Chapter 17
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 17
Chapter Title: If This Isn't Sweat, Then What Is It?!
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If this isn't sweat, then what the hell is it?!
She had always faced discriminatory stares just for being a beastkin.
Social anxiety disorder, misanthropy, and deeply ingrained trauma to top it all off.
I wanted to lighten that burden even a little, so last night, I'd stayed up until dawn scrolling through Instagram to find the best cafe nearby—one with the greatest vibe and stellar reviews.
A place that charged over ten thousand won for a single Americano, the kind of spot that said "pay up or stay out."
Yet it was so popular you had to line up just to get in.
And above all, I was one of the rare "men" in this world.
With male-to-female ratios at 1:10, perks like priority entry for men existed, but I'd never used them before.
It always felt a bit cheap, somehow.
But today, purely for Narae, I cashed in on that benefit.
I wanted her "first time" to be as beautiful a memory as possible.
...But.
Had I underestimated this?
I never imagined the hatred toward beastkin ran this deep.
My mistake.
This was definitely my blunder.
As her counselor, the guilt of burdening a patient under my care with unnecessary stress crushed me.
At first, she'd been all excited, looking around with bright eyes.
I'd hoped this time would overwrite her negative memories of human society with warm ones.
One step, then another.
I wanted to give her the courage to return to human society.
But.
That's when the trauma hit.
The "deja vu" of beastkin hatred—the worst trigger for psychiatric patients.
The moment she pulled out her phone to snap a commemorative photo in that pretty cafe, a flamboyantly decorated parfait came crashing down on her head.
And even though she must have been furious, she forced a smile.
Watching my reaction, quietly wiping away her sweat.
The second I saw that.
I couldn't just stand by as her counselor—or even as a companion.
"How utterly disgusting! You dump a parfait on someone's head and think you can brush it off as an accident?!"
"S-Sorry, sir…!"
"Forget it. I'm filing a formal complaint through the men's priority grievance department for what happened today."
"…! Y-You can't do that… Even so… she's not even human, just some beastkin lookalike. Isn't reacting this sensitively a bit much?"
"……What did you just say?"
In this world where men are precious.
Here in advanced Korea, with all its male-targeted perks, if a man felt strong disgust, he could report it anytime to the special grievance office.
And that office held terrifying power, ranking in the top three scariest government agencies alongside the military draft board and tax office.
I'd tried to let it slide at first.
Figured disciplining the staff would suffice.
But when the manager joined in mocking the beastkin, I decided I wouldn't hold back anymore.
"You see Narae's condition and still say that?!"
BAM!
Unable to contain my anger, I slammed the table in front of me.
Because right now, in my eyes, there was Narae—face flushed red, head bowed low, her chair surrounded by a puddle of "sweat" as her lower half soaked through completely.
"Look! How humiliated and tormented does she have to be to sweat this much?!"
"If it's sweat… why's her hair fine up top, but only flowing from under her skirt…?"
"Narae's a wolf beastkin! Of course her body heat concentrates in her lower half with the tail—it's natural!"
This clueless manager lady.
Come on, think about it.
If that clear liquid trickling from under her skirt wasn't sweat, then what the hell was it?
Seeing no point in further conversation, I made a snap decision.
Get the patient out of this stimulating environment.
I grabbed her hand.
"Narae, forget this dump. Let's go."
"E-Eh?! B-But we haven't paid…!"
"No need. This place'll be shut down soon anyway."
"M-Master's doing this for me… Nngh, hoo…?!"
Squish!
The moment she stood, grabbing my hand, another gush of "sweat" poured from under her skirt hem.
How terrified must she have been for her body to react like this.
"You'd better brace yourselves."
"N-No…!"
"S-Sir! Please don't…! And that… no matter how you look at it, it's not sweat… it's sticky…!"
Something was said behind us, but it no longer mattered.
I had no interest in fake apologies or lame excuses.
With a blank expression, I quietly led Narae out of the cafe.
That's when.
Thud.
"M-My legs…"
"…!"
She collapsed.
From sheer terror.
A common reaction in psychiatric trauma patients.
"Panic-induced muscle hypotonia."
Commonly known as panic flop.
When overwhelmed by extreme stress or fear, the body loses strength against one's will and collapses.
In these cases, the best approach is for a trusted guardian to make eye contact and calmly reassure them.
But right now, this place was the epicenter of her trauma.
Her autonomic nervous system was likely on the verge of shutdown, and judging by the amount of sweat pouring from her limp body, things weren't looking good.
If this continued, it could escalate to an acute stress reaction seizure.
So I.
"Narae, I'll carry you on my back."
"……Huh?"
Her eyes widened in shock and confusion.
But there were no other options.
I was her doctor, her counselor, and her guardian.
Fortunately, I'd built up my stamina in preparation for counseling sessions.
I could bench 400 kilos easy.
Even with her weight plus the beastkin tail, she was around 60kg tops.
The moment she climbed on, she felt impossibly light.
"W-Wait… Master?!"
The second she called me that in surprise, a subtle shift rippled through the cafe.
Everyone perked up at the word, the silence so thick you could hear a pin drop.
Gazes poured in.
Sneaking glances.
But none of that mattered now.
"I'll take you somewhere without people."
I declared firmly and stepped out.
The soft, squishy sensation on my back, and below it, the damp "wetness" seeping through.
Of course, that was sweat too.
I barely suppressed my lower half's unruly reaction.
And with Narae clinging to me, sobbing and trembling, I figured silence and a quick escape were best for now.
"Master… you can put me down now… I-I can walk…!"
"Not yet. Still too dangerous."
"I-It's not that bad… Nngh!"
With Narae's legs giving out from severe trauma triggers, where the hell should I take her?
Honestly, heading straight back to the mansion—or even my place—would be quickest and safest.
But.
In broad daylight, during peak foot traffic, a man carrying a beastkin woman on his back would draw eyes no matter what—even as her primary physician.
And those stares would just add to Narae's psychological burden.
Stimulation like that had to be avoided at all costs.
So as a backup, I quickly pulled out my phone to check a map of nearby alleys.
"Phew… this should do."
I headed for a quiet back alley with minimal foot traffic.
"Narae, you okay?"
"…Yeah."
Finally off my back, she still couldn't lift her face, just breathing raggedly.
But.
The feel of her against my back had been off.
Way beyond light sweat.
One side had left a long, silvery thread of sticky fluid dried to my clothes, like a viscous trail from inside her skirt.
How terrified must she have been…!
I clenched my teeth quietly.
That cafe is getting reported for sure.
As I steeled myself, Narae spoke up hesitantly.
"Um… Master. Could you turn around for a sec?"
"…Why all of a sudden?"
"Well… my panties are soaked. The sweat's too much; I can't keep them on… I need to take them off."
"……."
Now it clicked.
If the sweat was that bad, her underwear was probably drenched like she'd been swimming.
As her doctor and a gentleman, I naturally turned my back.
…But a nagging unease flickered in my mind.
Narae was a patient exhibiting "sexual deviance tendencies" resolved through exposure stress.
Even if today's incident was unintentional, parading around panty-less in just a skirt could turn treatment into self-destructive indulgence in deviant pleasure.
One slip could unravel all the progress we'd made.
So.
"The bottom feels… so empty…."
As she carefully slipped off her panties, her voice trembled faintly with familiar pleasure.
I rummaged in my bag and pulled out the perfect item just in time.
"Narae. You should wear this for now."
"This is… a d-diaper?"
"Yeah. Going commando outside is too risky."
It was from a previous patient.
Prepared for Yunhwa's ageplay therapy—an adult diaper.
Complete with baby powder to prevent rashes.
Looking flustered, Narae asked.
"Wait… why does Master have something like this?"
"Oh, uh…."
Psychiatric counselors can't disclose other patients' cases.
That's a clear ethics violation.
After a few seconds' hesitation, I blurted out the most unbelievable excuse.
"...I want to make a baby someday."
"A-A baby?!"
"Haha, yeah. So… I've been practicing putting on diapers ahead of time."
It was an absurd excuse, pure nonsense.
My position had long crossed into un-normal territory anyway.
Pulling out an adult diaper and claiming "baby diaper practice"—insane on every level.
"Th-That makes sense…!"
But surprisingly, Narae bought it wholesale, no suspicion.
Her red eyes sparkled faintly, then she rubbed her inner thighs together with a subtly excited air. Did she like kids or something?
Her reaction even made me crack a smile.
"Um, but Master…."
"Yeah? What's up?"
"I… don't know how to put on a diaper…."
"Oh."
No.
I can't smile anymore.