Chapter 2
Chapter 2
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: Handjob Girl Han Yura
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Our meetings were always the same—costing me 50,000 won, a bit of stamina, and a handful of self-respect.
Stepping out of that rundown commercial building and dragging myself back to my studio apartment, my footsteps felt as hollow as ever.
But today was a little different.
Instead of the usual lethargy weighing me down, my mind felt strangely clear and calm.
Back in my room, I sat down at my computer out of habit and pulled up the Bitcoin exchange window.
There they were, the same blue candlesticks raping my seed money.
Normally, I'd be cursing and sighing deeply, but today, the chart's movements somehow looked different.
'Is it because I stepped back for a bit...?'
Like the refreshing clarity after an intense workout, the fog in my head had lifted, filling me with unfounded confidence that I could see right through the essence of the world.
Was this the 'Post-Nut Clarity' I'd only heard about?
I grabbed the mouse like I was entranced.
"Eh, no way."
Half-doubting, I split my last 100,000 won in living expenses and threw it all into a wildly fluctuating shitcoin.
My heart pounded. A minute later, I confirmed a perfect 5% profit graph and slammed the sell button.
"...Huh?"
Just like that, 5,000 won. Enough for a cup of coffee.
I couldn't believe it. I dumped the principal plus profits—105,000 won total—into another coin.
Three minutes later, 4% profit. Another 4,000 won earned.
"This... this actually works?"
For the next hour, I scalped like a madman.
My predictions hit with eerie accuracy.
When I finally pulled my hands from the keyboard an hour later, my account showed exactly 58,000 won in profits.
I'd recovered the 50,000 won I'd spent on her and still had enough left for a convenience store lunchbox.
I stared blankly at the profit graph.
'What the hell? Seriously... because I stepped back?'
I knew it was ridiculous, but I couldn't shake the possibility from my mind.
'If this momentum keeps up... maybe I can go bigger?'
Instead of withdrawing, I hit the 'Overseas Exchange Transfer' button.
I moved every bit of principal and profits—about 150,000 won worth of coins—to my futures trading account on an overseas exchange.
Not regular spot scalping, but the gambling den of futures trading, where profits and losses swung dozens of times over.
"Let's go, fuck yeah!"
Like a shaman possessed by a spirit, I went all-in on a 10x leveraged long position at a wildly swinging point on the chart.
The profit rate on screen danced like crazy. It dropped to -30%, making my heart sink, then shot straight up like a lie.
[+50%... +120%... +250%... +312%]
With trembling hands, I hit 'Close Position'.
Today's final profit: +486,000 won.
"Insane... fucking insane!"
I checked the profits over and over with shaking hands.
Compared to the 4.8 million won I'd lost, it was peanuts, but in that moment, I felt like I owned the world.
An hour ago, I'd been trembling over 50,000 won; now I'd made nearly 500,000.
"Hell yeah! Time to catch a breather!"
I was just grateful for my insane luck today, drunk on the sweet taste of victory after so long.
I'd completely forgotten about that weird encounter with Han Yura.
The next morning, June 11, 2025.
Thanks to yesterday's big win, I woke up to the most refreshing morning in months.
I wasn't some loser hounded by debt collectors anymore.
I was a trader who'd discovered his talent—a hidden master lurking in the shadows.
"Alright, yesterday was just a taste. Today, I'll make double!"
I scarfed down instant ramen for breakfast and sat at my computer, brimming with hope.
Yesterday's 486,000 won earnings.
Plus 100,000 won pulled from my 'Brotherhood Savings'.
Total seed money: 586,000 won, greeting me warmly.
I dove in energetically, starting my first trade the same bold way as yesterday.
But today's market was nothing like yesterday.
Every long I took tanked like a ghost; every short skyrocketed.
'Just a pullback,' I'd think, holding on—only for losses to snowball.
Cut losses in fear? Price shot up the second I sold.
Chasing recovery trades just dug deeper holes.
Two hours later?
I stared at the monitor in a daze.
Account balance: 172,000 won.
Over 70% of yesterday's earnings—about 410,000 won—gone up in smoke.
Heaven to hell in a single day.
Yesterday's euphoria vanished, cold despair crashing over me again.
"Fuck... what the hell..."
I muttered at the empty screen.
What went wrong?
Yesterday's me and today's me were the same guy.
Same computer, same method.
So why the polar opposite results?
'You're a loser, that's why. No reason needed—just ain't meant for this shit...'
In the end, it was all luck. Yesterday I got lucky; today I didn't.
I was never cut out to make money.
'Fuck, feeling like shit... maybe get a handjob?'
With that thought, I messaged that bitch who always saw people as trash.
Me: Available?
Handjob Girl: When?
Me: Right now
Handjob Girl: It's daytime, lots of people around that building we usually meet at?
She had a point. The rundown commercial building had foot traffic from academies and offices during the day.
I hesitated, then impulsively threw out a new offer.
Me: Come to my place? I live alone.
Handjob Girl: Try raping me and I'll call the cops
Classic her—sharp as a knife. I chuckled and replied.
Me: Lol okay
Now it was her call.
Would she risk it and come to my shitty studio?
I waited for her next message.
Minutes dragged like ten. About to give up and restart my computer—ding, notification.
Handjob Girl: Ugh, you're such dogshit. No need to call cops lol
Me: Fuck you bitch
Handjob Girl: Send address retard
'Huh, she's coming.'
No big reaction. I opened my delivery app, copied my address, and sent it.
After sending, I glanced around the room.
Damp towel tossed by the bed, instant ramen cups piled in the desk corner, mystery sock on the floor.
'Kinda dirty, but whatever.'
She's just here for a quick handjob—what's a messy room matter?
I kicked the stray sock under the bed.
Guest prep done.
I booted up the computer and killed time with YouTube till she arrived.
Skipping through three or four videos...
Bam, bam.
No broken doorbell—just rough kicks at my studio door like she was pissed.
'Fucking hell, what a temper...' I clicked my tongue and got up.
Opened the door: her, face hidden by a black mask, standing with legs crossed in a bored pose, like the world annoyed her.
She eyed me up once and cut to the chase.
"Don't hold out today. Cum quick. Got class later."
I forgot to invite her in, blurting blankly.
"Huh? You go to college?"
"Yeah."
Short affirm. I gawked at her top to bottom like I'd found a weird reptile.
Irritation frosted her eyes above the mask.
"What're you staring at? Weird that I go to college?"
"Yeah, fucking surprising."
I spat my unfiltered thought.
"Thought you were some delinquent who fucked up her life for sure."
Her eyes flashed fire. I swear I heard her grind her teeth.
"Wanna die, fucker?"
She growled, stepping forward; I instinctively stepped back. Rough start again.
She glared pitifully, shrugged past me, and entered.
Jeans and hoodie—casual, no effort.
Her gaze paused inside.
My underwear on the floor. She grimaced, kicked it aside.
"Didn't expect much, but... fuck, clean up?"
"Too much hassle..."
I shrugged it off. She looked at me like actual trash.
"You? Never getting a girlfriend."
Couldn't argue—pure facts. I shrugged, stripped off pants and underwear, dick flopping as I sprawled on the bed.
Silent pressure: get to it.
She shook her head at me, eyes screaming disgust, but reluctantly perched on the bed's edge.
Familiar grip on my dick, stroking up and down.
I eyed her black mask.
"Hey, doesn't that get stuffy? Take it off."
"Don't wanna show my face to you."
"Fuckin' bitch."
"Deal with it."
Short exchange—I lost again.
Gave up digging into her identity, switched to practical.
"Spit on it at least."
She paused at my request.
Really hating to show her face, she pried the mask's bottom just enough with fingers.
Clear spit dripped from plump red lips onto my dick.
Squelch, squelch—
Sweet saliva scent mixed with slick sounds filling the room, different from before.
Head fogging as pleasure built—then something off caught my hazy eye.
Her free hand, mechanically stroking: smartphone. Thumb flying, texting someone.
Multitasking during this sacred act? I huffed in disbelief.
"Boyfriend?"
Didn't even glance up.
"Nah, professor. Class canceled today."
"Oh yeah? Then I can take my time cumming?"
No class meant plenty of time—no rush for her.
I cheered internally, but she shut it down.
"No, arm hurts. Cum quick."
No whining—instead, new negotiation.
Her 'speed' for my 'new thrill'. Trade.
"Lemme touch your ass, I'll cum super fast. Deal?"
She eyed me, calculating behind the mask.
Low voice, laced with warning.
"Hand in my pants, you're dead."
"..."
"And fake ass-touch to grope pussy? Rip your dick off."
Brutal terms. I nodded like a lamb.
"Yeah, promise no pussy touch."
I grinned innocently.
She hesitated, sighed, climbed fully onto the bed beside me.
Side-lying, half in my arms. Shampoo scent wafted from her back-turned body.
True to word, careful hand down—palming her tight-jeaned ass.
Squeeze, knead.
"Whoa! Ass is fucking thick and firm?"
No reaction.
"Whatever. Hurry and cum."
Ignoring her iciness, rode the momentum with my burning question.
"Hey, what's your name? We've met like twenty times. Don't even know that."
Her shoulder twitched.
Silence hung.
Gonna dodge? As I gave up—
"Han Yura."
"...Damn, just drops it cool as fuck?"
Too easy—I was flustered.
"Name's whatever..."
"True... I'm Kim Cheolsu."
I blurted mine too. She snickered.
"Know."
"How? Stalking me?"
She turned, eyes screaming 'what a retard' through the mask.
"Crazy? Fuck, your dogtag boxers got your name on 'em."
Chin-jut to my tossed underwear below: faded army-green elastic, crooked marker scrawl—'Kim Cheolsu' bold.
"Ah..."
Speechless.
Just alternating stares at my named boxers and her pitying face.
Face burned.
Mortified, then her cold pour in my ear.
"Said you'd cum fast if I let you touch ass. Do it."
Snapped back to reality, humiliation fading.
Right—our 'deal' unfinished.
But shock killed my buildup.
Last ditch: new demand.
"Not horny enough... Dirty talk me."
She looked down.
"What dirty talk?"
"Just do it?"
Hopeful. Yura sighed lazily.
"Arm hurts."
No more stroking effort—practical shortcut.
"Ugh... Say whatever you think gets guys hard."
Silence.
Lips neared my ear—I flinched.
No snark—sultry, thick whisper invaded.
"Mmm... Cheolsu's dick got so fucking hard?"
Not the Yura I knew. Vulgar, slutty words unbelievable from her.
"Hard like this—what you gonna do? Wanna shove it in? Stay still, I'll make you cum."
She nibbled my earlobe.
Every breath, tongue flick—calculated to drive men insane.
"Smell from your cock... so fucking musky. Head-spinning. Imagine, Cheolsu. Not this hand—my pussy gripping you tight like this?"
"..."
"Your cum... I'll swallow it all. So stop holding back and cum, okay?"
Her final whisper snapped my reason's fuse.
Puppet to her words, no resistance—I collapsed helplessly.
"Haa... haa..."
Fucking refreshing release. Gasping hard.
Yura twisted her grip routinely, squeezing out the last drops before letting go casually.
Stood wordlessly.
"Done?"
No words—just wet-eyed grin, thumbs-up.
Silent highest praise.
I wiped up with tissue; she washed in the bathroom.
Lust ebbed like tide—mind cleared weirdly sharp.
'Head clear—time to scalp?'
No hesitation.
Pants off, dick out, sat at computer.
Then Yura from bathroom flopped on my bed instead of leaving, grumbling.
"Hey, can I crash a couple hours?"
"Yeah, but why?"
"Nothing till next class."
Cafe too pricey, school timing awkward.
I glanced at monitor indifferently.
"Ugh... whatever."
Her on bed or not—more important shit now.
Logged into Bitcoin exchange.
Would this clarity recover this morning's losses?