Chapter 188
Chapter 188
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 188
Chapter Title: A Flower Blooms on the Ashes
-----------------------------------------------------------------
I silently watched the receding taillights of the car pulling away from the second-floor terrace.
'That fucking bitch, leaving without even saying goodbye?'
Who the hell did she take after to end up with such a twisted personality?
With a face that's already fucked up beyond repair, at least her attitude should be decent if she wants to get married someday, right?
Fucking hell, what the fuck does she think gives her the right to act like that?
What? Fuck... if I take this money, my mom's gonna cry?
The words that bitch had spat out in the study just moments ago echoed in my ears.
'Is your fucking head a unicorn flower field or some shit? Turning down money?'
I grumbled under my breath, inwardly grinding my teeth at that fucking 'little sister' Go Yu-na, then stood up like she wasn't even worth another thought.
I got dressed and headed to work.
As I drove to the company, I finally regained my composure.
You fucking bullshit, Cheon Myeong-hwan, you piece-of-shit old geezer.
Daring to pull that 'family' card on me?
Now it was clear as day—this was that old bastard Cheon Myeong-hwan's scheme.
Throwing 'family' at me, the one emotion I handle the worst, to tie down my attention and resources here.
'Ha, fuck. What shady deal is that old fuck cooking up with the Blue House?'
Post-Nut Clarity isn't omnipotent.
It can't pick up whispers between politicians and businessmen getting their dicks wet in private rooms like some bugging device.
My brain just crunches all the info I've gathered so far and spits out the most probable 'scenarios' Cheon Myeong-hwan might pull, ranked by likelihood.
Gripping the wheel, I closed my eyes and ran simulations in my head.
Scenario 1: The classic, surefire play. Not just Blue Sky, but every human connection tied to me gets raked over by the prosecutors. Make it a pain in the ass. (Probability: 75%)
Scenario 2: Pressure through the Financial Services Commission. Try to pin my 'algorithm' as market manipulation. Lethal if it sticks, but near impossible to prove. (Probability: 20%)
Scenario 3: Direct prosecution investigation. Only possible with the president's nod—the worst-case nightmare. Raids, travel bans, asset freezes. Basically a death sentence. (Probability: 2%)
Either way, it'd be a hassle.
I opened my eyes.
Before I knew it, the car had pulled up in front of the Blue Sky Investment building.
As Lee Soo-hee opened the car door, I stepped out and entered Blue Sky, where the employees Han Yura had scooped up from universities greeted me.
Every single one of them with eyes dripping greed.
To my young warhorses—dropouts from top universities now pulling eight-figure salaries—I barked a short order.
"From now on, buy up every stock of the subcontractors dealing with Taesung."
At my command, they sat without a word and hammered the keyboards like maniacs.
Glancing at them sidelong as I headed to the CEO office, I threw open Han Yura's door without knocking.
"Leak a scandal on Park Sun-woo and that actress."
"...There's nothing to leak."
"......Still hasn't fucked her? What the hell, is he impotent? Or gay?"
"Total fucking Confucian scholar vibe."
"Ah... fuck, what a worthless prick."
"Make some fake news then?"
"Nah... come with me first."
I spoke, then strode straight into my CEO office, slammed the door shut, and—frustrated—yanked off my pants and underwear, my 27cm cock flopping as I slumped into the chair.
Han Yura followed quietly, glancing at my limp dick.
Feeling the cold leather against my back, I lazily spread my legs wider.
Even opening my mouth to give orders felt like too much effort.
A slight tilt of my chin said it all.
She understood my silent command perfectly, without a hitch.
Instead of replying, Han Yura dropped to her knees on the floor in a familiar motion.
Her red lipstick gleamed vividly, like a herald of the ritual to come.
Han Yura's lips softly enveloped me.
She didn't rush.
Like awakening a sleeping beast, she breathed hot breath onto it, her tongue tip licking up the shaft.
Then she pressed my half-hard cock against her cheek.
Stroke, stroke.
The soft whisper of skin on skin across her smooth cheek.
A shiver raced up my spine as her cool flesh met my sensitive tip.
This wasn't mere foreplay.
It was worship of my cock, a ritual of polishing the weapon I'd wield into the war ahead.
I stared at the monitor.
The bottom-right clock read 8:59:55 AM.
Her hair swayed back and forth, tickling my thighs softly.
A pleasant sensation.
But every nerve was locked on the monitor before me—the battlefield where those numbers would erupt in storm.
Crack.
I cracked my knuckles with a sharp pop.
[9:00:00 AM]
The moment the market opened, the frozen charts exploded into frenzied life.
I gripped the mouse.
As Han Yura's hot, wet tongue swallowed me whole, my ultra-short scalping began.
Click.
Buy.
0.1 seconds.
Click again.
Sell.
Click.
Buy again.
0.1 seconds.
Re-click. Re-sell.
The Taesung Group stock order book flickered spasmodically on the screen.
Each trade moved just a few hundred shares at most.
After fees, it was barely break-even—closer to a loss.
But this wasn't about making money.
Just venting.
My fingers' manic dance was a silent declaration to burn that fucking old bastard Cheon Myeong-hwan's asshole.
An arrogant flaunt: if I wanted, I could toy with it like this in 0.1-second bursts.
I clicked relentlessly, shattering my rage into hundreds, thousands of fragments and scattering them across the market.
With every motion, Han Yura below matched my fury's rhythm, growing fiercer.
The tickle of her hair on my thighs turned rough, her swallowing sounds more obscene.
Cold reason and hot rage.
Digital speed and primal flesh intertwined bizarrely in the CEO office.
Exactly one hour.
10:00:00 AM.
With the final sell order, my fingers left the mouse.
The end-of-storm tally popped up on the ravaged monitor.
Total trading volume: 56,724,815,000 won.
Realized P/L: +32,150 won.
After commissions and taxes, a clear loss.
But a satisfied smile curled my lips.
Mission accomplished.
That controlling stake outside the market? What the fuck could scraps of paper do?
I sneered at the old fuck beyond the screen.
This was a warning.
If I got serious, his market value 'controlled' by shares would turn to toilet paper.
A blatant warning.
As that silent declaration completed—
Ping. A string snapped in my head, and heat burst from within.
Masses of cum flooded deep into Han Yura's mouth.
She didn't let go.
Only after sucking every last drop did she release with a satisfied moan.
Her cheeks bulged like they might burst.
Gulp, gulp.
Her slender throat convulsed violently, like a serpent devouring its sacrificial offering.
She took all of my rage's remnants, the price of a 56.7 billion-won war, into herself without spilling a drop.
Now, time to think for real.
Han Yura exhaled long after swallowing the last drop.
Her dilated pupils, red lips smeared with lipstick and saliva glistening.
Forehead against my thigh, she murmured wearily.
"Haa, you fucking bastard... you came so goddamn much... I'm full...."
Her whiny voice brushed my ear, but my mind was elsewhere.
Looking down at Han Yura's head still on my lap, I grinned.
"Quit bitching and get up. What about that fucker Park Sun-woo?"
At my words, she groaned as she rose.
She grabbed tissues from my desk, wiped her mouth casually, and plopped into the chair opposite.
Legs crossed defiantly—no one would guess she'd just been on her knees.
"Fucking Confucian scholar. Fits the word perfectly."
Han Yura tossed it out bluntly.
"......."
I stared at her wordlessly.
Every brain cell sucked in info on the variable 'Park Sun-woo'.
Reading my expression, she smirked and continued.
"Total opposite of you. Even when the actress we hired spreads her legs on purpose, he's all 'Please don't do this.'"
I clicked my tongue unwittingly.
"Tsk, fucking useless...."
Park Sun-woo was a time bomb.
Scheduled to detonate the moment Cheon Myeong-hwan dared toy with my birth mom.
A perfect counter: better than gifting him a ruined 'son' by forcing me to face 'mother'.
But... fuck, no detonator in that bomb?
Suddenly, a 'ding' rang in my head.
No detonator?
Useless?
No.
Thought flipped.
Post-Nut Clarity's cold logic whispered.
A bomb without a detonator is the perfect weapon—impossible to set off prematurely.
I burst out laughing.
Like finding a brand-new highway at a dead end.
"Hey, Yura."
"Ah... fuck, what crazy shit now?"
"Thinking about it, we've been fucking idiots."
I swiveled the chair to lock eyes with her lounging gaze.
"Why corrupt that bastard? No need. Scandals are third-rate tricks. Too crude, no fun."
"What then, make him a real star scholar?"
Her voice dripped sarcasm.
I flashed her the cruelest, most gleeful smile of my life.
"Yeah. Fuck it, make him the perfect saint."
"......What?"
"The spotless, lofty son that old fuck Cheon Myeong-hwan can rely on forever. Unshaken by money or women, a great scholar who loves only knowledge. Let's make him that."
Han Yura's face shifted as she heard my plan.
Not awe or admiration in her eyes.
Pure business partner's skepticism.
"What's in it for us?"
She nailed it.
"That old fuck's secret 'heir' pick goes down in flames."
"And how does that benefit us?"
"It doesn't."
Her brows furrowed at my sharp reply.
"..........."
"Just watching the old bastard lose his shit?"
I shrugged, and her expression turned incredulous.
"So, you're just ramming it in 'cause it's satisfying? With company money?"
"Yep."
At my curt yes, her pent-up curse exploded.
"You fucking asshole."
That curse held no anger—just bafflement, resignation, and a hint of awe.
I grinned, loving her reaction.
She glared a beat, then chuckled and shook her head.
"Fine, but do the museum right this time—boost Blue Sky's name value. Then I'm in."
Her condition.
Partner securing company gains for joining the madness.
"Deal."
No hesitation.