Chapter 109
Chapter 109
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 109
Chapter Title: Find a Woman to Take the Knife for Me
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Find a woman who'll take a stab for me instead.
Flaws like a 'loose pussy' meant nothing in the face of her godlike technique.
If anything, the way she freely adjusted that looseness to suck every last bit out of me made her nothing short of a juicer.
Thanks to her, I came three times in a row, lost in the haze.
With that final ejaculation, every ounce of strength drained from my body like a lie.
I collapsed right on top of her back as she lay face-down on the bed.
My eyes were open, but I couldn't see a thing.
The whole world was yellow.
A high-pitched 'beep' rang in my ears, and my heart pounded wildly like it was about to burst.
In that hazy, melting exhaustion, I stared blankly at the ceiling—only to see Chaewon in some bizarre new position.
She had two pillows under her waist, hips thrust skyward in this weird, upward-tilted pose.
I barely managed to squeeze out a voice.
"......What the hell are you doing?"
"This way, nothing leaks out."
Ah.....
Seeing her dead-serious, obsessive pose—not tolerating even a single drop of cum leaking out—cold sweat trickled down my back for some reason.
Fuck, what if...
What if some twist like me being a 'seedless watermelon' came up...
Wouldn't she straight-up murder me?
I wanted to call her out on that ridiculous, resolute stance, but I didn't have the energy.
Even in the grip of Post-Nut Clarity, my balls felt scraped clean, leaving me in a daze.
In that stupor, my biggest worry tumbled out unfiltered.
"Chaewon, you know... any girls who are fucking beasts in a fight?"
I threw the question with a sliver of hope, picturing her past: that tough-as-nails delinquent vibe, like she'd shaken down kids back in school.
Sure enough, from her pillow-propped position, Chaewon dropped a cool-as-ice answer I hadn't even dared expect.
"A girl who's good in a fight? Yeah, know one."
"...You do?"
"Yeah."
My mind snapped alert. I propped myself up.
"Your idea of 'good in a fight' isn't just catfights where girls yank each other's hair, right?"
"Hm... probably not."
".....Give me details."
At my urging, Chaewon—who'd seemed to cut all ties to her past after moving to Paju—made a thoughtful face.
She scanned me up and down with suspicious eyes.
"You didn't develop some weird fetish or anything, did you?"
"Nah, no way. Dead serious, not a gram of ulterior motive. Purely business."
I put on my most earnest expression.
At my answer, she seemed to make up her mind and slowly opened her mouth.
"Back when I was doing helper gigs... knew this unnie. Not a helper herself. She drove our car, handled drunk asshole customers..."
"Helper days? Then Han Yura would know her too?"
I remembered how Chaewon and Yura had met working karaoke helpers at 20. She shook her head.
"Nah, Yura was from a different agency, probably doesn't know. We just got close 'cause we ended up in the same rooms a lot."
"Hmm... okay? Anyway, weird. A woman doing manager duty like that?"
"Yeah."
"So you saw her scrapping with assholes firsthand?"
"Nah, what kinda manager fights customers directly."
"Then?"
"Just... on her face..."
Chaewon traced a long diagonal from the left end of her forehead to her right jawline with her finger.
"...huge knife scar across her face."
"......Just a scar? What, like a comic book character? A knife slash on her face? On a woman?"
At my skeptical question, she scooted closer, lowering her voice.
"No, listen. This unnie's a defector from the North."
"So?"
"Heard secondhand... she was from some special forces unit up there."
'Defector' and 'special forces'.
The sheer unreal weight of those words made me scoff in disbelief.
"Pfft, just rumors, right? Not a movie—ex-special agent running karaoke ops? Zero plausibility."
Chaewon just shrugged. No push to convince me.
"Dunno. But our agency boss was ex-gangster types? He shut up around her."
"Hmm......"
Her last words killed my scoffing.
Ex-gangster boss cowering before her. That's no idle gossip.
A soldier from the North...
Having served myself, I knew better.
Those special forces trainings up there are brutal.
South Korea's special forces at least pretend at 'human rights,'
but up North, they say they grind recruits so hard people die in training and it's just 'oh, another one gone?'
Tsk....
Sounds like back-alley bullshit.
Too unreal.
But with Park Sojin crashing into my world, reality's already skewed. No harm checking her out myself.
"You still in touch?"
At my hopeful ask, she shook her head firmly.
"Nah, cut all old contacts."
"Ah......"
Disappointment flashed, but she continued.
"Still, easy to find."
"How?"
"Remember that eat-street alley by the main road in our old Siheung neighborhood?"
"Yeah."
I nodded.
The spot where Han Yura and I first touched big money, barged into a grill house clueless, then bolted at the 125,000-won-per-serving Hanwoo prices. Laughable now.
"There's a basement joint called 'Bangbang Karaoke.' She supplies helpers there fixed, so check there."
'Bangbang Karaoke.'
I etched it in my mind. Then one last question to Chaewon.
"So, hit the karaoke, call a helper, ask for her?"
"Yeah, but..."
"But?"
She stared me dead in the eye, voice businesslike and dead serious.
"If it goes to round two, condom mandatory."
"...Huh?"
My brain blanked.
Never imagined that from the woman devoting her body to this 'impregnation project.'
Ignoring my shock, she pressed on.
"Catch something like an STD and bring it here? I'll really bite your dick off."
"...Excuse me? Why assume I'll call a helper and go all the way to round two?"
I shot back, indignant and half-baffled.
She looked at me like explaining the obvious, murmuring low.
"'Cause you're Kim Cheolsu?"
That shut down every rebuttal.
Next morning, I woke beside Chaewon, still in her obsessive pose.
True to form, eyes open and bam—'fertile window' excuse for a fresh morning load.
Headed to the office, but nothing to do.
'Money printing' paused, left with blank monitors and auto-hunt games.
Killed time sorting game items, then stood.
Time to hunt.
Thought of dragging Choi Yang or Yura, but Yura's busy babying Bluesky Games' nerd trio, Choi Yang tied up with the PI firm I tasked.
Solo again.
Grabbed car keys, headed to underground parking.
Left flashy Paju, cruised familiar roads to Siheung.
Shiny new builds fading to worn, shabby ones.
Like rewinding time to the past I fled.
Soon, car pulled up at that eat-street alley entrance from memory.
Han Yura and my first big score, clueless grill house bolt from insane Hanwoo prices. Smiling memory now.
Parked my flashy ride at the alley's edge—totally out of place in this dump.
Eyes on the worn building's basement.
[Bangbang Karaoke]
That tacky sign seemed to mock me.
Each step down the stairs sharpened the nose-stinging smell.
Damp basement mold, cheap air freshener, faint stale smokes.
The familiar stench of this rundown karaoke where girls on laps is par.
Early evening hush.
Tossed bills at the 50s madam at the counter.
"One room, basic snacks. And send in a girl."
She took the cash stone-faced, led me to a room.
Slumped on sticky sofa, chugged canned beer straight.
Bored, punched random songs, belted one out. Door finally opened—first helper.
Three-second face scan: grimace.
'Yeah, fuck. Doing helper work with that mug?'
"Pass."
At my icy word, she muttered "fucking prick..." and stormed out pissy.
Minutes later, a shy new 'auntie' peeked in.
"Pass!"
My yell startled her out the door.
Third one in: finally passable.
Before her greeting, I chin-jerked the ashtray.
"Room fuck, how much?"
".........."
No hello, straight to price: she eyed me top to bottom.
Lux watch and suit once, my urgent eyes once.
Done judging, exhaled long smoke drag, drawled the rate.
"Damn, desperate? No-condom, 30 bills. Cool?"
"Cool."
No hesitation.
How to summon karaoke 'manager'? Easy.
Try fucking the helper in-room or pull other shit, manager crawls in on duty.
I'd gladly be that shithead.
Plan as scripted: laid her on the table, dick out.
Pro hand from her bag: lubed her pussy sloppily.
"No STDs or anything, right?"
"Scared? Wear a rubber then."
Snapped back curt.
Face meh, body meh.
Rubber with this? Dick'd go limp midway.
'Antibiotics later, whatever.'
Shoved in thinking that. Mechanically thrust, lit cig from pocket.
Squelch, squelch... creak, creak...
No thrill, pure utility.
Glanced at her face absently.
Dick pounding or not, eyes glued to her phone beside, puffing cig.
What is it... familiar scene.
Han Yura.
Early Yura fucks flashed: dutiful legs spread, bored phone stare, icy bitch face.
Overlapped perfect with this chick.
Looks infinitely downgrade, but...
Dead senses revived, hot blood rushed south.
Grinned sleazy, ramped hip speed.
...
..
.
Managed a bland-pussy climax somehow. Post-Nut Clarity hit right on cue.
Prior Yura-fueled forced hype gone; cold reason ruled my head.
Lounged on sofa; nameless helper yanked wet wipes pack from drawer routine.
Wiped my leaking cum from her table-draped pussy nonchalant, handed fresh wipe.
All as mechanical as a waitress clearing plates.
I wiped hands half-assed, grumbled.
"Hey... fucked in-room and all... where's your manager?"
She cocked head like 'what's weird?'
"Our manager doesn't touch that shit much."
"Hmm, right?"
Damn, plan fucked. Switch tactics.
"She a woman? Defector?"
My specifics narrowed her eyes wary.
"Dunno? Accent kinda... Chosun-jok-ish. Defector? Maybe. But... why?"
Grinned, flicked two 50s from wallet onto table.
Her gaze locked on cash.
"Tip."
"......."
"Just call your manager. Got words."
Fingered table tap-tap.
"Oh, tell her: customer 'insists' on seeing her. One step from 'asshole mode.'"
Cash and threat.
Her wary face melted to business smile.
Snatched the hundred grand quick, bowed polite.
"Yes, sir. One moment."
Leaned back, fresh cig lit.
Tip-grabbed helper's back long forgotten.
Post-fuck clarity with intense traces.
Head clearer than ever.
Waited quiet for the final boss.
Soon, door slid silent.
The woman slipping in stopped my breath.
Huge frame.
Taller than most guys by a head—easily over 180cm.
Cropped sport cut hid none of her sharp facial lines.
Beauty-face for sure, but overwhelmed: her piercing eyes and that single slash across.
Left forehead to right jaw, like sword-slashed—long, deep knife scar.
Tacky mirror-ball lights traced its grooves grotesque.
She scanned the room.
Table booze, snacks, me. Animal eyes, zero emotion.
In clarity's grip, I prepped to greet the final boss casual.
Finally, she spoke to me.
Words like flying blades, rough strong North accent.
"Customer."
She called me that, continued.
"Enjoyed here? Pay up proper, yeah?"
"......?"
Pay? What pay?
Helper room-fuck and tip went to her already.
Clueless daze.
Then it hit: words to the helper earlier.
'Asshole alert,' summon manager.
Ah... fuck.
She must've reported to her boss: 'room-fuck dude stiffed on pay.'
No wonder her eyes saw not 'fat-cat investor' but 'dirty freeloader.'
This absurd mess: laugh or cry? No clue.