??-Rank Seong Ye-han
Used goods trading is always a tense affair. There are plenty of people in the world, and even if only a handful are psychos, you're bound to run into one eventually—that's just how life works. As Seong Ye-han offloaded Shin Ye-hwa's collection, he was struck anew by how the world is both vast and terribly small.
Once the haggling wrapped up, the real nonsense began. A woman claiming some glitch in the smart app prevented her from paying upfront, snatching the item with a promise to send the money later. Guys who "inspected" the goods by slyly damaging them to knock down the price. Hell, he was practically giving them away at below-market rates for quick sales—why did these idiots even exist? Seong Ye-han couldn't wrap his head around it.
The most ridiculous was the lunatic who boasted about being an awakener and tried to muscle it away by force. This wasn't the chaotic early days of the Gate incident when society was in freefall. Even now, with order restored and violence by awakeners punished more harshly than ever, this shithead still thought he could pull that off. It was a shock.
Of course, Seong Ye-han was no ordinary awakener anymore—he wasn't about to take that crap lying down. He handled it just enough to avoid real trouble, but it still soured his mood. And wouldn't you know it, that fucking asshole was the buyer for the very last item in Shin Ye-hwa's collection. His plan to wrap up the deals and bask in sweet relief? Totally fucked.
He'd hustled on foot for direct trades, thinking it was finally over. But no—one more to go. He stared at the luxury box in his hand. A black handbag, right?
Should I just keep it? He'd sold everything else and banked enough cash. One bag wouldn't hurt. A girl ought to have something nice like that. Though whether Shin Ye-hwa would accept a second-hand gift from her own collection was another story.
Towering, sleek skyscrapers lined the bustling downtown streets. In stark contrast, the clang! clang! of metal clashing echoed noisily, yet throngs of people strode on unfazed. Some wore full-body protective gear that looked like metal exoskeletons. Others chatted casually with friends in comfy street clothes. Their outfits varied wildly, but they shared one thing: weapons. Cold steel blades swayed and bumped at every hip, their sharp sounds cutting through the air.
A bizarre fusion of modern and medieval. This was Korea, no doubt, yet it felt like another world entirely—the nation's largest hunter gear market in Myeongdong. Once a neon-lit haven for Chinese tourists, it had swiftly pivoted after the Gate crisis, becoming an icon of the post-Gate era.
And striding through it were a man and woman in everyday clothes. Clearly together, yet a subtle awkwardness hung between them—like she was keeping just a bit too much distance. From Shin Ye-hwa, specifically.
She's embarrassed again. Seong Ye-han chuckled inwardly at Shin Ye-hwa, a step ahead of him. It had been a full week since she'd started sharing his bed—eating, sleeping, waking in the same room. But they hadn't spent it in some fluffy rom-com with squeals and blushes at every touch. No, it was pure, sticky, lewd debauchery—rated beyond XXX, 100% concentrated filth. And yet here she was, getting shy in the most random spots.
She was the one who'd pounced first more often than not, loving to cling like a needy bitch in heat. But toss her into unfamiliar territory, and she shriveled up. Still, her eyes flicked toward the street's lovey-dovey couples, so it wasn't public skinship she hated.
Of course not—the woman who reeked of bitch pheromones every night, begging to get fucked. Seong Ye-han smirked, quickening his pace to close the gap.
Shin Ye-hwa flinched at his approach, her body tensing. Blonde wig and mask hid her identity; even the thick coat couldn't conceal her deep, womanly curves from behind. Seeing her golden locks instead of the usual black ponytail? A different kind of allure. Seong Ye-han nodded appreciatively. Looking good.
He slid up beside her, grabbed her shoulder, and yanked her into his arms.
"Kyaa—!"
She let out a small squeak, tumbling into his chest without resistance. His arm wrapped her waist to keep her pinned, fingers digging into her slim, firm midriff—perfect handle, day or night, just like during sex.
"You suck and cling to me like a leech at night, even if I say no. So why get all shy about this?"
"Th-that's... just treatment, that's all...!"
"Treatment my ass. You just love cock that much."
"...!"
Seong Ye-han decided her lame excuse deserved a little punishment.
"Kyaut?!"
His hand at her waist poked her side. She jerked sensitively.
"Wh-what are you doing?!"
Her heart pounded wildly from the public teasing in broad daylight.
"Just messing around. Anyone'd think I was groping your tits or ass."
"That's not—ahut?!"
As her fire dimmed, he amped it up—squeezing her waist subtly, tickling her ribs like piano keys. Feeling her body twitch at every touch was too damn fun to stop.
"Haa... haeut..."
"Aren't you way too sensitive?"
"I-I don't know!"
Seong Ye-han blinked at her heated, bitch-in-heat pants. He'd fucked her plenty and knew her body was slutty and responsive—hell, he'd molded it himself. But even he hadn't expected this. Their winter clothes were thick; the spots he teased weren't even erogenous zones.
"Wanna do it."
"Huh?"
"I want it now."
Looking up from his arms, her face burned with feral lust—pink hearts practically glowing in her eyes if you drew it.
Watching her flare up from nothing? Fucking hot. But reining in his surging urge, Seong Ye-han chose to tease her more.
"Not yet."
"Whyyy~?"
"Gotta finish our errands first. Hold out a bit."
He peeled off her clinging form with firm resolve and kept walking. Her scorching glare bored into his back, but his steps didn't falter.
Hiss... Shin Ye-hwa furrowed her brows at Seong Ye-han's cold march ahead. Scorching heat crept from her lower belly, fogging her mind. She'd once been swept away cluelessly, but now she knew: lust. Or cruder—heat.
Knowledge let her control it somewhat. In her room, she'd surrender without hesitation. But this was a bright midday street.
Her head knew, but her body screamed otherwise. Just drag him to a motel if I have to. Staring at his reliable back, she vowed: Watch me tonight. I'll wring him dry.
That fire didn't cool even in the hunter gear shop they'd scouted. Dressing a former S-rank—current A, soon S again—in off-the-rack C-rank crap?! Rage boiled... until she learned he'd saved a full year of his wages to buy it for her. It melted like summer ice.
His gear, bought with his sweat, effort, time over a year. Love it...
Then she fitted him out with her cash, stoking her fantasies hotter. Gear that guarded life in battle—his hands protecting her body, hers shielding his. Fateful, somehow...
Her belly clenched. Rage gone, another fire blazed fiercer.
Back home that night, she pounced as usual, expecting their typical scorching, thick, sticky bliss.
"My trash~"
"Nah, not tonight."
Ahh?! A rejection sharp as a blade—ironclad, impenetrable.
What the hell...? Something was different today.