The Deal (1)
“I let myself get too swept up in the conversation… She doesn’t actually think I’m a pushover, does she?”
Walking home from SW Production, I snapped out of my daze and realized—had I really been letting Song Seoyoon dictate the pace of everything? A cold prickle of doubt crept in.
“Haa… Well, it’s not like I made this decision on a whim. The System literally handed me the script—and the item. It’ll work out somehow.”
I fretted over it for ages, only to blink and find myself already at my front door. With a long sigh, I punched in the door code and stepped inside.
“I’m home.”
I said it flatly, voice drained.
“You’re back? Then sit here for a sec—I’ve got something important to say.”
Lee Ha-rin—still very much occupying *my* apartment—immediately intercepted me the moment I crossed the threshold. Her expression was tired, but her tone left zero room for negotiation.
Then, without missing a beat, she ordered me into a chair like I was some errand boy summoned for a royal decree.
“How important could it possibly be that you drag someone in who just wants to collapse and sleep?”
She stared back, unblinking—no pout, no whine, no dramatic flounce. Just quiet, unnerving stillness. And I knew, if I ignored her, she’d escalate to full-on screeching until I caved. So I sighed again, dropped into the chair, and asked, “Okay. What is it?”
“…First—where the hell were you this late? You don’t even *have* friends to meet.”
That caught me off guard. Usually, she’d have lunged, teased, or thrown a pillow by now. But tonight? Calm. Calculating.
“Tch. Haa… Went to scout production companies. Why?”
Her question had hit dead center—and for a split second, I almost snarled a curse. But the seriousness in her eyes, the tight set of her jaw, held me back. So I swallowed the insult and told her the truth—straight, clean, no embellishment.
“So—you’ve already secured a production company?”
“Yeah. They’re finalizing the advance payment. Said they’d call before lunch tomorrow.”
“Right. So that means…”
She murmured under her breath, fingers tapping her thigh as she stared at the floor, lost in thought.
What the hell is going on? Did something actually happen?
“Hey—what’s wrong? Why are you acting so weird all of a sudden?”
Her muttering sent a jolt of unease through me. I leaned forward, voice low. “Spit it out. What is it?”
“Ah! Just—shut up for a sec! I haven’t even mentally prepared yet!”
“Tch. ‘Mentally prepared’? Seriously? I’m worried about you—and you’re throwing tantrums like a toddler refusing naptime.”
She’d just called concern *a tantrum*. That did it. I kicked her lightly—just enough to send her tumbling off the bed—and claimed the mattress for myself.
“Hey! Wait—just hold still for a sec! Please!”
“Fine, fine. I’ll rest. When you’re done with your ‘mental preparation,’ just say the word.”
“Kkkkrrr…”
I flopped onto the bed, pulled out my phone, and scrolled mindlessly through YouTube Shorts—laughing at dumb clips, trying to reset my brain.
Then—she spoke.
“…Heyu. Oppa… let’s make a deal.”
Finally, she broke the silence.
“A deal? What kind?”
I killed the screen, tossed the phone aside, and turned to her with an exaggeratedly bored expression. She hesitated—bit her lip—then launched into a rambling, nervous monologue, words tumbling out like marbles down stairs.
“So what exactly are you trying to say?”
I cut her off before she spiraled further. If I didn’t stop her now, she’d keep circling the drain for another ten minutes.
“So… basically… that script you wrote today? Even ignoring the whole blood-relative thing—it was *actually* good. And since you landed a production company *today*, assuming casting goes smoothly, this drama’s got at least a solid chance. Plus—it’s Mir Studio. Not some fly-by-night outfit.”
She paused, took a shaky breath, then blurted it out—fists clenched, eyes squeezed shut, voice cracking with raw, unfiltered shame:
“So—if this drama succeeds, you *have* to use your connections to help me break into the industry! In return—I’ll serve you. *Completely.*”
“S-Serve?!”
I blinked. Stared. Jaw slack. My brain short-circuited.
“Yeah! Because you *never* do anything for free!”
Seeing me flustered, she doubled down—voice rising, defiance blazing through the embarrassment, like she’d decided, *Fine. Let it all burn.*
“…But—why ‘serve’? What does that even mean?”
“What?! Do I *look* rich? Do I *look* connected? All I’ve got is *this body*—so what else am I supposed to offer?! And we *already* did it once—drunk, yeah, but still! So why hesitate? Honestly, oppa—you *enjoyed* it that night.”
They say people get eerily calm when faced with the unthinkable. Ha-rin? She got *bolder*.
“Crazy bitch—you really throw your body around like it’s spare change?”
I snapped, genuinely pissed—not at her, but at the sheer, reckless audacity of it.
“What?! I wouldn’t do this for *anyone* but you! …Honestly, you’re decent-looking, your body’s great—so I figured, why not *offer*?!”
She fired back—indignant, fierce—then immediately flushed crimson and ducked her head, mortified by her own honesty.
Wait—that was just a joke. A stupid, flirty jab. I never thought she’d take it seriously. I was planning to help her anyway—maybe just ask for dinner in return.
No matter how messed up I was, I wasn’t about to abandon the girl who’d given me my first time.
I guess… I owe her more than I’ve been giving.
Watching her—brash, vulnerable, fiercely loyal beneath the brattiness—I felt a sharp pang of self-reckoning. How many times had I treated her like background noise? Like a convenient, disposable fixture in my life?
“…”
“…”
A heavy, awkward silence settled between us—thick with unspoken things, charged with the weight of what she’d just offered… and what I’d just accepted.
Look. It’s not like this hurts me. In fact—it’s pure gain.
“Haa… Fine. I’ll take the deal.”
I said it with a sigh—outwardly reluctant, inwardly calculating the ROI. A perfect performance.
“R-Really?!”
She gasped—stammered—her shock so genuine it was almost comical. She hadn’t believed I’d say yes.
“Yeah. If this contest wins and the drama takes off, I’ll pull every string I can to get you in.”
“KYAAAAAAAH! You *swore*! You *promise*—you *better keep it!*”
…Okay. Maybe *I’m* not fully sane for agreeing to this. But watching her bounce around the room like a hyperactive puppy? Yeah—she’s definitely lost it too.
“Then—shall we start right now? Strip down and suck me off.”
I hadn’t expected to relieve the pent-up tension from Song Seoyoon’s seduction so *quickly*. But there it was—pure, unadulterated relief. Grinning, I yanked off my pants and flopped back onto the bed.
“W-Wait—*already*?!”
My cock sprang free, thick and hard, bobbing eagerly. Ha-rin froze—her breath hitching, her eyes wide and locked on it.
“You *literally* said you’d serve me.”
“…I know.”
She began undressing—slow, deliberate, hands trembling just slightly. Last night, I’d been too wired, too drunk, too overwhelmed to truly *see* her. But now? Now I saw *everything.*
Her body was *phenomenal.* Her chest—full, round, gravity-defying—eclipsed most idols’. Her abs were razor-sharp, carved by relentless training. And her hips? Wide, lush, undeniably feminine—the kind that made your palms itch to grip them.
“Why’re you staring like that…?”
She flushed, arms flying up to cover her breasts and pussy—her cheeks burning, her voice a whisper.
“Hey—where’s all your pubic hair?”
It was a stupid question—but it nagged at me. Her mound was smooth. Utterly bare.
“Do you *really* make women say stuff like that? I knew you were a shameless pervert—but *this* is next level.”
She gaped at me, disbelief warring with outrage, muttering under her breath like I’d personally offended her dignity.
“Why not? I’m curious. It’s weird—how *smooth* it is. And hey—you *offered* service. Don’t start negotiating terms *after* you’ve pledged loyalty.”
She glared—but I just grinned, unrepentant.
“I said I’d *serve* you—not become your *slave*! You’ve been nice to me lately, so now you think I’m *easy*?!”
“So—you won’t tell me?”
“Haa… *Fine.*”
Defeated, she glanced at me sideways—hesitant, embarrassed—and finally whispered the truth no one else knew.
“It never grew in the first place.”
“You should’ve just said that from the start!”
“Easy for you to say! I’m a *girl*, okay?! And because I’m *so* bad at this—because I lack *basic* emotional intelligence—I’m twenty years old and have *zero* girlfriends. Not even a *female friend*!”
Then—like flipping a switch—she dropped her hands. No more hiding. Just Ha-rin, standing tall, unapologetically bare. Her tits swayed gently as she moved—and right there, centered on each plump, pink nipple, her areolas trembled with every shallow breath.
“Alright—how do you want it?”
I wasn’t listening. Not to her words. My blood was roaring, my vision narrowing to the soft swell of her chest, the delicate flush on her skin, the way her breath hitched when our eyes met. I cut her off, voice rough with need.
“What?!”
“What *what*? I’m asking *how* you want me to suck you—do you want me between your legs? Or 69-style? Pick.”
“…Which do *you* prefer, oppa?”
She stared at my erection—long, veined, pulsing—then hesitated, biting her lip. Finally, she shrugged and tossed the choice back to me.
“Me? I like 69.”
“Got it. Then I’ll just go straight to your lap.”
“Hey! Then *why* did you even ask?!”
“Hmm? Because I *don’t* want to do what you like.”
I scowled. She smirked—like I’d just confirmed her favorite theory about me.
“…Haa. Do whatever you want.”
“Good. Because that’s *exactly* what I planned to do.”
She smiled—satisfied, smug, utterly in her element—as she climbed onto the bed, lowered herself onto her stomach, and crawled slowly, deliberately, between my spread thighs. She stopped just inches from my cock—hovering, breath warm against my shaft—then froze.