The Fantasy Money Can Buy

Any man has fantasized about it at least once.

Buying a woman with money.

Not the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠concept of shelling out a few hundred thousand won at a massage parlor for some mechanical service — I mean it literally. The ability to do whatever I wanted with a woman's entire being.

No need to tiptoe around her feelings like a couple, no need to grovel just for the chance to get laid. Just a woman who'd let me squeeze her whenever I felt like it and spread her legs whenever I wanted to fuck her.

A relationship where every perverted, obscene fantasy coiled in my head would be taken without a single word of complaint.

Of course, that's absolute nonsense. Humans have at least a minimum of free will, and it can never be stolen from them completely.

And yet, recently — every single night — this goddamn fantasy had been growing deeper and deeper beyond my control.

The cause of it was that bitch sitting there in front of me right now, chin propped on her hands.

"Ugh, seriously, my dad is so fucking disgusting. He came home from the construction site again today stinking of sweat without even washing, and just would not shut up nagging me. Fuck, what's he ever done for me that he gets to run his mouth like that?"

The woman sat with her legs crossed at the window-side table of the convenience store. Long straight black hair spilling down to her waist. Porcelain-white skin. A small, compact face. A cardigan draped over a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠white camisole, and beneath it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠an H-line denim skirt that hugged her hips naturally.

But for all the modest styling, her upturned eyes were thickly soaked in aloofness and arrogance.

Honestly? Unlikable. A delinquent. A punk. That was exactly the impression she gave.

But this much I couldn't deny — she was pretty, and she was young. The first time she'd come into the store, I'd actually mistaken her for a high schooler. When she asked for cigarettes, I demanded ID, and she'd pulled out her resident registration card without a word of protest.

Twenty years old, freshly out of high school. Younger than I'd expected. She had the unfinished quality of a girl not quite ripe yet — and yet she already had the look of a fox who could keep half a dozen men dangling on hooks and bleed them dry.

But what made my blood boil wasn't her face. It was her mouth.

"Other dads buy their daughters a car when they turn twenty, pay for plastic surgery, whatever. My old man crawls around a construction site to scrape together a few hundred bucks and acts like he's doing me a huge favor? Every time I think about the dirt-poor genes I inherited, it makes me want to kill myself. Honestly, maybe I should just find some rich old sugar daddy and sink my teeth into him."

She rolled the two-hundred-won candy stick around in her mouth, sucking on it loudly and giggling. In the quiet predawn convenience store, her vulgar, unfilial phone conversation rang out without shame.

It had started a week ago. That lunatic had wandered in during the small hours, bought a single two-hundred-won candy, and planted herself at the window table. Then she'd spent over two or three hours giggling and yakking into her phone with a friend.

It was only a two-hundred-won piece of candy, but she was still technically a paying customer, so I held my tongue at first. As time wore on, though, the conversation began crossing the line. She trashed a father who sweated from dawn to midnight to provide for her daughter, like he was some gutter trash. She whined about how she should have been born with a Gangnam golden spoon in her mouth — and listening to that self-pity made my blood curdle.

Fine, it was her family business, whatever. But after a few hours of it, there was no way I couldn't get angry. And even before the content, the volume itself pissed me off — her loud voice was already scraping my nerves raw.

Finally, I gave up and approached her, choosing my words as carefully as I could.

"Excuse me, ma'am. It's echoing through the whole store — would you mind taking your call outside?"

She popped the candy stick out of her mouth, looked me up and down like I was a cockroach, and snorted.

"Ha, get real. Sir, am I not a customer? Why are you picking a fight with me?"

"You are a customer, but it's really loud, and frankly, the content of the conversation is unpleasant to hear."

At my honest answer, her eyes went viciously sharp.

"The content is unpleasant? Are you insane? You were eavesdropping on my phone call? That's fucking disgusting, seriously."

For a moment I barely managed to suppress the urge to slap her across the face. Gritting my teeth and swallowing the surging irritation, answering in the most courteous voice I could muster — that was the best I could do.

"There's only the two of us in the store. I can't exactly keep covering my ears. I've been standing here for hours and there's no sign the call is ending. So please, just take it outside."

"Fuck… like some nothing part-timer gets to lecture me."

She spewed out her profanity and sprang up from her seat. Then she shoved the convenience store door open violently, flung it hard enough to make it slam, and stormed out.

Aargh!! That fucking bitch! I cursed inwardly, fuming, and glared at the door she'd vanished through for a long while. My mood was filthy — but at least, I thought, one troublemaker was gone.

That's what I thought, right up until then.

What I didn't know was that hell wouldn't start that day. It would start the next.

The moment I clocked in for my night shift the following day, the manager called me over.

"Hey, Yujin. Did you tell a customer to leave the store yesterday?"

I knew immediately. That lunatic had come in during the day and tattled to the manager. I explained the whole thing, indignant, but the manager just sighed and patted my shoulder.

"A customer is a customer, no matter how awful they are. You're the one who has to put up with it. If a complaint lands at headquarters, it's a headache for everyone."

My mind went white, but I held it in. I was working to earn my readmission tuition after getting discharged from the army. This gold-mine job — great hourly pay, close to home — wasn't something I could give up over one damn woman.

From that day on, backed by the manager's tacit approval, she made a show of clocking into the convenience store every single night. She'd buy her two-hundred-won candy stick, sit in that chair till dawn cursing out her father, and torment me without mercy. Whenever I came near her to mop the floor, she'd lift her chin with exaggerated flourish, smirk, and talk even louder.

I've dealt with every kind of troublemaker there is, but I'd never met anyone so thoroughly steeped in malice.

"Ugh, honestly, I kinda wanna just kill my dad and collect the life insurance~ teehee!"

That revolting voice rang through the store again tonight. Clenching my fist, I silently scrubbed the floor with the wide mop.

I want to kill her. I really want to shut that goddamn mouth of hers, one way or another.

And that was the moment it happened.

Throb—!

A violent headache slammed into me, as if someone were scooping out my brain.

"Ugh…?!"

I staggered, bracing myself on the mop handle. My vision bleached white, and everything in front of my eyes swayed violently. At the groan I let out, the woman at the table paused her phone call and glanced over at me.

"Pfft, what a performance."

She burst out laughing, then went back to chattering into her phone. I was rubbing my fevered eyes, trying to focus—

…What?

In the view that blinked back to life, a hologram was floating. Right beside the woman's head hung a translucent blue window, like a game's status screen.

What the hell is this…?

I sucked in a shaky breath, doubting my own eyes. I figured I was seeing things from exhaustion, and rubbed them hard. But the window didn't vanish — it only glowed brighter, fixed firmly above the woman's head.

As I stared at it blankly, she pulled the phone away from her ear and glared at me with vicious eyes.

"What are you looking at? You've been staring this whole time. Disgusting."

A voice full of thorns. Dazed by the situation, I couldn't say anything and retreated to the counter.

Thud! Thud!

My heart was pounding like crazy. When I looked at her over the register again, a different translucent window unfolded before me.

My breath caught in my throat.

Buying a woman with money, doing whatever I pleased with her. The obscene fantasy I'd been entertaining just moments ago was floating right in front of my eyes, with a price tag attached.

Have I finally lost ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my mind?

I tried to dismiss it as complete nonsense. But my fingers, as if bewitched by something, were already reaching toward one of the menus hanging in the air.

[Groping Breasts (₩20,000) — One-Time Pass]

Beep—.

With an electronic chime, a system notification window popped up.

Bzzzt—.

At the same time, the smartphone in my pocket buzzed with a banking alert.

"……!"

Money had really been pulled out of my bank account. And in that very instant, the woman mid-call flinched and went rigid.

"…Hey… I'm gonna hang up…"

Click.

She stared blankly into the air for a moment, then abruptly ended the call. The insolent glint in her eyes was wiped away in an instant. She rose unsteadily from her chair and — like a puppet dangling from an invisible string — walked slowly toward me at the counter.

Her face, facing mine, began to flush red. That flush spread to the very tips of her ears. In those eyes that had sneered at me like I was vermin, shame and confusion were tangled together. Unable to endure my gaze, she turned her head slightly away, then bit down hard on her trembling lip.

After a long hesitation, she slowly raised both hands and cupped her breasts. Then, as if offering them up to me, she thrust them forward.

Caught off guard by the abrupt action, I swallowed dryly.

"What… no, what are you doing?"

Then she squeezed the words out in a voice barely above a whisper, as if wringing them from her throat.

"H-hurry…"

"Sorry?"

She jerked her burning face up. Tears were welling in the corners of her eyes, ready to spill at any moment. After struggling for what felt like an eternity, she finally forced the words out in a shaking voice:

"A-aren't you gonna grope my chest…?! You paid for it…! So hurry up and touch me already, you perverted bastard…!"

At her trembling voice, I understood. Everything I'd just seen hadn't been an illusion, or a delusion. The woman standing before me was proving, with her own body, that it was all real.