Chapter 14
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 14
Chapter Title: Not Failure, But Process
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“Up already?”
Mom's usual morning greeting. I turned my head away as much as possible to avoid looking at her back and replied.
“Yeah. Did you sleep well?”
They say “How are you?” is a greeting in English. In elementary school, they taught us to reply “I'm fine, thank you.”
Locals just use it like “How's it going?” in response to the same.
“Hello” is basically a question too, short for “Are you well?”
This was my habit—rambling nonsense in my head to distract myself.
Back in middle and high school, whenever black history moments or painful memories made me want to kick the blanket off, I'd do this to shift my thoughts.
Yesterday came rushing back.
My face flushed, and my eyelids pounded like my heartbeat.
I covered my still-throbbing left eye with one hand and glanced at the door with my right.
My little sister's room, firmly shut.
A familiar room, but the situation felt utterly alien. Inside was my sister, but the shell belonged to some otherworldly idol girl.
And I was the same in this mess.
Not only caught jerking off by her, but somehow ending up with her giving me a titjob inside my t-shirt, blowing my load right in front of her.
Inside, self-loathing and guilt churned.
But mixed in was the thrill—her looks made it feel so natural, like any guy would. A girl that stunning rubbing my dick with her body felt incredible.
The harmonious family I'd dreamed of since childhood had lasted barely a day before crumbling.
Could we even talk again?
Of course not.
After something like that, she'd probably never want to speak to me.
I let out a heavy sigh and hurried to the bathroom.
“It's bruised.”
I'd have to hit the pharmacy today for an eyepatch. It'd been ages since high school that I'd worn one to hide a bruise.
Strangely, no anger or shame this time.
Deep down, I probably thought I deserved the punch.
Or if she weren't my sister inside, it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience no dream could top. A single punch felt cheap in comparison.
No matter that Han Sihyun had barged into my room, or that she'd slipped on my cum and fallen.
If her looks were like our original world, the second she fell onto my lap...
My dick would've deflated like a balloon losing air.
I knew that, but Han Sihyun had no clue I saw her like a stranger.
To her, it'd been her own brother's cum splattering her. A lifelong trauma.
I was grateful she hadn't snitched to Mom.
I splashed cold water on my stinging eyelid. The sharp pain confirmed yesterday wasn't a dream.
Was I grimacing now? Or smiling?
The corner of my mouth twitched.
“Hello.”
The scent of sun-dried towels and cozy steam. The old man in glasses running the sewing machine was the owner of this laundry.
“Oh, it's been a while.”
I used to be a regular.
Back then, I'd shuttle bread for the school delinquents, drop off uniform pants or skirts here for alterations.
Not just my school—the trendy kids around the neighborhood all tuned up their uniforms here.
For someone like me with no connections to tailors, this place was the best.
“Yeah, long time. I want these pants altered a bit.”
I handed over the two gray pants I used as my uniform.
The old man peered at them and me through his bifocal lenses, then spoke.
“Looks like they fit fine. Why?”
“Ah, well, I'm working sales now, and I want a slimmer fit. Tighten the hips too. And shorten the ankles a touch.”
“Alright. That'll cost a bit. But since it's been ages, twenty thousand each—forty total.”
“C-can I transfer?”
He flipped the triangular calendar with its sticky notes aside, grabbed his tools, pulled up a chair, and came over.
“What're you waiting for? Change.”
“Ah, right.”
I'd read books on sales to get better. There were basics to it.
First: attitude.
Sell yourself before the product.
Top salespeople keep clothes neat. Surprisingly, many aren't handsome—their charm, voice tone, or charisma commands attention.
I had no charisma. Voice was average. Chit-chat? Forget it.
One way to grab eyes and ears: make them notice.
“Damn, that thing's packing.”
I blushed, scratching my nose bridge.
“H-ha, thanks.”
Big dick.
In this world, it definitely had sex appeal.
The bulge like a cucumber in these pants was the bait.
Couldn't cheat with married women, but it might hold the attention of pretty MILFs long enough.
That's why I came to alter the pants.
“Thighs with some room but tight overall, please.”
“What, you think this is a tailor shop?”
Grumbling, he pinned the seams with his tweezers. The fit sharpened right up.
Before, the bulge forced wide pants—no choice.
Wide legs were trendy, but disastrous for looking sharp.
Good call on the alterations.
That area's even more noticeable now.
“Still, looks good. More confident than before.”
Rare praise from the quiet old man.
“Good things happening. Thanks.”
Sales basic two: resilience to rejection. Sales is a game—nine nos for one yes.
Treat rejection as process, not personal.
First time reading that, zero sales, no mental slack. Couldn't see nos as process; I'd crumble, just clean mattresses hard.
[Money's tight every month.]
[I'll talk to my husband.]
Or turning away annoyed, subtle nos.
They didn't sting as much now. Still hurt, sure.
Bearable.
One sale built confidence, hope for more. Now, process.
“Oh my, time flew. Too late? Young man should head home. I held you up.”
“No, I lost track chatting. I'll think on that workout.”
“Right? Seeing you reminds me of my grandson. Men need to eat well, stay sturdy.”
“Yes! I'll eat right. Uh, if possible, perfect satisfaction survey later?”
I bowed deeply.
These grannies weren't app-savvy; most skipped surveys.
“I'll ask my daughter after work. No worries.”
Clean work, polite hustle—rewards like this.
“Here.”
I took the bag, thanked her again.
Worked today, naturally.
Growing used to it—customer got horny, but new pants hid the bulge well.
Altered ones ready tomorrow. Old man prioritized regular, done in a day.
Wanted to test reactions first.
Without strong bait, hard to hook interest.
Married customers found me annoying. Starting convos tough.
Smart move.
Embarrassing to rely on dick outline, humbling reminder.
Still.
I opened the bag.
Snacks and fruit from the granny.
No sale, but politeness scored these.
No sale, but bonds built—pride swelled.
Process getting fun.
Beep, beep, beep, beep.
No TV drone on entering. Only my shoes by the door—Sihyun's varied pairs nowhere.
She was home.
Awkward seeing my face, or hated the sight. Something.
I crossed the silent living room. Quiet amplified the plastic rustle in my hand.
Opened the bag, ditched the empty tea pouch. Awkward limp—not my usual path—to her door, hung the bag gently.
Men need to stay sturdy. Eat something.
Not failure, just tries. Keep trying, she'll accept my apology eventually.