Chapter 13
Chapter 13
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 13
Chapter Title: Dirt-Poor College Student Han Yura
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Creak... creak...
In my cramped one-room apartment in Siheung City, Gyeonggi Province, a rhythmic yet lewd friction echoed from the rickety old bed.
Beyond the sight of my cock sliding in and out of Yura's naturally tight white pussy, slick with her juices.
Yura was scrolling on her smartphone with one hand while smoking a cigarette with the other.
Like she was lounging on the living room couch watching TV, she treated our fuck like nothing more than background noise, her face the picture of utter boredom and comfort.
Despite the absurdity, I decided to savor the moment as best I could.
Slowly, gently.
I relished the raw feel of her pussy without a condom.
With every thrust, her modest breasts swayed softly—out of place on her slender frame—and her flawless white lower belly twitched faintly, proof she was feeling it.
Yura's body was definitely responding.
I pushed in a little deeper.
Finally glancing up from her phone, she exhaled a long plume of smoke lazily and spoke.
Her voice was flat as a GPS announcement, devoid of emotion.
"Ah, right there. That's the spot that gets me. Remember it."
"You fucking bitch, can't you stop messing around during sex for once?"
She merely flicked her eyes at me in response to my irritated grumble.
"What do you want me to do about it? But what's with you going so damn gentle today? You usually pound away hard and fast to finish quick."
"...Wanna savor this no-con pussy a bit longer?"
At my honest reply, she stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray and said,
"You're insane. I'll let you go again later, so just wrap it up. I'm hungry now."
"Nah, can't do more. This is our fourth round today already. I've got no cum left."
I grumbled, feeling wronged. She looked at me with utter pity.
"Who told you to go that many rounds?"
No sooner had she spoken than I felt my dick start to soften inside her.
Yura noticed too, furrowing her brow as she said,
"Sigh, I'll let you do it again on a safe day next time, so stop. This limp dick feel is pissing me off."
With that, she nudged my hip away with her foot.
I slipped out of her limply.
It was the end of a brutally dry fuck—no climax, no afterglow.
I slumped on the bed, rubbing my sore back with a sigh.
"Whew, five times a day is pushing it."
She stared at me like I was ridiculous.
"Maybe you're just a weak-ass in stamina? How do you go limp fucking me?"
"What? Blame your loose pussy, not me."
I spat out the pettiest excuse a guy could muster without thinking.
I braced for her to call me a "fucking asshole" again.
But her reaction threw me completely. Her eyes wavered, hurt for a split second.
"...For real?"
"Huh?"
"Am I... loose?"
Her voice was tiny, trembling with anxiety.
I panicked. This girl who shrugged off curses and threats was shaken by that?
"...You're worried about that right now?"
"Yeah. Guys obsess over dick size; girls care about tits and tightness too."
"No shit?"
"We're people too. What's the difference?"
Her frankness left me speechless for a moment.
I stupidly blurted out a dumb fantasy.
"Fuck, imagining girls comparing 'mine squeezes this tight' is hilarious."
"You're deranged. Who says it outright? It's subtle. You guys get us hard then compare sizes to brag, right?"
Her sharp comeback shut me up.
"...Tch, kinda weird, yeah. But I'm starving for real. Ramen?"
To break the awkwardness, I brought up food again.
She shook her head, a faint smile on her lips.
"Let's go out. I made bank today. Splurge on something nice, yeah?"
For the first time, she suggested doing something together that wasn't work or sex—just a normal meal.
I stared blankly before nodding.
We dressed side by side.
In the awkward silence, I recalled her naked body intertwined with mine moments ago.
But she already looked unfazed, pondering our next stop.
Stepping out, the night streets of the villa complex greeted us in darkness.
Streetlights dotted the path sparsely, a cat's yowl shattering the quiet somewhere.
"Nice and cool now that it's night."
"Yeah."
I tossed out a casual line; she replied curtly.
We walked the night streets in silence, like old friends.
Our meets were always confined—old academy bathroom or my tiny room—with clear purposes.
Just strolling together felt oddly novel.
Then, the ramen scent from a corner street food joint hit us.
A memory sparked; I chuckled and nudged her.
"Hey, remember that?"
"What?"
"Back at the academy bathroom handjob. I suggested ramen and kimbap, and you shot me down hard like a pumpkin."
She gawked at me, incredulous.
"Dude, that was on you being crazy. Suggesting dinner after a quick handjob? Who's the weirdo?"
"Was it?"
"Hell yeah. And ramen with kimbap? For real?"
She sneered at the combo itself.
"Ramen and kimbap's tasty though."
"Normally, inviting a girl for ramen and kimbap screams psycho, idiot."
"Bullshit, when did I ever hit on you?"
She stopped, eyeing me at my earnest denial.
"You didn't?"
"Nope?"
"Then why suggest food?"
Her eyes held genuine curiosity.
I shrugged, stating the obvious.
"'Cause I was hungry. Just said it."
"Whoa."
She looked genuinely shocked.
Thinking her weird, I shot back,
"Why'd you assume that?"
She hesitated, sighed, and resumed walking.
"Happens sometimes. Losers come for handjobs, try pathetic pickup lines."
"Super depressing dudes?"
"And you're the worst of 'em?"
I burst out laughing at her final jab.
Maybe she was right—I might be the biggest loser.
To change topics, I asked practically,
"...So, where we eating?"
"Hm... Hanwoo beef?"
Her pricey pick surprised me.
Was there a place like that around here?
Thinking she was treating after her big win, I hyped up.
"Whoa, Han Yura's got balls."
"Shut up, psycho. Obviously you're paying."
My hopes shattered instantly.
"...For real?"
"Who else? Should a hot girl with a killer body like me pay?"
She stated it like universal truth, dead serious.
I was floored, blurting,
"You fucking kimchi bitch?"
"Yup."
No hesitation, no shame—she owned it.
Her boldness left me speechless.
"Damn, you're cool as fuck..."
I muttered in defeat. Sensing victory, she hit me with cutesy tone I'd never heard.
"So, you gonna buy Yura some hanwoo or what?"
Her self-cutesy name-drop made my skin crawl.
I recoiled, yelling,
"Don't go ghost-mode cute; makes me wanna punch your solar plexus."
Bickering ensued.
We bantered like typical 23-year-old peers down the dark streets.
Soon, we hit the brightly lit restaurant strip, leaving the familiar villas behind.
Fine, whatever. Tens of millions earned—hanwoo ain't shit.
I psyched myself up, striding boldly to the heavy glass door of the swanky "Premium Hanwoo 1++ Specialist."
Behind me, Yura's satisfaction at finally eating fancy wafted.
I flung the door open with fake swagger.
Lux interiors, soft lighting, savory meat aroma in the air.
All alien to me, another world.
As the staff led us to a table, I squared my shoulders, kept the bravado walk to hide my nerves.
Seated, I confidently flipped open the thick leather menu.
Yura leaned in close, peering with me.
Then, we saw it.
[Prime Tenderloin (130g) ... 128,000 won]
[Premium Flower Sirloin (130g) ... 115,000 won]
Our eyes locked on those insane prices.
Our confidence, swagger, her boldness, excitement—all vaporized.
We met each other's gaze in sync.
Reading the same thought:
Fuck, this is too much, right?
We spoke at once, voices overlapping perfectly like decals.
"...Wanna go somewhere else?"
"...Let's bail."
With that, our pretenses crumbled.
My brain converted those numbers to labor value we grasped.
128k per serving.
Two full days breaking my back unloading parcels at the warehouse.
For Yura, jerking off endless losers till her arm snapped.
That overwhelming price crushed our enthusiasm into the dirt.
Tens of millions profit?
Just game money—powerless against this real price tag.
We'd made money but never learned to spend it; dirt-poor to the bone.
I exchanged looks with Yura.
She thought the same.
We awkwardly closed the menu.
Eying the waiting server's glance, we mustered the dumbest excuse nonchalantly.
"Sorry, sudden... urgent call came up. Gotta come back next time."
The server nodded with that knowing look.
We bolted from the fancy joint.
Outside, cool night air hit us; we stood silent a beat.
Yura broke it first.
"Fuck, thought I'd die of shame."
I let out the laugh I'd held.
"Who suggested hanwoo?"
"Shut it, fucker."
We blamed each other, wandering the dim strip aimlessly.
Our gaze on signs now far humbler.
We settled on Korea's soul food, the dirt-poor eternal buddy: frozen samgyeopsal.
"8,900 won per serving"—prices so comfy, our vibes loosened up.
We grabbed a worn, noisy corner table.
Sizzle—the thin pork belly danced on the grill merrily.
Yura downed her cold beer in one go, letting out a hearty "Kkuh" like an old man.
Flipping meat, she spoke first.
"But our seed money's huge now. Gonna keep scalping for those 1% gains? That's decent money."
Her question felt like true business partner talk.
Hm... fair point... I shook my head, picking well-cooked pork.
"Theory-wise, yeah. But that's ant-level shit for us."
I launched into "expert cosplay" again—like at the hanwoo fail.
This time, my real turf.
I explained scalping limits viscerally, simply for her.
"Think about it. You try selling one apple at market—fair price, done. But load a 10-ton truck full and demand instant buyout? No one's taking that. You slash prices, dump at loss."
I caught my breath.
"Coins same. We scalp low-volume shitcoins with our cash? Sell order hits, volume can't handle—price tanks. Limit orders fail big time. That's 'slippage'... Anyway, scalping's for pocket change. Big rolls? We gotta whale it."
I poured all my knowledge out.
She paused mid-flip, pondering.
Then nodded, getting it.
"Ah... makes sense. Gotta hunt another NBLS then."
Her eyes sparkled like a jackpot dreamer's.
I bittersweetly smiled at that gleam.
"Kinda... but..."
I didn't wanna douse her hope, but reality called.
I explained kindly, brutally real, eyes locked.
"Yura, that's like picking a lotto first-prize ticket daily off the street."
Question mark on her face.
"Finding NBLS was pure 'post-nut clarity.' Normal me? Zero chance spotting it in that chart sea. Dozens of indicators aligning perfect—like textbook but rarer. Maybe once or twice a year."
Flipping pork, I continued.
"Even perfect analysis— if that 'MegaQuant' asshole didn't post his rec right then? We'd be bagholding months, years. Worst, accumulators abandon ship."
Finally, the clincher.
"Key: Knowing all that, I all-inned 'cause I wasn't sane. Normal folks? Too scared. Even normal me wouldn't."
Her sparkle died completely.
She toyed with her shot glass, ignoring the tasty pork.
"So NBLS was... a miracle. Not some repeatable biz model."
My last words sank heavy amid the din.
Our jackpot saga? Maybe one night's dream, plated with sizzling pork before us.
Yura went quiet awhile.
Just pouring clear soju, slamming shots.
No more gleam—just cold businesswoman facing facts.
"Hm..."
She set her glass down, speaking at last.
"What's our total seed money?"
Asset check for next venture.
I tallied mentally.
"Settled up: My share—principal, profit cut, 10% success fee—about 34.1 million won."
Casual on mine, then hers.
"Your share—principal plus profit—about 53.8 million."
Chopsticking kimchi on grill, final total.
"All in together? Manageable seed around 87.9 million won."
87.9 million.
The sum that humbled us at hanwoo.
Now fully ours, right here.
She nodded quietly, eyes deep, weighing it.
After thought, she decided.
Her tone heavier than the 14.62 mil deal—real weight.
"First, pull 30 mil for me, yeah?"
Like, why even ask, obvious withdrawal—hint of annoyance.
I recalced quick.
"Then total seed 57.9 mil. Your cut 23.8 mil."
She nodded.
Then, genuinely curious, serious Q.
"Dunno much, but coin market's trillions... Our seed's invisible there, right?"
Her Q nailed the core—shockingly sharp.
I smirked, flipping pork.
"Fair, but people's misconception..."
Visceral, kind explanation again.
"Picture coin market as ocean. Those trillions? Total water volume. Huge. But key?"
Filling shot.
"Real swimmers with 10 mil+ proper? Rare. Most dabble tens, hundreds k—get rekt, quit, repeat. Online braggarts? Full of shit."
Straight eye contact.
"We got 57.9 mil. Top percentile here—huge. No need whole ocean. Find our pond to splash in."
"Pond?"
"NBLS pre-pump? Daily volume mere billions. Our 57.9 mil there? No pebble—that's a boulder flipping it. Why we can't scalp big—our sell wrecks price."
Pouring her shot, conclusion.
"We're no ants now. Not whales. Rat pups maybe. Big enough to ping whales' radar, snag traps."
She downed my pour wordlessly.
Seeing her, time for the root, cruelest truth.
I leaned in, voice low.
"And Yura, know this."
"..."
"Coins? Zero-sum game base. Our 87 mil win means someone lost exactly 87 mil somewhere."
Pointed sizzling pork.
"Bottom-fishing NBLS? Panic sellers chucked it to us. Our pump sell? Euphoria buyers caught it. We profit, someone bleeds out. That's the only rule."
Her face hardened.
I laid out food chain realness, our spot.
"Bottom: Ants like us—trade emotions, chase news, lose. Whale chow. Top: Whales make waves, news, devour all."
Drained shot, defined us.
"Middle: Us now. Too small for whale, too big for naive ant loss. Awkwardest, riskiest spot."
Straight eyes.
"We're rats now. Cling whale tails, snatch crumbs, flee full tilt one sec before eaten. That's our gig ahead."
Noise faded post-explain.
She stared silent.
No cash thrill left.
Instead, accomplice chill—grasping this jungle's brutality.
We sipped shots wordless. Sizzle grease filled awkward quiet.
Then Yura's out-of-left-field line.
"Dude, I must be crazy."
She muttered blankly at nothing.
Thinking my words too heavy, I worried,
"What's sudden...?"
She turned slow, eyes softer—booze maybe.
Then, life's most baffling words.
"You look fucking sexy all sudden. Wanna fuck bad."
"......"
Brain freeze.
This girl who eyed me like vermin, ready to boot my balls—now I'm sexy?
"......You nuts?"
I queried her sanity for real.
She cocked head, confused herself.
"Drunk?"
"Yeah, probably. Stop now."
I yanked her shot my way reflexively.
Scared she'd lost it.