The Hunter Sets a Trap (5)
“I didn’t want to do it either. But I really liked Nayae, you know? Funny, right? A guy like me talking about love.”
It was a somewhat grotesque scene. Kim Hyunwoo, who had been subjected to violence by Yuchan not even an hour earlier, was now opening his heart.
“Humans are multifaceted beings. We commit countless acts that contradict our own feelings. Even if your actions were wrong, I won’t mock your sincerity. Above all, in the end, you didn’t harm Nayae, did you?”
Kim Hyunwoo froze in shock. It was a look Yuchan had seen several times during their conversation. Standing by the rooftop railing, gazing at the twinkling stars, Yuchan and Hyunwoo talked for a long while. Hyunwoo, initially filled with wariness, had gradually opened up after drinking and sensing Yuchan’s genuine demeanor. The morphine they’d shared probably helped too. But the biggest factor was Yuchan’s ability to see through people and his magician-like eloquence in exploiting it.
“How do you know?”
“I can see it. Your heart. Behind the brutal, violent Kim Hyunwoo, there’s a little kid trembling in fear.”
“For real?”
“Just kidding.”
Kim Hyunwoo wasn’t some absolute evil. Yuchan knew that better than anyone. He was a classic victim of domestic violence—a product of childhood abuse who’d adopted violence and bravado as shields. Someone who never truly understood love couldn’t spread it around either. His feelings for Nayae were genuine. They were just distorted by the warped mirror of his parents’ example from childhood.
“At first, I thought you were just some scary dude. Now I get why Nayae chose you.”
Hyunwoo gave a bitter smile, his voice choking up. Strictly speaking, Yuchan hadn’t stolen her. He didn’t say it outright. There was no sense of defeat or jealousy in his words—just relief at having completely lost as a man.
Yuchan stubbed out his cigarette in a portable ashtray and patted Hyunwoo’s shoulder.
“I won’t approach Nayae anymore. I’ll delete that video you sent back too. Take good care of yourself from now on. Though I bet you would anyway, even without me saying it.”
Hyunwoo, brainwashed and toyed with all day, seemed to have forgotten everything Yuchan had done to him. From his perspective now, Yuchan was his one true confidant. So simple.
“Still... could we grab a drink sometimes?”
“That might be tough.”
Hyunwoo had a delicate sensitivity beneath his violent life. People like him were usually lonely. They ignored the screams from their deep subconscious while lashing out at others. Yuchan had wormed in through that lonely plea for understanding, drawing out the guilt buried deep inside and sublimating it. It’s not your fault. You’re not bad, he’d given him an excuse to run with.
Hyunwoo’s Black Box had been a sickly, murky green. Now it shone a fresh light green, like he’d been reborn.
“Yeah, figured. Nayae’d hate it.”
“No, it’s not that.”
Yuchan replied casually, pulling out a small plastic bag. He slipped the soju bottle they’d shared into it.
“Hey, take a look down there?”
The old building’s railing was pathetically low. A late-winter gust sliced through the narrow ledge, tousling Yuchan’s bangs.
“What’s down there?”
Hyunwoo hobbled over on his crutches and peered down the alley beside Yuchan. Yuchan wrapped an arm around his back.
“I hope you found some salvation through me, even a little.”
This was sincere. Truth be told, Hyunwoo would’ve done nothing if left alone. Yuchan had dragged him in for purely personal reasons.
“Of course. Never opened up to anyone like this in my life.”
“Good for you.”
Yuchan flashed a grin and shoved Hyunwoo over the railing with all his might. Hyunwoo didn’t even have time to scream before his waist caught and he sailed off. Their eyes met mid-air—his wide with disbelief. Moments later, a wet splat echoed from below, like rotten fruit bursting.
If he’d snagged the railing or an AC unit, the impact might’ve dispersed and he could’ve survived. Yuchan had pushed hard to avoid that, and it worked perfectly. Too dark to see clearly—he’d have to go down and check. The body would test positive for alcohol and drugs. A guy rejected by his ex jumping off a roof? Happens all the time. Or ruled accidental. A drug-addicted dealer, heartbroken and high, stumbles off the rooftop. That was Yuchan’s design.
With the blackmail video evidence, suspicion would only grow, but no one would suspect murder. The investigation would close quietly. Nayae knew they’d met tonight. He was confident he could convince her with the trust he’d built and his usual image.
“Truly regrettable.”
Yuchan lit a cigarette like offering incense, closing his eyes in quiet mourning. He wasn’t actually sad, but if he had a human heart, he’d feel a twinge of regret here.
Yuchan had a tail on him now. Someone unknown was targeting him. In that situation, Hyunwoo—who knew too much about the real Yuchan— was an impurity that could expose him anytime. No choice.
It was a night when sleep wouldn’t come easily. Nayae, who’d gotten home with Yuchan’s help, checked her phone. 2:58 a.m. Over an hour since she’d lain down, but the discord in her head kept sleep at bay. Felt like a nightmare.
Staring blankly at her phone screen, she checked the message in her inbox again. About an hour ago, from Kim Hyunwoo.
The Kim Hyunwoo she knew wouldn’t say something so weak. What had changed him? Was he that desperate? Now she was free from danger. A flicker of inexplicable pity brushed her chest. But that was it. Yuchan had sworn to end things with him, and frankly, he didn’t deserve pity—a trash who’d threatened to leak his ex’s video.
“Hoo... too bright?”
She set the phone down, tossed and turned, then lowered the blinds to block all outside light.
You... be careful.
Hyunwoo’s low mutter right before the violence flashed back. She recalled something from a Korean reading passage: in communication, nonverbal cues like tone, attitude, gestures, atmosphere make up over 70%. It was exaggerated, and she hadn’t grasped the full meaning, but Hyunwoo had looked desperate then. And scared.
Swallowing the nagging doubts, Nayae slowly drifted off.
In Nayae’s darkened room, the work was in full swing. The setup was the usual: Nayae out cold from sleeping pills, Yuchan molding her to his tastes, a camcorder capturing it all. But tonight, he’d brought new toys, scattered at her feet—pink silicone vibrators, a Womanizer, catheter, rotors, and more. Over twenty tools in various sizes.
On Nayae’s exposed clit, a small suction pump was attached. Shaped like a tiny pipette but with a wide mouth, it sucked in her clit via pressure from squeezing the rubber. Her once-tiny nub was drawn up, lewdly on display, fluttering like a flag with every twitch of her hips. Continued training like this would swell it beyond its immature state into prime visual bait.
“Rested enough? Time to go again?”
He slid a wriggling vibrator into her front hole, already loosened from prior tools. Until now, he’d focused on enjoying her body. From tonight, it was about conditioning her into something far more depraved.
Whirrrrr!!! The viciously buzzing vibe slithered deep into her pussy. Her slick slit swallowed the mid-sized toy without resistance. Outside, it rattled the air; inside, it quieted.
“Hng...”
Yuchan pinned her squirming, moaning body and slowly pistoned the vibe back and forth. He deftly adjusted the suction on her clit to match her state. The sight of her delicate, immature womanhood abused by obscene tools stirred even Yuchan faintly.
“Let’s work hard for a week.”
Yuchan moved for curiosity. He wanted to push her body to extremes, heighten sensitivity, build unbearable frustration—and see her everyday facade crack. So he busily worked her until her hips arched toward climax, then stopped everything.
“Haa...”
Teased to the brink, Nayae sighed in frustrated defeat. Yuchan’s shirt and panties, soaked in his scent, lay draped over her face. Of the senses, smell alone strongly triggers emotions and memories. Her writhing, desperate body now inhaled Yuchan’s aroma. In the future, his scent would unconsciously recall this night. Pavlov’s dog.
Just as Yuchan wanted, Nayae was ripening to his taste.
“Alright, that was almost number 18—took about a minute?”
Glancing at his watch, Yuchan decided to wrap up. He pulled out a transparent Cusco speculum—commonly called a duckbill. Used in gynecology to inspect the cervix and vagina, but lately starring in island AVs. He eased the closed beak into her well-lubed channel, no prep needed. Spread the handles gently and locked with a pin.
A woman’s privates really seemed like a separate organ. Her donut-shaped cervix winked; clear fluids made the pink walls glisten. Nayae’s shameful secret, forever hidden, was captured flash by flash.
Whether peeved at denied orgasm or just enticingly so, her cervix twitched. Yuchan watched intently, then took an empty ampule and syringe. He attached the needle, drew 5mL of liquid. Thanks to his father’s genius training, Yuchan knew chemicals well. This was his custom aphrodisiac, main ingredient bremelanotide—discovered by some U.S. pharma, activates women’s melanocortin receptors for arousal and desire. He’d mixed in mild narcotics for stronger, longer effects. It stimulated without release, amplifying lust to marinate her womb.
Needle off, rubber-covered tip to avoid scratching, he plunged into the cervix’s center. Pushed the drug slowly.
“Ah...”
The cold influx made Nayae shudder. That was enough for tonight. Yuchan tidied up and slipped out of the officetel.