No Misunderstandings About the Thick Han Daeri Juice
I hope there's no misunderstanding about the thick Han Daeri juice. I only dropped my pants because it was a necessary procedure. The prize needed to be infused with new energy, so I had to pour in the high-concentration Han Daeri EX drink. Once I'd finished the job, I straightened my pants and rebuckled my belt.
Our proud senior from Hanseong University XX class, his jawbone ripped clean out, was already dead with his eyes wide open. Up in heaven, he'll no doubt spill every sordid detail of what he saw on earth. "Listen up, angel! While I was still hanging around down on earth, this bastard named Han Daeri just up and drops his pants outta nowhere! And then... and then... in the end...!" Satisfied with shipping off one more babbling lunatic to heaven, I shoved the corpse into the back of the cabinet. A body stuffed full of corrupt, festering energy like that? It'd rot away and vanish on its own soon enough. That's exactly why people shouldn't let evil vibes and twisted thoughts take root.
With everything cleaned up, I slipped out of the side room and blended right back into the lively reunion buzz. The people gathered here were divided into just two camps anyway: the exploiters and the exploited. The exploiters barely paid any mind to the other side. Just showing up to the reunion was offering up their fate on a platter, no matter who they were—so they left 'em alone. That's why they clumped together in their petty little cliques, yapping nonsense.
In that sense, Park In-ha stood out as pretty unusual.
'More fate stolen than I expected.' Lee Sang-ho was a first-timer this year, so he hadn't lost much. But Park In-ha? She'd accounted for a bigger chunk than I'd figured. Her massive milk jugs had been sucking in souls nonstop. That said it all. Even more shocking: she was on her second visit, yet she still had that much left to give.
'So that's why Kim Jun-gong said that to her.' Worried she might not show this year. Someone with that much to harvest? He'd want her coming back every damn year. Hell, maybe that's how Kim Jun-gong built his business empire in just one year—sucked up so much fate from her last time.
"Rare combo, huh? You two always this tight?"
Park In-ha wandered over to our table, glass in hand, grinning like she had no clue what'd gone down. She'd already knocked back a couple drinks—her milky-white cheeks were flushing pink. And with that bigger eye-smile, she clearly couldn't hold her liquor.
"Plenty of people looking for you. What, you ditching them for us?"
"Pfft, their motives are all so obvious. Girls just wanna size each other up, guys are dying for a meal with me. Honestly, it's exhausting. I came to the reunion to see friendly faces, not deal with that."
"So our faces are friendlier than theirs?"
"Unlike the others, Siwoo, you don't make me tense. No prying into my head. You're not the tiring type—get it?"
"Nah, I'm the embarrassing type. Planning to demolish these desserts in ten minutes flat."
Instead of daintily forking bites from those fancy little plates, I grabbed the handhelds—breads, cookies, cakes—and shoveled them in. I'd been living off ramen and gukbap, heavy Eastern gut-busters that'd make anyone overheat. My stomach was craving Western grub. Lee Sang-ho, standing next to me, cringed like it was mortifying. Park In-ha, watching, burst out laughing.
"Yeah, that's the spirit. We're adults now, sure, but this ain't a work meetup—it's friends getting together 'cause we missed each other. Everyone's nitpicking etiquette and droning on with complicated crap. Hard to even vibe. Siwoo, you get it."
She jumped in too, grabbing an egg tart with her bare hand and chowing down. The queen bee of the in-crowd, the hottest girl in our class, acting like this? Lee Sang-ho looked shell-shocked.
"No, I mean... this is a five-star hotel, right? Shouldn't we act the part, time and place?"
"What do you get for keeping up all that mannerly bullshit?"
"Huh?"
"Exactly. Obsess over all that tedious crap, and what's left? 'At least he's got basic manners'? Screw meaningless ratings—eat one more thing, that's what sticks."
Bottom line: other people's opinions don't buy my meals. I earn my food, I eat my food.
"Right, right. I was too busy watching my back over there to eat properly. If you're not having that, gimme."
Lee Sang-ho blinked in stunned silence as Park In-ha snatched his dessert plate. Whatever—we lived by "eat it to win it." We sampled every type, and when that Korean urge for rice hit, we hit the California rolls for carbs.
California rolls are subtly different from kimbap yet kinda similar. Creamy and tangy—pure bliss. Main ingredients tailored for fish-hating Westerners: soft shrimp or crab, maybe tuna, plus salad and mayo. Wrapped in nori for the squeamish (nude rolls), topped with sesame, flying fish roe, or tempura bits. To Eastern tastes, a bit heavy and oily—hence why they called it American kimbap/sushi before reverse import.
Shilla Hotel, true to five-star form, used premium stuff: avocado that melted on your tongue, tiny tangy cucumber bits between crisp salad, meaty shrimp. Damn good on its own—no ramen pairing thoughts here. Even I know that's tacky.
In the end, Park In-ha and I topped off each other's drinks, scooped random bites onto plates, and went hard on booze and bites. About twenty minutes in, the hall lights dimmed. Someone grabbed the podium mic and blew into it—whoosh.
I glanced over: Kim Jun-gong, our reunion host and ringleader, at the helm. Figured the timing was ripe.
"Alright, everyone. We've caught up with old faces, swapped stories from the year—great times. But after a whole year apart, just chatting and splitting? Nah. So we've got a little event to leave you with memories. You scanned the QR at entry for your unique number, right? Time to use 'em for the prize draw!"
Whistles and cheers erupted—whiiii! They all knew it was rigged, but the payoffs were sweet, so hype city. The clueless few just rode the wave.
"Oh, they did this raffle last year too. Everyone scored but me—not a single one~."
Park In-ha pouted, wiping cream from her lips with a fingertip.
"Beg the host, he might slip you one on the sly."
"Pfft, ruins the fun. Oh, it's starting!"
Lee Sang-ho tensed, checking his phone at her words. One side clocked the scam; the other, oblivious baby-food dispenser on round two. Me? I skipped my phone, eyes on Kim Jun-gong.
He had lackeys haul prizes from the side room, lining 'em up behind the podium. Then he stepped up to the big lottery tumbler—yep, that lotto-ball spinner. Tweak the machine, pick your winners. But show it spinning? Fair game to the sheep.
"First number of the night!"
The machine rattled, balls churning inside. One popped out: 31. Prize 31? Cheap perfume set, few bucks. Obviously scented with my aroma. Winner 31 squealed—kyaa!—rushed up, snatched it, clueless. I watched dark-red energy slither into their body.
So this is what bukkake feels like.