Yes, I Knew
I had no evil intentions at all.
After all, I had simply searched for it in the novel. Only when I reached the very last chapter did the sex scene finally appear, and I wrote the comment out of pure curiosity.
Even the sex scene was only three lines long. To summarize it in the simplest way: undress, penetrate, thrust, and then the next morning.
So I thought.
‘Maybe the author just hasn’t done it himself and doesn’t really know how it’s supposed to look?’
Even though I found it a bit odd that the novel description listed “Noru Pyo Tteokhyupji” anyway, I still posted the comment and fell asleep with my daughter’s novel open beside me.
“Oh… sex…”
The next morning, as I opened my eyes at the riverside, the reflection in the water showed me a black man with long dreadlocks.
[My comment on the Noru Pyo Tteokhyupji epilogue]
I was a Korean man living a mundane life. My daughter loved this web novel, and I had downloaded it on a whim because the title sounded funny. “Female-dominated erotic martial arts world where the protagonist becomes a male servant and conquers a harem of proud martial heroines.” The summary sounded ridiculous, but my daughter kept insisting I read it.
I gave in. Just to please her, I sat down that evening and started scrolling through the first chapter.
Everything was so… exaggerated.
Beautiful women in flowing robes, qi blazing like flames, bodies sculpted like statues, and endless battles mixed with shameless erotic scenes. The protagonist, a low-born male servant, somehow survives and eventually dominates the entire sect. It felt like the author had poured every taboo desire into one story, and the result was pure, over-the-top fantasy.
I laughed out loud when I reached the epilogue. The final scene was exactly as I had imagined—brief, crude, and over in three lines. “Undress. Penetrate. Thrust. Morning after.” Nothing more. No buildup, no description, no satisfaction.
That was when I typed my comment.
“Hey author, do you even know?”
I thought it was a harmless joke. I wasn’t trying to be mean. I was just curious. Why did the author label this story “Noru Pyo Tteokhyupji” (a joke that meant something like “fake imperial concubine’s private affair”)? And yet the actual sex scene was so empty it felt insulting.
My daughter had read the whole thing and loved it, but I had read only the first chapter and the last scene before sleeping. I was already drifting off when my phone pinged with a new comment notification.
“O… sex…”
I opened my eyes in a panic.
The reflection in the river was no longer mine.
Instead of my ordinary Korean face, I saw a tall, black man with long, thick dreadlocks cascading down his back. His body was perfectly proportioned—broad shoulders, thick thighs, powerful legs. Water slapped against my calves as I stood there, completely naked in the moonlight.
I looked down. My chest was hairy. My arms were corded with muscle. Between my legs, a thick, heavy cock hung heavy and dark, already half-hard from the sudden shock.
“What the hell…?”
My voice came out deeper, richer, with a slight accent. The riverbank was no longer Korean. The moon hung low over misty peaks that looked straight out of the novel. And the air tasted of qi.
I tried to remember. The last thing I had seen was the epilogue of the web novel. I had written a silly comment and fallen asleep. Now I was… this?
I rubbed my face. The skin was smooth, warm, and entirely unfamiliar. My hands—large, dark, calloused from years of labor—pressed against my chest.
“This isn’t a dream,” I muttered in Korean, then immediately realized I was speaking in a language I no longer understood. The words came out in a deep, resonant tone that sounded almost like a growl.
I spun around, searching for something familiar. The riverbank stretched endlessly. No houses. No roads. Only tall trees and the distant silhouette of a mountain range that matched the novel’s illustration exactly.
A faint smile tugged at the corners of my new lips.
“…I see,” I said, tasting the words. “The author really doesn’t know how to write sex, does he?”
The thought hit me like a slap.
Here I was, suddenly a black man with dreadlocks and a body built for sex, and the author had never even bothered to draw it properly. My original comment—meant as gentle mockery—had somehow become reality. The system that had been running in the background of my daughter’s phone had apparently taken my joke literally and granted my wish.
I laughed. A deep, throaty sound that echoed across the water.
“Well, well… looks like I finally got what I asked for.”
I flexed my new arms, feeling the power surge through them. My muscles were tight, ready. Between my legs, my cock twitched with sudden, overwhelming vitality.
“But one thing’s for sure,” I said, turning to look at my reflection again. “If the author can’t even describe a proper fuck, I’m going to have to teach him how it’s done.”
I stepped into the river, the cold water shocking my skin. The current tugged at my thick thighs, but I felt no fear—only exhilaration.
“Let’s see how long this world lasts when the man who ‘knows’ finally arrives.”
The wind carried the distant sound of a woman’s laugh somewhere in the mountains. I smiled and began to walk.
The harem had just gained its first—and most unexpected—member.