Ten Believers in Record Time

After finishing the brainwashing session, I had a quick, light round of sex with Dayeon before driving her straight home. I would have loved to keep playing with her until she passed out like I had with Yeonju, but she had a crucial monthly evaluation tomorrow, so I had no choice.

“Whew~ Yeah, it’s the right thing to send her back… but what the hell am I supposed to do now?”

After dropping Dayeon off and returning home, I let out a long sigh at the sight of my cock still standing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠rock-hard. This savage Magnum had no concept of satisfaction. The more I upgraded it, the closer its capacity came to infinite. I’d already unloaded one shot into Dayeon and dozens into Yeonju, yet it refused to soften even a little.

“Mmm…”

I pulled out my phone and checked the time. It was evening, but not terribly late. Plenty of time left for activity.

“Should I hit up a club and reel in a whole bunch of women?”

My original plan had been to contact Lee Yu-na, my dedicated private banker. Since I’d decided to acquire the company, I needed someone with real expertise in that area. I couldn’t be sure how deep her knowledge of M&A ran, but she definitely knew far more than I did. And even if she didn’t, her network alone would let me push things forward.

But that would slow the tempo way too much…

Nobody was chasing me, yet every gamer shared the same instinct: clear the given quests as fast as possible. That was why contacting Yu-na gave me pause. Working on her would obviously require devoting every remaining hour of the day to her alone. She was elite talent—a VVIP private banker at Sehan Bank at such a young age—so she’d need careful, attentive management. Making her a believer was necessary, but it didn’t have to happen tonight.

After turning the idea over and over, I decided against calling Yu-na or going clubbing. Instead, I opened Outstagram.

Outstagram. A trendy app crawling with socialites and celebrities, yet even my phone—the device of the ultimate loner—had it installed. I never actually did anything on it. Never posted once. The only reason it existed on my device was so I could quietly browse pictures of beautiful women.

It wasn’t special. Roughly seventy percent of users were probably doing the exact same thing—voyeuristic appreciation of pretty girls. No official stats existed, but if you checked the follower lists of women everyone worshipped as Outstar Goddesses, most accounts were empty shells with zero posts, just like mine.

On the surface it looked like an app where the attractive elite played among themselves. Beneath that surface, however, a far darker voyeuristic feast was taking place.

Well, I’m about to sink even lower.

Yet I hadn’t opened the app merely to stare at pretty women. I already had more than enough beauties around me; I didn’t need to ogle photoshopped fake goddesses. Right now, the only thing I needed was to fill the believer count required for the quest.

There’s no better app than Outstagram for simultaneously offering meetings to a huge number of women at once.

It had a direct message system—DMs. You could send messages to any account without needing to follow or be mutuals. I planned to use that system to raise my believer count to ten before the day ended.

I typed: [2,000,000 won per session. Location: Seoul. Only reply if you’re available today.]

It wasn’t long, but it contained everything that mattered. I copied the message and mechanically pasted it to every Outstar Goddess I followed.

Two million won should get bites pretty fast, right?

This was my first time doing it for real, but everyone already knew prostitution ran rampant through DMs. Plenty of women in their twenties and thirties used their looks to become Outstar celebrities, then lived luxuriously off paid hookups arranged in messages.

How could I be so sure? Because people who earned money that way always showed off. Sudden selfies with brand-new luxury bags. Sudden overseas trips with yet another luxury bag beside them. A sudden five-star hotel suite selfie with still another luxury bag in frame.

Maybe they bought those with ad revenue or sponsorships, but the celebrities I’d messaged weren’t anywhere near that level. Pure Outstar celebrities needed at least a million followers to live the daily luxury lifestyle of chaebols. Otherwise, they needed smaller but extremely loyal audiences that commanded high ad rates.

Yet these minor celebrities with only tens of thousands of followers bragged about different luxury bags every single day. They had no real jobs, just spent all their time taking selfies in trendy cafés. In cases like that, it was almost one hundred percent. They were the so-called “Outstar sponsored girls.”

The flood of replies pouring into my inbox proved it beyond doubt.

I slowly scrolled through the profiles and photos of every account that replied. There was always the chance of catfish using fake selfies. Following them gave a first layer of verification, but since I only needed to fuck four of them, careful selection was mandatory.

After thorough screening, I summoned the four surviving women to my house at one-hour intervals. One stubbornly insisted on meeting only at a hotel, but the moment I offered an extra ten million won she shut her mouth instantly.

Four women for roughly a hundred million won total?

Even on second thought, it was pocket change. Besides, the money would flow back into my hands anyway, so whether I spent a hundred million, a billion, or ten billion didn’t matter.

Once they become my believers they’ll be desperate to offer me their liver and gallbladder. Why would mere money be a problem?

I lay on the sofa exchanging meaningless texts with the sponsored girl already heading my way, killing time. It was boring as hell, yet my cock remained stubbornly erect.

Hurry up. Hurry!

While I waited with growing impatience, the doorbell rang.

I sprang off the sofa, walked to the front door, and opened it. With a soft creak, the door swung wide, revealing a woman in an obscenely sexy spandex mini-dress and sky-high heels—like she was proudly announcing she’d come to get fucked.

Oh.

I studied her carefully. Even accounting for photo editing, she looked better in person. The perky, massive breasts I’d assumed were edited were very real. There were faint traces of plastic surgery on her face, but otherwise she ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was flawless. More than acceptable.

“Uh…? Is this the right place? The… guy who messaged me on Outstagram…”

“Yes, that’s me. Come in.”

I guided her inside naturally. Despite stepping into a stranger’s house—one belonging to a suspicious man who’d openly proposed paid sex via SNS—she displayed more curiosity and surprise than wariness. When you lived in a house nice enough to make jaws drop, even unfamiliar members of the opposite sex didn’t trigger any defenses. Today’s living lesson was thoroughly dyed in raw capitalism.

I led her into one of the many rooms and immediately began stripping her. For some reason she’d already grown aroused; she responded eagerly to every touch.

“Mmm… Oppa. Why do you live like this?”

“…?”

Just as I’d nearly finished undressing her, the sudden question probing at human dignity froze me mid-motion.

This shameless bitch…?

She’d come running excitedly at the mention of money, yet now she attacked in such a cheap way. Utterly brazen. Maybe I should just throw her out.

“Ah…? Did I phrase that badly? I just meant… you’re incredibly handsome, young, and clearly rich. So I was curious why you don’t have a girlfriend and are meeting someone like me instead.”

“Ah… It’s just more convenient this way.”

It was a half-assed answer, but not a lie. Using SNS was simply easier than street hunting or trying to score at clubs. And thanks to it, I could meet my required quantity quickly.

“Wow… That was really cool, you know? I thought I hated bad boys, but maybe I don’t. Hearing that trashy line just made my pussy soaking wet.”

“Good. I like women who get wet ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠easily. My cock’s so big that if you’re not properly soaked, it’s hard to fit.”

“Ooh~ You even know how to brag. So cute. Oppa, is today a one-time thing? Or will you call me again sometimes? I’d do it for free if it’s you.”

“Let’s check our compatibility first. If we match well, I’ll consider it.”

“So arrogant~ But I like it. Heehee.”

She kept giggling like something was endlessly amusing. But her laughter died the instant I unzipped my pants and pulled out my cock. My dick was so monstrous it devoured even her smile.

“Uh……?”

“Lie down. We need to test compatibility.”

“Agh… ugh… W-wait! Stop!!”

She panicked at the sight of a cock far beyond average size and begged me to stop, but I had no intention of listening. Sorry, but it couldn’t be helped. Another guest would arrive in an hour. I had to finish a satisfying fuck before then.

“I’m putting it in.”

“No…! There’s no way that’ll fit…!!! If you shove that inside me I won’t be able to walk again…!!!”

Squuuish—!!

She kept ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠spitting out lines straight from erotic manga. I grew even more excited and fucked her senseless. I couldn’t go all-out every second since I still had to entertain the next guest, but it was still excellent sex. Overwhelming physique, experience, and fraudulent skills crushed her beneath pure pleasure. Anyone watching would have called it one-sided slaughter, but one-sided slaughter had its own charm.

The first guest threw a tantrum afterward, claiming she couldn’t move. I used brainwashing to drive her out of the house. She was now my believer, not just some Outstar celebrity, so I felt a little bad about not cherishing her more. Still, although I had many rooms, only so many had beds. Letting her rest would disrupt the entire schedule, so the measure was unavoidable.

One more believer gained. After that, adding new believers went smoothly. I couldn’t afford to be picky about quality like before, but right now quantity was what mattered.

I worked my cock diligently, increasing the count. After four rounds of sex, I finally reached exactly ten believers.

My throat felt dry, so I went to the kitchen, drank some water, then opened my phone and launched the The World is Money and Women app.

It doesn’t look too difficult… but a fifty-billion-won reward probably means there’s a lot of work involved. Let’s check the new Sanctuary Declaration skill first.

I carefully reviewed the newly appeared quest, then opened the skill window to examine the Sanctuary Declaration I’d received as a clear reward.