The Price of Information

The moment I turned on my phone, a notification from the Defeated Heroine Gallery was already floating at the top of the screen.

I didn't even have to tap it. The title was already visible.

I stopped dead in the middle of the street.

"Ugh, my head..."

I had never written about what happened last night — not anywhere, not once. There was no point being surprised about it now. Sovereignty over my own information still didn't belong to me. If the Gallery decided it was worth posting, up it went.

The comments were already rolling in.

"Shut up."

Cursing at the screen would accomplish nothing except adding one more comment. I swiped the notification away.

5:57.

A sigh escaped me the moment I reached the meeting spot. The Sports Toto shop sign sat right in front of me; behind the glass door, match fixtures were pinned up in dense rows while a wall-mounted TV streamed a preview of a game that hadn't even started. Watching people fold and unfold their betting slips, ticking off numbers, made my fingertips itch for no good reason.

Why did he have to pick here of all places — right in front of this.

Kang Taehyun stood directly beneath the sign, drinking a canned coffee, positioned like he'd chosen the spot on purpose so I'd find him instantly.

"You're late."

"I've still got three minutes."

"That's not the same as not being late."

"God, you're such a hardass."

Instead of answering, Taehyun gave my face a once-over and held out a can of coffee. The unsweetened latte I always drank. Taking it annoyed me even more.

"Why do you even remember that."

"Because you won't drink anything else."

"I asked why you remember."

"Because I've watched you for over ten years."

He said it so casually that this time it was my turn to go quiet.

The cold condensation on the can seeped into my palm. My body hadn't gone entirely back to normal since last night, either. Every time I sat down, the inside of my thighs felt strangely sore, and somewhere in the back of my mind lingered the memory of what I'd called him out loud.

Master.

Even just thinking it set my ears on fire.

"What's with you, going red all by yourself?"

"It's hot."

"It's mid-September?"

"Shut it."

Taehyun didn't press further. Which was, if anything, a mercy. He tipped his can back once, then jerked his chin at the Toto shop behind me.

"You want to go in?"

"What?"

"Your eyes have been glued to that place for a while now."

I ripped my gaze off the shop immediately.

"I don't want to go in."

"Nobody said you did. I asked if you wanted to."

"I don't want to."

It was a lie. Every time the door swung open, a stuffy wave of paper dust and something like stale smoke leaked out. The odds board had updated, and one match I'd been sitting on since yesterday floated up in my head.

Just 10,000 won. If I put down exactly 10,000 won. That barely even counted as money.

...Fuck.

I suddenly didn't want to count how many times I'd already had that exact thought.

"Go in," Taehyun said.

I whipped my head around.

"Are you insane?"

"If you want to bet, bet."

"You said you were going to make me quit."

"If I stand in front of the door with my arms spread, does that count as you quitting?"

"..."

"You'd just whine later that you couldn't do it because of me. Again."

That line pissed me off most of all. Because it was exactly right.

Taehyun didn't block the door. He didn't snatch my phone, didn't ask for my wallet. He just sipped his canned coffee with the face of a man planning to watch whatever I did next.

The system popped up in the corner of my vision.

"Wow."

A hollow laugh escaped before I could stop it.

"You really do have a gift for getting under people's skin."

"What did I do?"

"Not you."

Taehyun gave me a look like I'd lost it, but I didn't explain.

My finger drifted through the empty air — fifty thousand, thirty thousand, ten thousand, zero, and then back to ten thousand again.

It's only ten thousand.

It really was only 10,000 won — skip the convenience store twice and it was there, skip one delivery order and it was there. If I won, it might even help chip away at the debt.

The moment that thought landed, something in my gut went cold.

Had I ever once used winnings to pay down the debt?

I hadn't.

When I won, I bet bigger. When I lost, I bet bigger trying to win it back. In the end, all that was left was the card bill.

My finger slid down, slow and deliberate, and stopped on the last option.

I pressed down.

"Oh, come on."

I caught myself talking out loud to the system.

"I didn't do it."

"You son of a bitch."

"Me?"

"Not you. Shut up."

Taehyun snorted.

"If you're done, let's go."

"Done with what?"

"Today's."

"Don't I get some kind of praise?"

Even as the words left my mouth, I couldn't believe I'd said them. Taehyun looked at me and asked, perfectly serious,

"Want me to buy you a bouquet?"

"Want to die?"

"Then you're fine."

I glanced back at the Toto shop one last time. Something felt off. Nothing in the world had changed just because I hadn't walked inside, and yet my feet turning away from the door felt heavier than usual. Still, I turned.

Taehyun started walking, half a step ahead of me.

"One week."

"What."

"Zero won. For one week."

"Since when do you get to decide that?"

"Then don't."

There it was again. He doesn't stop me. He just makes me choose instead. Somehow that pissed me off even more.

"Like my life changes because I skip one week?"

"It doesn't."

Taehyun answered without a beat of hesitation.

"But if you can't even last one week, that's not a hobby anymore."

My feet stumbled to a halt for a second. No rebuttal came to me.

That was when it happened.

"Student Seo Yerim?"

A raspy voice came from beside us — but the smell reached me before the voice did. Stale cigarettes ground into sweat, cut with cheap instant coffee, all of it at once.

I turned my head, grimacing.

"...Professor Oh?"

Oh Byeong-cheol. A part-time lecturer in general-education art, past sixty. He'd supposedly taught art at a high school once, and last year he'd even turned up in one of the general-education studio classes I was taking. He wasn't teaching any of my courses this semester, but I'd run into him more times than I could count at the old arts building's smoking corner or around the late-night studios.

Today he looked exactly like always: graying side hair pressed flat like it hadn't been washed, an old gray vest hung over a shirt whose collar had long given up, worn-down shoes peeking out under rumpled cotton pants. Up close, the smell got thicker.

Ah, shit. It's worse today.

Byeong-cheol spotted the canned coffee in my hand and smiled. Yellowed teeth showed.

"Haven't seen you at the racetrack lately."

Taehyun's gaze snapped straight to me. That irritated me more than Byeong-cheol did.

"What are you looking at."

"I didn't say a word."

"You said it with your eyes."

Byeong-cheol chuckled.

"Boyfriend of yours?"

"No."

The answer came out way too fast. Taehyun answered right after.

"Ex-boyfriend."

I drove my elbow into his ribs.

"Why are you explaining that, you lunatic."

"You said no."

"You two haven't changed a bit."

Byeong-cheol looked back and forth between me and Taehyun like we were a show put on for him. Then his eyes lingered on my face a beat too long. He'd always been like that. His reputation among students was terrible; his jokes ran vulgar past the point of funny, and when he looked at female students, his gaze overstayed its welcome. People talked about his hygiene less often than they talked about his horse racing.

And tacked onto the end of every version came the same rumors. He'd lost the house betting on races. His wife had run off. He was behind even on his cheap boarding-house rent, so he slept in the duty room of the old arts building.

How much of it was actually true, I didn't know. At least the last one was close — pulling all-nighters in the old building, I'd caught the smell of ramen boiling through the gap of the duty-room door more than a few times.

Byeong-cheol stepped one pace closer.

"Well, this week's worth a look, though."

"Why's that?"

The question shot out of me too fast. Taehyun sighed beside me, and Byeong-cheol's mouth curled like that reaction had pleased him.

"A good piece of information came my way."

"What information?"

"Not something you say out here."

He flicked a glance at Taehyun, and Taehyun cut in immediately.

"Professor. She's decided not to bet today."

A brief silence followed. Then Byeong-cheol burst out laughing.

"Pwahaha — Yerim?"

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing. You?"

"I can quit too, you know."

"Sure, sure. Good for you."

He said it with a face that believed none of it, and that grated on me too.

Byeong-cheol didn't say anything else. He just tucked his worn phone into his pocket and jerked his chin toward the commercial building across the street.

"I'm gonna hit the bathroom."

He walked into the building without waiting for an answer. Taehyun clicked his tongue at the retreating back.

"Is that guy seriously a schoolteacher?"

"He is."

"Why are you talking horses with a guy like that?"

"Because I've run into him at the track a few times."

"Doesn't that strike you as the actual problem?"

"Shut up."

Just then, Taehyun's phone rang. He checked the screen and his expression stiffened a little.

"One sec."

"Who is it?"

"Group project for my major."

"Look at you, acting busy as hell. Aren't you special."

"Someone has to be."

"Screw you."

Taehyun stepped a few paces away as he picked up.

"Yeah. Go ahead."

Once his voice had faded out of earshot, I looked at the building entrance.

Just the information.

I really only had to listen. No money going in, no ticket being bought. I tipped my chin toward Taehyun.

"Bathroom for me too."

Mid-call, Taehyun just lifted a hand — a vague got-it gesture.

The women's room sign pointed right. The men's room Oh Byeong-cheol had entered was on the left. I took two steps toward the right as if that was where I was headed, then, the moment Taehyun's attention sank back into his call, I pivoted.

Pushing open the men's room door, I was hit all at once by cold tile and ingrained cigarette smoke. With a single door between us, Taehyun's call faded fast. Byeong-cheol had already disappeared toward the stall at the very back.

I stood in front of the door for a moment. I could still turn back now. I didn't have to confirm what the information was. But all that filled my head were the words Byeong-cheol had dangled earlier — good information.

Just listening.

With that thought, I walked into the last stall.

I lowered the lid and sat, the chill of it seeping up through my jeans instantly.

Click — ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Byeong-cheol followed me in and latched the stall door. In the cramped space he came one step closer, his knee pressing in between mine. Sitting on the toilet lid, I had nowhere left to retreat.

"Legs apart."

It came out not as a command but like a statement of the obvious. Naturally, I didn't move. So Byeong-cheol took my thighs in both hands and simply spread them himself.

Shrrk…

Even now, I could still —

With that thought, as the denim pulled taut and the inside of my thighs met the cold air, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I dragged down his zipper. In the narrow stall, the sound carried impossibly loud.

Ziiip.

When I tugged his underwear down, a thick, uncut cock met my eyes, heavy foreskin hooding the glans — and from the slight gap at its tip, the smell arrived first. The smell of unwashed days stacked in layers. Cigarettes, sweat, and beneath them something sharper, heavier. The instant it entered my nose, my throat convulsed in reflex.

I'm going to be sick.

Before the thought could ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠even finish, Byeong-cheol wrapped a hand around his cock and brought it up to my face. Hearts slowly bled into my vision, my eyes trailing the tip of the glans as it brushed my cheek. It was warm. Strangely, vividly warm.

"Smell it."

Byeong-cheol murmured it, low. I held my breath — but the longer I held it, the emptier my lungs grew, until at last I had no choice but to inhale.

The moment I did, the smell packed my nose to the brim. Sharp and thick and rotten. The stench ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of dick cheese. My throat clenched again. I felt like crying.

Fuck.

And yet, as if my womb were reacting to the situation itself, a heavy pull dragged low in my belly. My pussy was slowly starting to get wet. The instant I registered that fact, I got even angrier. I was gagging, and my body was heading the opposite way.

Byeong-cheol slowly peeled his foreskin back with two fingers. The glans emerged — dick cheese packed into the folds of inner skin, something white and sticky clinging all around the head. The smell deepened.

"Information for my Yerim doesn't come free, you know."

His mouth curled. I looked up at that face. Smug and utterly at ease — the face of a man who already knew which choice I'd make.

Fuck. He knows. He knows exactly.

And of course my body knew it too. Taehyun was out there on the phone. The racing information was here. And my hand was already resting on the waistband of Byeong-cheol's pants.

Slowly, I worked his pants and underwear further down. His cock came fully into view, a single bead of precum trembling at the tip. I stuck out my tongue and touched it, and a salty, heavy flavor seemed to crawl straight up my tongue. Byeong-cheol's breath cut short.

I eased the tip of his foreskin open with my tongue and licked inside; the smegma wedged in the folds came away onto my tongue, and its stench poured into my mouth.

Filthy.

Even as I thought it, my pussy entrance twitched. Holding the smegma on my tongue, I pulled it into my mouth, and a bitter taste bloomed, its heavy musk filling my nose to the brim. I didn't swallow. I kept it pooled there, my tongue circling the head of his cock in one long, wiping pass.

Byeong-cheol groaned low.

"Our Yerim's good at this."

The words drilled into my ears. It was praise. I should have felt sick about it. Instead, somehow, my body burned hotter.

I took the glans into my mouth. Warm and heavy on my tongue. I traced circles around the tip.

Slrp.

Byeong-cheol laid his hand on top of my head — at first it was barely more than resting there. I took him deeper, slow, the cock gliding over my tongue toward my throat. Pressure firmed in his hand.

"That's it. Suck."

A low, vulgar voice. The moment it dropped, arousal spilled out of my pussy — I could feel it sliding down the inside of my thigh.

Byeong-cheol's hand pushed my head forward, slow. The cock drove deeper, and the instant it kissed the entrance of my throat, my gag reflex surged. Tears welled at the corners of my eyes. But he didn't stop. Slowly — very slowly — he pushed further, my throat packed full, my air cut off. I breathed through my nose alone, and every breath pulled his smell deeper into me. Sweat and cigarettes and, beneath them, something darker still.

What is wrong with me — why do I keep getting wetter.

The inside of my thighs was sticky now, arousal spreading through the lining of my jeans.

Byeong-cheol found his rhythm. In, then back. My throat opened and closed in time with it, saliva streaming down his shaft and dripping off my chin. His hand gripped my hair harder, the airless stretches growing longer, tears sliding down my cheeks.

Then Byeong-cheol drew a short, sharp breath. I felt his thighs go rigid, his cock pulsing inside my throat.

Throb.

Heat poured down my throat. Once. Twice. His cum hit the back of my throat directly — hot, sticky, thick — the smell climbing all the way up into my nose.

His hand released. I pulled back, letting him slip free, my mouth full of what was left — too thick to swallow easily, sitting in a heavy clot on my tongue, its reek filling my mouth. I bowed my head to spit it out, and Byeong-cheol caught my chin in his hand.

"What a waste."

He bent down, bringing his mouth toward mine. I snapped my lips shut. Kang Taehyun flashed through my head — and I was disgusted with myself for deciding, even in the middle of this, that a kiss was something to save for him.

Byeong-cheol didn't stop. He pressed his lips over mine, and when my mouth wouldn't open, he dragged his tongue slowly across my lips instead — gathering the cum beaded at their corner, mixed with my spit, licking it up. Then he moved down to my cheek, his tongue tracing the tracks my tears had left. Down, below my nose. He pushed the tip of his tongue into my nostril.

Fuck——

I held my breath. When his tongue probed the inside of it, the sensation was so alien my eyes squeezed shut on their own. His cum still sat in my mouth, cooling on my tongue, the smell as strong as ever. I hit my limit. In the end, I inhaled — and in that instant, the cum slid down my throat.

Gulp.

Something hot and thick traveled down my esophagus. Byeong-cheol lifted his head.

"Good girl."

The moment those words sank into my ears, my walls clamped down, one hard, deep contraction. Byeong-cheol pulled out his worn phone.

"Now I'll give you that information. Our Yerim's such a sweetheart."