The Daughter's Sin is the Mother's Sin (2)
“What’s this?”
Yujeong played dumb. She did it so naturally and boldly that even I almost believed for a moment she had nothing to do with it.
As if she'd never cowered under my pressure, Yujeong crossed her arms and legs like she owned the place. She wasn't in her usual long skirt—instead, a short one that had ridden up high enough to blatantly expose the pale tops of her thighs. I stared openly.
“Eek!”
Seeming to notice my gaze, Yujeong uncrossed her legs and tugged her skirt down.
I smirked, recalling the glimpse I'd caught of the inside of her thighs when she'd spread them. Teddy bear panties? At her age? What a taste...
Sensing my sneer, Yujeong glared at me. It was identical to the look her daughter Yujin gave. The difference was that this one was more mature—she glanced toward the door instead of unleashing a torrent of emotions, scouting for an escape.
I shoved the stack of documents at her face again, as if to say look properly.
Yujeong didn't even glance at them. She waved them away and launched into whatever she wanted to say.
“Transfer student! Didn't you hear me earlier? I asked why you're not going home at this hour and what you're doing here. And what's with that uniform? Like some delinquent. Even as a transfer, you should've learned the school rules by now, right?”
“What the hell are you—”
“—Quiet! Who said you could speak?”
“What?”
“And how did you get into the Chairwoman's office? You didn't steal the janitor's keys, did you? Theft is grounds for expulsion here! We don't forgive it just because you regret it later.”
Yujeong cut me off, machine-gunning her scolding. It was a dark night. Just the two of us in the room. The drunken woman had unbuttoned enough to show cleavage, and the man before her lounged casually in disheveled clothes, blackmail materials spread on the table.
How could she not know what this situation meant?
Then I noticed something in my puzzled gaze. Her hand. The small hand resting on her short skirt, which kept riding up. It trembled as red as her flushed, alcohol-heated face.
I understood. Yujeong was desperately hiding her fear by acting like her usual strict teacher self.
“Hahahahaha!”
The realization triggered hysterical laughter. Even Yujeong, mid-scold and ignoring my laughs, clamped her mouth shut. Now she couldn't hide her anxiety, trembling in her seat. She kept glancing at the door—still wanting to flee, but not acting on it.
Smart choice. If she had, I'd have switched to brute force.
I stopped laughing and looked at her. The mask of the stern teacher was cracked all over. Beneath it, I saw her true face: a female terrified that a male's actions would seal her fate.
“Um, transfer student? It's late—go home now. I'll overlook today's mistakes as ignorance of the rules.”
“Shut up.”
I rifled through the documents I'd shoved at her, memorizing the key parts. Most info wasn't clear from these alone—only what I'd uncovered pre-regression.
Realizing I knew far more than she'd expected, her flushed face slowly paled.
“How did you find out...? No, what do you want?”
Her voice deflated as she asked.
Quick situational awareness, as expected. I set the papers down and grinned. I snapped my fingers, as if daring her to guess.
“Since I didn't report it right away... you figure I want something from you.”
I snapped again, like correct.
“Fine, say it. Money? Or should I fudge your grades?”
She proposed the deal naturally, like she'd done this before. Her trembling body had calmed; posture straight. Apparently more comfortable now that she could predict my intent, versus the unknown terror earlier.
But what I wanted from Yujeong wasn't some petty thing like money or grades. I wanted everything. All of her.
“Simple. Do one very simple thing, and I'll forget all about your crimes.”
As I spoke, I reached out and grabbed her wrist. Yujeong, who'd glanced at the door again for escape, glared at me.
Clearly pissed that a much younger student was banmal-ing her—a teacher—and grabbing her wrist. But since I planned to do far worse, her glare didn't faze me.
Holding her wrist, I reached toward her with my other hand. Watching warily, Yujeong panicked as it neared and shot up from her chair.
Her original target—her breasts—lifted out of reach, but no matter. I'd touched plenty of spots on her body before.
I slid my hand under her short skirt, stroking the inner thigh.
“Simple, right? You won't pretend otherwise?”
My middle finger on her inner thigh crept upward, snaking like a serpent between her legs toward the teddy bear's face—
“You punk pervert bastard—get off!”
Yujeong slapped my hand away and yelled. She swung her handbag hard at my head. I could've dodged or blocked easily, but I took it. I'd hidden a camera in the office bookshelf. Nothing fancy, but footage of the Chairwoman assaulting a student would be useful.
Thwack!
Her half-zipped bag spilled its contents on the floor: lipstick, wallet, deodorant. I'd hoped for condoms, but no dice. Widow for years, still celibate?
I stared at Yujeong scrambling toward the door without even gathering her stuff, feigning panic after the bag hit.
She seemed rushed, but in heels and drunk, her run was clumsy. She'd trip on the table corner, flip forward, skirt hiking to her waist and flashing the teddy bear repeatedly.
Even drunk, this was oddly sluggish and awkward.
Strange. Unless she'd chugged way too much, not this bad. And that level would've knocked her out—no clear speech or banter.
Yujeong gripped the doorknob and glanced back, surprised I wasn't chasing. She'd expected me to grab her.
Of course I had no intention of letting her go. I just didn't need to chase—yet.
I maxed my phone volume, pulling it from my pocket as she flailed away. Then played the pre-edited clip, trimmed and manipulated to sound just right.
Blasting from the phone speaker at max volume came Yujeong's daughter—Yujin's voice.
Excited, coquettish. Forced boyfriend play, acting cute for me. Sounded like she loved me, sincere.
Yujeong, who could've twisted the knob and fled, approached instead. I glanced at her face—not rage, but closer to despair.
That precious daughter she'd raised, getting fucked by trash like me? That devastating?
Approaching slowly, Yujeong bent to grab her bag. I ogled her cleavage—then she swung it at me.
Thud!
One hit. Bag smacked my head, spilling the last items.
Thud!
Two. Now just fabric, but the metal clasp stung.
As she raised for the third, I stood, grabbed her wrist like I'd done to Yujin, and punched her gut.
“Urk!”
Solid liver shot. Her waist bent at right angles. Legs buckled, trembling.
She glared up from her hunched position, trying to tough it out—but a blow that'd floor a big guy had her done. No chance.
I turned to check the camera—perfect shot of her hitting me.
Spinning back, I planted my foot on her forehead as she sprawled. Applied slight pressure. Her struggling head pressed to the floor.
“Ughhh!”
Her cry mixed with the voice from regression days, scolding me as a rapist. I pressed harder.
“My daughter... what did you do to my daughter, you trash punk...”
Clutching her gut, sniffling, she cursed me.
“What did I do? Didn't you hear? She begged for it. I got fucked instead—by that slut.”
I brazenly lied, starting to gaslight Yujeong.