Big Roots Are Good

"Yun!... CEO!... okay!..."

No matter how hard I strained to listen, I couldn't make out a word.

Mom's curry. I'd really like one last bowl of that.

That was the thought that floated up while I spun like laundry in a washing machine, experiencing that dizzying, bottomless speed.

With six kids to feed, Mom always had a brutal time putting meals on the table. Short prep, simple process, generous portions — if even one of those slipped, she got hammered with the kids' whining and complaints the second dinner was over. And when you cook in bulk, the taste usually tanks in inverse proportion. Mom's curry rice, though, held its own against any specialty shop.

A friend of mine once said that before he died, he just wanted one more taste of his grandmother's North Korean-style flounder sikhae. Only now, skating the edge of death myself, did I finally understand that completely.

"Jin!... hyung!... snap!... out!..."

Still no deciphering that one either.

If I'd known it would come to this, I should've kept Yebin a little longer and gone another round.

The scorching Friday night in Workshop 19 a few days ago rose up right after that. The sticky heat of those moments with that beautiful woman. The flawlessly smooth, soft skin hanging like a sculpture. The lovely flush that had spread all over her body while she was bound in rope, trembling with arousal — it was all right there in front of my eyes again.

That goddess-like, clean-lined slender figure alone was enough to fill me up just from looking. The feeling of our mouths meeting. Her soft, pillowy lips. The dry breath she'd held in her mouth and then released as we raced toward the finish together. The delicious texture inside her warm pussy when I finally mixed my body with hers after the vibrator had been heating her from within for so long — the way those inner folds rolled in like waves. The thrilling heat of her skin searing into mine wherever we touched.

It all climbed back through my whole body as if it were happening right in front of me. But thanks to the freezing valley water, I cooled off again almost at once.

I was glad I hadn't asked for her number when I let her go. Otherwise, the first trembling message after we'd slept together might have turned into my obituary notice...

I'd heard somewhere that when people die, their strength leaves them and their fluids drain out. I couldn't verify it, but someone also claimed that men ejaculate at the moment of death. If that were true, I was genuinely lucky. For eight months I hadn't spilled a drop inside a woman — I'd stored up that thick, abundant fluid and poured every last bit of it into her without holding back. So at least I wouldn't disgrace myself by soiling my pants with that sticky, dense load in front of the paramedics while straddling life and death.

A dry laugh escaped me, followed by an absurd wave of relief at my own excellent decision not to cling to her until the very end. But right on its heels came a sudden rush of shame at my own prejudice.

If I was going to think of her with this much gratitude, why had I arrogantly judged her private story without knowing any of it? If I was going to lose my mind devouring her beautiful naked body, why had I started with suspicion and preconceptions?

The fact that the person who rose up in my final sprint toward death wasn't Siyeon, whom I'd dated for so long, but Yebin, with whom I'd spent two hours — it made even a long relationship feel like a journey of smoke just drifting past.

Yeah... when Siyeon left me, she must have had her own reasons I couldn't fathom. Who the hell was I, anyway?

"Jin!... Yun!... here!..."

So this was why those variety-show lyric-guessing games were so hard. No matter how hard I focused, I only caught fragments.

Every time I forced my head up and managed to push out a scrap of breath, light poured into my eyes. In those fleeting instants, the landscape that came with the light glittered in a dazzling, brilliant green. And every time I lifted my head again, those radiant greens rushed toward me faster and larger, cascading down.

Ah... if I'd known, I should've taken out life insurance for the family.

That was the deep regret of a guy who couldn't even swim, who'd stupidly tagged along to the startup center's team-building event, and was now diligently swallowing more green moss than a year's worth of seaweed.

The moment a big droplet of water shot from my nose as I failed to steady my breathing, the surface of it somehow sparkled even underwater — just like it had under the ceiling lights of the workshop on Friday evening.

As my thrashing hands and slowly sinking mind went under, regret and last wishes flickered past in a rapid mini-series.

"Jinwoo-ssi! Yun Jinwoo-ssi! Look here! Stay with me!"

The urgent voice calling my name finally reached my sinking ears as a complete sentence, and a firm, elastic arm seized the red life vest at last.

With my eyes completely unfocused, I came up sputtering water from my nose and mouth like a baby seal that had never learned to swim from its mother.

I looked up. It was the woman whose ass stayed permanently pissed off thanks to cycling and spinning. She had the kind of rounded lower body that pulled every man's gaze, and she was shouting my name while gripping my life vest with everything she had.

He was a man who looked intimidating even with black eyeliner drawn around his eyes. He rolled his whites up at me in a terrifying glare, then set the object in his hand down on the table with a sharp tak.

"Your energy this year is excellent! Just be careful with water and use it well, and you'll be fine!"

Mom rushed in with a follow-up.

"Water... what kind of water?"

The man deftly dodged any concrete answer, wearing a sly expression as he simply continued without addressing her question.

"Be especially careful with water you encounter during the day. But water you meet after the sun goes down, in the dark — that will bring you very good energy this year. Treat it as the first water of a great fortune and cherish it."

I hid my complete lack of interest in fortune-telling or destiny and muttered inwardly.

Come on, Master. For the money we paid, that phrasing is way too abstract and vague.

But this was a seat our household lady had spent serious money to secure. I couldn't shatter the labor pains of a mother waiting for a good reading.

Even at that cloud-chasing shaman's words, Mom kept clapping like a seal in pure admiration, as if something wonderful had been said.

"Aigoo-ya! As expected! Our master's so spiritually gifted~"

"Come to think of it, our Jinwoo nearly drowned twice when he was little. We must have been in danger because we didn't meet you sooner, Master. Because it was daytime water."

At Mom's excessive praise, the master's shoulders visibly rose.

"Don't worry. He nearly died — that doesn't mean he was fated to die. Not then, and not after."

"My goodness! As expected of a master who's even been on TV — you hit things we never even mentioned. So gifted, truly!"

This man was Master Cheonggwang, the shaman who had placed eighth on Fate Battle — the tournament of shamans that had become the second-most popular show on cable after trot competitions.

A program that mashed together Korea's love of competition with the occult and superstition was never going to flop. Especially among middle-aged viewers, it was packed with the kind of backstory that got people talking. Who in the world doesn't have a story? Depending on how you looked at them, the tales on the show brushed right up against the viewers' own. Layer superstition on top of all those stories, and you got an endless stream of content that made the dopamine explode every episode.

Viewers who dragged out their own unspeakable histories and praised how spiritually accurate it all was collided head-on with viewers who recoiled from superstition. So every YouTube video and community post about the show split into fierce camps of love and hate. But that very divide was solid proof that Fate Battle had a firm grip on the public's attention.

Which was why the Season 1 winner and anyone who'd made it to the semifinals already had years of reservations stacked up — Mom couldn't even get a booking. Still, worried about me and the youngest facing new changes ahead, she made call after call. The day she finally secured a slot with this man — introduced through an acquaintance, the one who'd climbed to eighth place — was a full two months after she'd first dialed.

"Ajumma's fifth child used to have a luckless fate of only giving and never receiving when he was young. But from now on, a great fortune has finally arrived where he'll receive far more than he gives."

Mom's eyes sparkled as if those were exactly the words she'd been waiting for.

She went to church, then to cathedral, then to the temple — I had no idea what her main religion even was, or who she was worshipping. But our mom, who at least didn't seem to be non-religious, was a destiny devotee who unfailingly sought out gifted masters whenever something weighed on her. That was the exact point where she constantly clashed with us six siblings, who believed we could pioneer our own fates and shape them however we wanted.

Don't close the door to your room or the energy won't flow. When you sleep at night, point your head in this direction. Do this if you want to receive good energy. From the eldest to the youngest, Mom chased her kids around with superstitious nagging. And the only child who didn't snap at her when she started in on that stuff was me. I figured it was because the youngest and I still hadn't found our footing in the world, so of course she was anxious and worried.

Even with a tight household budget, Mom casually threw away no small amount of money on a single ambiguous phrase whose interpretation could flip depending on the day. But if hearing what she hoped for from someone else's mouth brought her even a little peace, that was something. Living in a world where science had spread so far, I didn't love that she'd fallen for baseless fortune-telling — but I decided to understand it with as much goodwill as I could. So I just nodded along, pretending to listen intently, careful not to spoil the mood.

"Master, our Jinwoo started a business this year with government support. Will it go well?"

The master's eyes, fan in hand again, suddenly ballooned with white. How did he even do that? A moment later he struck the table once more, and his pupils returned to normal.

From where I sat, this guy could skip Fate Battle entirely and go on What on Earth Is This with his eye-rolling specialty and become a massive hit. He'd win first place there instead of scraping by at eighth.

"If he works very hard~ it will definitely go well~!! But if he doesn't work hard, it won't. So he has to work hard."

I nearly burst out laughing right in his face. He was delivering the most basic common sense everyone already knew with an excessively serious expression. Watching Mom's three hundred thousand won evaporate on something that thin genuinely hurt. She'd telegraphed every hint about what she wanted to hear from the very start. And this sharp-eyed man was just rephrasing the things the lady of the house wanted to hear and nodding along at thirty thousand won an hour.

Maybe that old saying was right — people only hear what they want to hear and see what they want to see.

But without knowing any of what was going on in my head, Mom looked at me with an admiring face and smacked my right forearm while delivering the obvious lecture.

"My goodness! You heard the master clearly, right? This year you have to work reeeally hard. If you've gone around borrowing money from people, you need to get your head on even straighter. And sleep at the proper time, in the proper direction, at night."

Watching Mom waste this expensive opportunity by not even properly listening to the master's answers and just piling more nagging on me instead, a genuine question rose up.

If you become CEO of Space Jet like Alon Merks, do you stop getting nagged by the mother who gave birth to you?

My prediction: Merks's mom would still nag him every day. Even if Merks left for Mars, he'd get scolded over video call. Eat your vegetables evenly. Go to bed on time. Point your head south when you sleep. And honestly, the odds of my prediction being right seemed higher than the odds of Merks actually landing a rocket on Mars.

Before Mom stood up from the fortune house, she asked everything she'd been curious about — and only then put the last question I'd been wondering about to the man.

"Oh, and our handsome Jinwoo — will he meet a good match, a good woman? He's been worrying me since he was little, always ending up with girls who make him suffer."

Mom, please! Forget whether the women make me suffer or not — in your eyes I'm just a cute little baby porcupine...

For the first time, the master didn't roll his eyes. It was an ordinary, serious expression I hadn't seen all day.

"That's something the women who meet him should worry about. Not him."

Mom's eyes went wide.

"Oh my~ what does that mean?"

"This boy's saju is full of the wood element. He's a giant tree with enormous roots already sunk deep."

"When he was young the roots hadn't taken hold yet, so that was one thing. But from his late twenties on, women with little water in their saju need to be careful of him — not the other way around. If they're not careful, the man will suck all the woman's water dry."

Wasn't this supposed to be spirit-channeling? Asking for birth dates like a saju reading had felt a little off. Or maybe it was a fusion of saju and spirit work.

"When roots and water meet, they end up exchanging the nutrients they each need, so both become healthy and happy. Don't worry too much — just spread those roots."

"They're uniquely large, wide, and sturdy roots, so women with plenty of water in their saju will dote on him tremendously."

"As well as he treats women, he'll get it back several times over, and fast."

It was the question I'd been most curious about, so I pricked up my ears — but thanks to recent events, every single word only associated in a filthy direction. Apparently my thought circuits had broken ever since I'd taken Yebin in my arms.

Mom, completely unconcerned with the women's side of things, looked thoroughly refreshed at the news that I was becoming a giant tree whose roots took hold so well. She was a lady full of nagging — but still, that was pure Mom.

"CEO Yun! CEO! Are you okay?"

"Jinwoo-hyung! Snap out of it!"

Now I finally understood what they were saying. The fellow tenants from the center were shouting to bring me around as I lay sprawled on a big rock like waterlogged seaweed.

I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠kept spraying water from my nose and mouth like a broken humidifier while still lying there. I didn't even have the strength to open my mouth wide and spit it out with any force. Still, the fact that my ancestors' faces weren't floating into view suggested I hadn't crossed the river of the afterlife just yet.

The woman who'd been tearing into the rafting guide with a heavy expression came over to my side. She squatted down next to me, tilted my face toward her, and carefully supported the back of my head with her hand.

With her big ass and solid thighs, and plenty of rafting experience, she was wearing something like high-quality short leggings that clung tight to her body for leisure activities. Because she was supporting my head, the valley of her slightly bowed chest and the Y-zone of her lower body came into side view.

Even while spraying water like a broken faucet, my mind wandered. The way you rotate your phone screen this way and that to get a better look at a dirty video you like — I wanted to rotate her body the same way and find ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the best angle. And this limp male water-weed, even in that state, was marveling at the premium elasticity of the thin single layer clinging perfectly around her Y-zone as she squatted.

That plump, symmetrically split place was always right.

Not even ten minutes had passed since I'd thought of Mom's curry rice, believing it might be the end... The sexual desire that had been lit on fire by last week's unexpected slender visitor was replaying itself in front of a completely different woman this week. And I made a firm resolution in my heart.

I am not getting up until I've had my fill of looking at that Y-zone. I'll keep playing hurt.

I was a twenty-something hot-blooded male who still hadn't grown up no matter how much life rolled him around — even in the freezing valley water of a midsummer day.

The woman who'd opened the space of her crotch right in front of me had no idea about this water-weed's filthy gaze. She was only sending me worried looks at the streams of water I kept spraying.

Myeonghun-hyung called in a voice buzzing with excitement.

Friday night I'd been delivering the harness to him, so I hadn't been able to properly clean and wipe down the workshop. Saturday and Sunday I'd spent in a frenzy sweeping and scrubbing Room 19 so no lewd scent would linger — I had zero capacity left to watch any stage video. I'd even gone to Daiso to buy mirrors, towels, and everything else we needed and set them up in the workshop. The whole weekend had vanished into cleaning and organizing instead of actual craft work.

I hadn't even known about the startup center schedule that had come by email. Only because hyung told me did I realize preparation was needed.

He still hadn't told me the stage results, but I could roughly guess from the tone of his voice.

If those thin, slender-bodied idols had cinched the belts even tighter, moving at all shouldn't have been easy. Those women really were ruthless.

You could say 730,000 views that hadn't even cracked a million wasn't that impressive — but among all the previous videos from this mid-tier idol agency, the highest view count had been around 8,000. Not 80,000. Barely 8,000. That was how brutal the idol market was: without a stage that stood out or a song ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that stuck in your ear, you couldn't even get your name known properly. And they'd just beaten those odds and delivered a result nearly a hundred times better than before, from a small agency's perspective.

Myeonghun-hyung answered with a swagger in his voice.

But I knew it, hyung knew it, and anyone living these days knew it. Hate comments were far better than no comments at all. And if those hate comments were attached to a hundred times more views than before, that meant the effect had landed. It was the same effect as the Fate Battle program itself. People cursed it and still watched. Human dopamine worked that way, apparently.

What was there to be sorry about? Helping a hyung who was like a real older brother... and getting paid for it, no less...

Besides, looks like I'm going to get to check out even hotter leather products worn on bare skin again.

It was a milestone moment — the first customer's satisfied reorder had just come in.