Chapter 91
Chapter 91
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 91
Chapter Title: Performance
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Everything was in place.
First, Shilla Biotek.
The promise of salvation to revive a dead project, coupled with irresistible funding. The budget proposal drafted by Team Leader Kim Seolgi was already in my hands; only the legal procedures remained.
Eighty percent of the royalties from the miracle drug that would save humanity was on the verge of flowing straight into my pockets.
Second, Blue Sky Games.
Those three naive developers had no choice but to drink from the poisoned chalice laced with ten billion won.
Their agonizing deliberations amounted to nothing more than buying a little time. The outcome was already set in stone.
Third, Star Maker Entertainment.
The trickiest acquisition and legal hurdles? My master had headed to Seoul that very morning, disguised as a judicial scrivener, to handle them personally.
By the time she returned, I'd have a shiny new toy in my grasp.
Three massive gears had meshed together, grinding into motion to forge my empire.
The prologue to the legend was flawless.
But even the most perfect plan faced real-world roadblocks.
Money and performance.
Money wasn't an issue for now.
I'd made about twenty-five billion from the crypto market. I'd earmarked five billion for incorporating the company and another five for operating expenses, leaving roughly twenty billion ready to deploy at a moment's notice.
That was more than enough to cover the five-billion initial investment into Shilla Biotek tomorrow, the ten-billion contract payment to Blue Sky Games, and the 2.5-billion acquisition cost for Star Maker.
But when I factored in future expenses...
My current capital wouldn't cut it.
Shilla Biotek's new drug development alone would demand tens of billions more. Add in game development and marketing, plus running an entertainment company, and the costs stretched into the horizon.
And then there was "performance."
This was the real crux.
Before these long-term ventures bore fruit, I needed overwhelming short-term results to burn the name "Kim Cheolsu" into the industry's consciousness.
To earn trust in the investment world, you had to prove yourself first with dazzling wins.
No one gave a damn about crypto profits—they were anonymous.
The conclusion was clear.
Crypto thrived on anonymity, but stocks left a trail of every trade, beamed in real-time from the Financial Supervisory Service to the brokers.
In other words, there was only one way to prove my genius to the world and fill my coffers in one fell swoop.
This morning,
in the stock market where everyone was watching, I'd rack up machine-like returns, securing the cash I needed and undeniable proof of my prowess.
I rose from the leather chair in the second-floor president's office at Blue Sky's Paju headquarters and eyed Choi Yang. She lounged on the window-side sofa, idly scrolling her tablet out of boredom.
Morning sunlight streamed through the massive windows, softly illuminating her profile.
"Choi Yang."
"...What."
She didn't look up from her tablet.
Her voice was calm, but it carried a hint of listlessness.
"Time to work. I need peak Post-Nut Clarity before the market opens this morning."
The dual monitors on the desk blinked with Korea Investment Securities' HTS. The clock on the right screen read 7:47 a.m.
One hour and thirteen minutes until open.
...
I undid my shirt buttons one by one as I approached her.
Today, I craved something different.
The bed in our usual "business" secret room felt a bit stale now.
What would Post-Nut Clarity feel like from the pinnacle of power?
I grabbed her wrist and pulled.
She assumed we were headed to the secret room and yielded without resistance.
But I bypassed the door, dragging her to the massive desk that symbolized my authority.
Then I shoved her petite frame into the cramped space beneath it.
"...!"
Choi Yang looked up at me with startled eyes.
I said nothing, just patted the leather chair as if to say, sit.
She caught on quick, shooting me a glare laced with resentment and resignation.
But her body was already broken in.
She crawled under the desk without protest, kneeling in the tight confines and gazing up at me.
I settled into the president's throne.
The dual monitors blinked with pre-market HTS data.
Through the windows, Paju's morning sun poured in, bathing the premium hardwood desk in light.
This impeccably professional space.
And beneath its symbol of authority, my secretary looking up at me.
I savored the absurd perfection of the scene and murmured a low command.
"Get to it."
At my quiet order, movement stirred in the cramped shadows under the desk.
Her hand went straight for my belt buckle, no hesitation. The slow rasp of the zipper echoed in the silent office.
My cock—hard but not fully risen—settled softly into her grasp.
She cupped it for a moment, then tilted her head aside, bringing her red lips to the shaft.
In that instant, her lipstick smeared, leaving a faint trace.
Like a bloodstain. Or a red brand.
The first brush of her warm lips sent a twitch rippling from my waist downward.
Without pause, she pursed them and began sucking gently.
In the suffocating hush, only the wet smack, smack of lewd sounds reverberated.
Each hot lap of her tongue coaxed my pent-up desire to life.
The desk clock read 7:52.
One hour and eight minutes to open.
She worked it with expert care—stroking, sucking, licking.
Her short bob swayed faintly in the shadows below.
The lips that once drew cheers from throngs of fans now moved solely for me. A twisted satisfaction bloomed.
The red lipstick marks grew bolder.
Each puff of her hot breath made it swell harder, thicker.
The motions shifted from tender to fervent; her mouth brimmed with feverish heat.
I sank deep into the leather chair and closed my eyes.
Market chaos and strategies faded from my mind, replaced by vivid red streaks and slick sensation.
Opening bell drew nearer.
And my cock, repaying her devotion, stood fully erect—a rigid pillar, vividly stained with red lipstick.
That was when—
Bang!
The firmly shut door to the president's office flew open without a knock. Han Yura stormed in.
I lounged deep in the plush chair and spat an irritated barb at the intruder.
"Don't you knock before barging into the president's office?"
VP Han—impeccably dressed in office chic—flipped me the bird like it was routine.
"Why are you alone? Where's Choi Yang?"
Instead of answering, I jerked my chin toward the desk.
She got it instantly, glaring with pure contempt.
"God, you perverted mutt. Wanna mess with a kid?"
"People might misunderstand. She's a full-grown adult."
"Bullshit."
Deeming me unworthy of further retorts, she cut to the chase.
"So, you in Post-Nut mode now? Or just firing up?"
"Firing up now. Why? Business?"
"Yeah. I've been scouting land lately."
"With your own cash?"
"Yep. Can you help with this one?"
"For free?"
"Twenty percent of profits. Deal?"
As our business banter flowed, a gagging "Urk...!" bubbled up from under the desk.
Choi Yang must've hit her throat.
I flashed a satisfied grin and replied to Yura.
"Deal. Now get over here, you slut. I'll spark that Post-Nut and make the money you crave."
True to form for a girl obsessed with cash and cock, she closed the distance without a second thought.
I watched her approach and shoved the chair back with a screech.
Choi Yang—glans still in her mouth, hidden under the desk—got dragged out with it, posture intact.
Han Yura didn't bat an eye at the sight.
She just peered down at Choi Yang like she'd spotted an amusing toy.
Han Yura cupped the girl's chin with delicate fingers.
Then she leaned in—familiar, yet flauntingly—and pressed her lips to Choi Yang's.
Their mouths met lightly at first, but soon Yura took charge, tongues tangling in sticky fervor.
Her tongue invaded like an army storming the gates, prying past the feeble resistance.
"Mmph...!"
Choi Yang's token struggle crumbled under Yura's skillful onslaught.
She explored every nook, teasing the soft palate, wrapping around the lingering traces of me on Choi Yang's tongue in a sloppy grind.
My saliva dripping from Choi Yang's mouth into Yura's—a scene of utter depravity.
Each time their lips parted, a smack rang out, thin silver strands stretching taut between them.
Yura lapped it up and dove back in, deeper, hungrier.
Yes. This was true "work"—the perfect offering for ultimate Post-Nut Clarity.
I shut my eyes, immersing in the symphony of sounds and sensations from my two women, steeling myself for the divine moment ahead.