The Gold Standard of Risk Management...?
“Gahk, cough!”
A cough burst out of me. Water must’ve gone down the wrong pipe. The monitor and keyboard were flooded, but I couldn’t even think about wiping them off. My eyes were glued to the notification window.
I rubbed my eyes. Reading it again didn’t change a thing.
“……”
Dizziness hit me. My predictions had gone completely off the rails. I’d expected tears. Hurt feelings. At least some anger. That was the sweet gyaru type who was kind to otakus in my delusions. But this girl? Far from sad—she’d lit a fire under her own taboo thrill.
Yeom Hana…
Risk management. Think it’s possible? It couldn’t be failing right out of the gate. What the hell was I supposed to do with this flame-haired guitarist disaster?
…………
It’d been a day full of words and worries, but work was finally done.
Anyway. Why do office workers show up? Obviously to leave on time.
6 p.m. sharp—the clock hit quitting time, and I shot up from my chair like it had springs attached.
Of course, I ignored Yeom Hana’s after-work motel invite. Not quite read-and-ghosted, but a wry chuckle and scroll past. Accepting that would make me less man, more beast. And even beasts don’t mate every damn day.
In my current state, hanging with Yeom Hana was an extremely risky move. With Lee Jin-ah’s eyes wide open watching.
And that wasn’t all. My HP as a man had long dipped below zero into the negatives. Living on credit, basically.
What I needed now was rest. Seriously. No energy, stamina, or libido left for women.
Meanwhile, Lee Jin-ah. After that lounge romp this morning and publicly declaring us a couple…
She didn’t push for after-work plans, pry about where I was going, or mess with my schedule.
“Good work today, sunbae. See you tomorrow.”
She gave her usual bright greeting. Even checked my complexion, urged me to head home and rest, gave my back a gentle shove.
“…Yeah. See you.”
Truly grateful. Maybe from years watching me, she knew my limits—where I could handle it, where I’d snap or bail. That threshold.
Push-pull mastery. Squeeze till you’re gasping, then loosen just before blackout.
Ironically, that consideration was one reason I’d accepted our relationship.
This morning’s necktie stranglehold made her a terrifying villainess. But looking back, her demands weren’t unreasonable or humiliating. We’d flirted, slept together—weren’t we dating? Confirm it, announce it, clear up any girlfriend(? ) doubts with SNS pics and profile changes. That’s it. Not daily meetups, weekend dates, or phone checks.
Yeah. No coercion, no threats. I’d chosen this. Our bond was more strategic alliance.
…Though she did “ask” while choking me with my tie.
Call it intense skinship. Yeah, self-rationalized.
“Ahem.”
I cleared my throat—who knows for whose benefit—and grabbed my bag.
Anxiety lingered in my chest. Risk management. Bundling three variables into one grand strategy. And I knew it was creaking from the start.
Yeom Hana wasn’t pulling away—she was clinging harder.
Han Sol… no reaction yet.
Her silence is scarier.
No calm before the storm, right?
Shuffling toward the subway, my pocket buzzed.
Vrrr—
“Gah.”
I flinched involuntarily. Yeom Hana? Or Lee Jin-ah changing her mind?
Tense, I pulled out my phone. The name on the screen wasn’t either.
It was the one I’d been dreading most.
I swallowed dryly. Here it comes.
Deep breath.
She’d seen it. The Facespacegram, the profile.
Han Sol’s a streamer. No way she skips SNS. She follows her dad’s account, obviously.
Girlfriend alert. Straight to “coming home.”
Anxiety flooded my throat. Abandonment threats. Self-harm blackmail. Weekend flashbacks swirled.
No way she’s flipping out again?
Nah. She’s an adult. No way she’d pull a knife over Dad dating.
And we’d promised. You’re my daughter; I won’t abandon you. Proof? We crossed that line.
That promise holds. Divorced dad finding a partner doesn’t mean ditching his daughter.
Stay calm, me.
Read it again.
How normal, polite. No emotional spikes, no typos. Just me overreacting.
Definitely.
Forcing calm, I replied.
Her usual tone. Tension drained from my shoulders.
She’s taking it calmly.
Hope circuits fired up. Han Sol’s no kid. She knows logically Dad can’t stay widowed forever.
Adult acceptance of Dad’s dating.
The profile and pics might’ve shocked her. But she swallowed it, checked in normally, suggested dinner.
Maybe this resets us to normal father-daughter.
Redraw that line from the weekend taboo. One-night mistake, back to basics. Father is father, daughter is daughter.
Pocketing the phone, my steps lightened down the subway stairs.
…………
Home. Door open—darkness poured out. Lights off. Han Sol not here yet?
“Sol-ah?”
No answer. Slipping off shoes, about to step in—faint light flickered from the room’s corner. Phone screen glow.
A silhouette against the living room wall. Pale light shining up from below… blue twintails.
Han Sol. Waiting in the dark, alone.
Hmm…
Super ominous.
Reached for the switch. Click. Cheap fluorescent buzzed to life.
“Sol-ah. What’re you doing in the dark?”
Her face under the light—brows furrowed. Eyes red-rimmed, dark circles. Exhausted. Busy streaming schedule, probably.
Popular streamer life ain’t easy on stamina.
“You’re early.”
“…Yeah.”
She peeled off the wall, approached.
“Congrats, Dad?”
“Hm?”
“Got a girlfriend, huh?”
Her “congrats” was too flat for celebration. Like outdated TTS. Ancient robot voice.
“That woman you introduced last time? Lee Jin-ah-ssi.”
“…Yeah.”
She held out her phone. Screen: beaming Lee Jin-ah, me looking away.
“She’s pretty. Great pic.”
Praise or sarcasm? Unclear.
I squeezed my eyes shut, then open. No dodging. Fudging it now would tangle worse.
“It just happened. Like you said, my coworker from before.”
“…”
“Working together, clicked. Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
Tense, gauging her. What if she hurls the phone, screams her rage?
Thankfully, just a nod.
“Yeah, congrats, Dad.”
That was it. No grilling, tears, outbursts. Calm acceptance.
…Phew. Good.
Sigh of relief. My girl. Handling it maturely. I worried needlessly.
Weekend was a one-off mistake, now past.
Tension gone, hunger hit.
“Order food? What sounds good? Pizza? Chicken?”
Hung my coat, asked.
“Anything’s fine for me.”
“Heh.”
“Anything”—toughest order. Perched on the bed, opened delivery app.
Then Han Sol scooted right up beside me. Too close for adult man and woman. Barely-not-touching distance—I twitched but kept scrolling.
“But Dad.”
Her voice whispered right in my ear.
“Can I ask one thing?”
“What? Got a craving after all?”
“No. With Jin-ah-ssi too…”
Her lips moved slow, voice oddly husky.
“…you did the same stuff as with me?”
Scrolling finger froze mid-air. Before I could parse intent—
“Did you hold Jin-ah-ssi tight like you did me? Sweaty? Till she couldn’t breathe?”
“…Sol-ah.”
“Answer me, Dad.”
She grabbed my hand, wedged it between her breasts.
“………!!”
Eerily warm, soft. Bra-muffled bounce, heartbeat’s subtle throb. Flesh of a woman with desire. Wrapping my hand.
“Was I better, or Jin-ah-ssi?”
Han Sol whispered.
“…What’re you saying.”
Tried to laugh it off. But no laugh came.