration!" He punctuated his scheme with a low, menacing laugh, "Mwahahahaha!" that echoed like the cackle of a cartoonish overlord.
And somewhere in the distance, a dragon roared—whether in approval, confusion, or artistic solidarity, nobody would ever know.
The Stomp Cult was here to stay.
And chaos, it seemed, had never been so profitable.
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**TO BE CONTINUED**
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*Author Notes:*
I have officially reached peak absurdity and I am not even sorry. I started this story for the metalhead vs. boyband jokes, and now I'm writing detailed theological and economic analyses of a stomp-based economy. This is my life now.
The image of Jinwoo as a capitalist demon, gleefully monetizing a toddler's crayon drawing and a cult dedicated to his bandmate's wife's footwear, is the character evolution I never knew I needed. He's not just the usual boyband members; he's a supervillain whose power is market research and whose weakness is probably a really good spreadsheet. His evil laugh lives in my head rent-free.
Tong Li-Fat trying to incorporate "stomp energy" into his martial arts and getting banished from the kitchen by a flying teacup is the domestic chaos I live for. Yu-Riella is the true MVP, managing a husband who thinks breaking dishes is a meditation technique and a son who is the cult's head theologian.
Speaking of which—the toddler. The four-year-old who has a more accurate read on the situation than any of the adults. "Happy-scared" is the perfect description for this entire fic, and Jinwoo's immediate desire to trademark it is so on-brand it hurts.
Noona systematically burning marriage proposals (including full medical records and chore charts) is a whole mood. She didn't ask for this. She just wanted to wear cool shoes and support her metalhead husband. Now she's a goddess and an arsonist. Goals.
Raiko's resigned acceptance that his career is now based on the quality of insults hurled at him is the beautiful, twisted heart of this story. He's found happiness in the chaos, and honestly, same.
– H. Behevras
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© 2025 H. Behevras | First published on Royal Road
Do not repost without permission.
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