Chapter 26: How to Hunt in the Club

Continuing to gaze at Kim Hyeonseo's profile stirred a strange emotion in him. The Kim Hyeonseo he'd loved so much, the one who shone like an angel—her appearance score was 78 points.

'I thought it'd be higher.'

When he opened his own profile, it showed an appearance score of 70 points. Lower than Kim Hyeonseo's for now, but his would keep rising from here on out. Hers, on the other hand, would be lucky not to drop due to aging.

He repeated it to himself once more.

'If our lives ever cross paths again someday.'

Finishing his reverie, he began examining the other functions. With no customers anyway, he had time to kill. He'd use it to carefully review and analyze the abilities he'd acquired, pondering new ways to use them.

A week into the job, enlightenment struck.

'This is gonna make less money than I thought.'

His pay structure was a base salary of 800,000 won plus 50% commission on services and 100% of tips. In other words, no customers for a whole month meant less than minimum wage.

What felt unfair was that even when the salon was overflowing with clients, he often couldn't take them. For instance, Shim Uran's clients couldn't be handed off to him even if her schedule was full. Female customers usually balked at a male ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠therapist.

And Go Seokhyeon?

"Yunho, what are we gonna do with no customers for you? If the boss says it's okay, I'd love to push some of mine your way."

Spin your wheels all day, you bastard.

'Looks aren't everything—this guy's petty as hell.'

Go Seokhyeon hadn't shown it outwardly, but he'd harbored resentment toward Yunho since the observation period.

"Can't be helped since you're still on probation, right?"

It was amazing how he kept his true feelings so hidden when they were polar opposites. Without the status message, Yunho might've even liked the guy.

'His tactics are dirty as hell, but damn, he navigates society well. I'd have fallen for it without the status message.'

It was almost worth learning from.

He'd clocked out, but with time on his hands and nothing to do. He'd planned to grab drinks with Shim Uran after work and crash together, but that fell through.

In service jobs like this—especially a high-end beauty center catering to the elite—they bent over backward for clients, even delaying closing time if requested. And today, Shim Uran's regular had added an extra session.

'Gotta get laid anyway.'

Starting work meant scanning more profiles and status messages, burning through GP fast. He'd cleared the masseur recognition quest for 50 GP, so he was stable for now, but no spare for upgrades was the issue.

He needed a few women on standby for GP refills.

Decision made.

'Guess I'll hit the club tonight.'

He'd massively upgraded his looks and itched to test them back at the club. The animal kingdom where men and women mingled.

His first time there, he'd failed at hunting everyone but Shin Yeona.

'Kinda exciting.'

He wondered what it'd be like storming a club with handsome looks.

'180 degrees from before, right?'

He grinned.

Time for revenge on the past.

The moment he decided on the club, his phone chimed.

'Jackpot! A quest this generous!?'

50 GP per person? Clearing it meant a whopping 5,000. His past humiliations must've lingered deeper than he thought.

After work, he headed straight to the club he'd hit last time. He waited in line, got his wristband, and stepped inside.

'Still so flashy.'

Second time, but still unfamiliar. He couldn't help scanning the room.

Maybe he looked like a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠total newbie, because a woman dancing over naturally approached and struck up a conversation.

"First time at a club?"

Remembering his first visit months ago made him chuckle.

'Reactions are definitely different. She's approaching and talking first.'

He turned to meet her eyes. Heavy makeup that fit the club vibe perfectly.

"Oh, no, second time."

"I see. Here alone?"

"Yeah."

Silence hung briefly. Her status message read: 'Awkward... say something.'

"..."

'What do I say in a spot like this?'

He'd figured handsome looks meant women would chatter and chase even if he stayed quiet. Apparently not quite.

He tried for small talk, but it fizzled.

Even with her thoughts crystal clear, nothing came to mind.

"Guess you prefer solo. Sorry to bother you."

'She's lost interest and bailing.'

She walked off. Above her head: her status message.

'...Not what I expected.'

Sure, he'd flubbed the reply, but she bailed way too coolly. And her emotions? Pure regret. Affection at 20—better than zero, but no real liking.

She'd hinted he was handsome inside, but no full-blown affection.

He'd thought this face would kill at clubs. Reality differed sharply.

"What the hell?"

Next, he chatted with a woman whose affection hit 30+ just from his looks. Same story—she lost interest and wandered off.

Shock rippled through him.

Me at 70 points? Top 5% looks? Who cares about dressing? Isn't a hot face supposed to make banter fun too??

Reactions were lukewarm overall. A bad premonition hit.

He'd strutted in cocky, but might slink out head down, dick in hand.

Was he really getting ignored despite the looks because he didn't dress up and had no game?

When self-analysis failed, observe others. That's often the answer.

Feeling a twinge of urgency, he scanned the room. He diligently checked profiles and status messages of managers and patrons.

Then it hit: the flaw in his thinking.

Life isn't all about looks—his old belief was only half right.

Clothes are wings; gotta dress to impress.

Not every woman ignored him. Most showed interest. But the pretty ones who met his standards? Barely.

Women he liked showed messages like "doesn't know how to style," "total newbie," "looks like no fun even together."

"Even handsome needs styling to shine fully."

With 70 points, he'd assumed tons of women would hit 50+ affection on sight. Nope.

His looks weren't lacking. 70 points meant "handsome" with minimal effort.

Minimal.

He checked himself anew. Hair still the shaggy mess from pre-transformation. Outfit? Sloppy work clothes, straight from shift. Not cute.

Reattempt with killer looks and ambition. But in the club's brutal jungle of survival of the fittest, he lacked the polish to thrive.

He hadn't noticed till now. Ungroomed, he was still handsome; people messaged "handsome" anyway.

Enough to stand out among average chicks.

Problem: this was a club. Where everyone—men and women—dressed to kill.

'Unless you're a 100-point Won Bin type who rocks a slicked-back do, you gotta style.'

He eyed the guys inside. Style, hair, fashion—most outclassed him leagues.

"...I've still got so much to learn."

Lukewarm reactions made sense. Profile said 70, but to women, he probably clocked mid-60s.

He wasn't truly 70 yet.

'Gotta learn to style myself attractively.'