Breaking the School Idol Yujin's Pride (1)
I barely held back the urge to burst out of the dresser and pounce on Yujin right then and there. This was the time for patience. I'd endured for over ten years already—what was a little longer?
But my grip on the kitchen knife wouldn't loosen.
So I kept repeating to myself that my patience wouldn't last forever, and that I'd taste the rewards of it before the night was out.
Footsteps thudded again, growing fainter until they faded completely. I cracked open the dresser door and peeked out headfirst.
She's gone. No one around.
I stepped out, scanned the surroundings carefully, then slipped into the hallway. I desperately wanted to chase after Yujin and grab her, but I couldn't.
I had to stay calm. No losing my shit. Only the coldest bastard could pull off the cruelest revenge.
If I just blindly raped Yujin and her screams leaked out, someone might report me. If the cops showed up and nabbed me, my revenge would end right there.
Even if I got out of jail and tried again, it wouldn't mean much. By then, I wouldn't be the innocent guy falsely accused of sexual assault—I'd be an undeniable rapist.
Proving my innocence to the world mattered more than just getting back at them. I had to achieve both. One without the other was pointless.
If my only goal was dragging those bitches down, I wouldn't even need to bother like this.
With my memories of the future, I could slowly build my strength, strike when I was stronger, and that'd be that.
I cautiously left the kitchen and entered the hallway, glancing toward where Yujin's footsteps had trailed off. The room at the end of the hall. I'd heard the door close, so she was probably in there.
I doubted she'd locked it. A girl that cautious wouldn't strut around in wet panties.
It wasn't for nothing that I'd targeted Yujin first. She played tough during her idol days to rake in fans, but she was the flimsiest and most mentally fragile of the four.
My rock-hard cock pointed straight toward Yujin's room.
Go!
Charge!
Go rip that bitch's clothes off and tear into her jiggling tits!
Fierce desire echoed inside me like crashing waves. Rage and lust churned with every swell, leaving me confused whether I was this turned on from revenge or the slutty scent of Yujin's pussy moments ago.
But I forced my painfully erect dick downward. Stay calm.
Fucking them senseless like a brainless animal could wait—I could do that anytime. Hell, I had in my past life.
No, I wanted them begging me to rape them.
Make them feel the worst humiliation and degradation of their lives while they crawled naked on all fours before me!
One sucking my cock, another licking my toes, sometimes lifting their asses to spread their pussies and beg for their master's grace!
Only then could I call my revenge complete.
For that, I turned my feet away, patience in check.
I listened at every door to check if anyone was inside. If it was silent, I'd ease it open and peek.
I planned to make this house mine someday, so memorizing the layout now was smart.
After scouting, I was sure: just me and Yujin in the whole place. I headed back to the kitchen.
I picked up the water bottle she'd left and chugged. Her saliva might linger, but who cared? Soon, something far stickier would stain this house.
I stepped back into the hall, crept to Yujin's door, and pressed my ear against it. Focusing, I caught faint breathing.
From my bag, I pulled cable ties and duct tape. Gear was simple, plan straightforward—adapt as needed. No more prep required; I'd simulated this thousands of times in my head.
I gripped the doorknob gently, twisted it open. Through the gap, Yujin lay oblivious to what was coming.
Her tits—plenty to earn her the "milk cow" nickname, though not quite matching her mom's—rose and fell with each breath. I watched for a long moment before slipping inside.
The moment of revenge was at hand.
I eased the door shut and locked it. In the dark, quiet night, the click echoed loudly.
I glanced at Yujin, startled. Luckily, she slept on undisturbed.
I peeked at the curtainless window.
Dawn was breaking soon. Time was tight to finish and get out. Hurry.
"Mm... Mom?"
As I took a step, she stirred, sensing me. No panic—this was routine in my revenge fantasies.
Her sleepy mumble meant she wasn't fully awake. I could hide and wait.
But instead, I yanked the pillow from under her head and smashed it over her face. Then I pressed the kitchen knife to her throat.
No excuses about impulse from remembering her contemptuous glare at my dying moments.
This path was mine. I'd see it through.
The unsharpened blade was still sharp enough to slice her pale, translucent skin. She froze like ice, rebellion gone.
"Shut your fucking mouth."
I eased the pillow down slightly to speak.
Her eyes trembled nonstop beneath—terror from deep sleep to life-or-death in seconds.
Seeing her scared fed my sadism a bit, cooling my rage just a touch.
Pointless, like drops on a blaze. I pressed the knife harder, fighting the urge to decapitate her, every ounce of patience tested.
She sensed my killing intent. Her muffled screams confirmed it.
"Mmmph! Mmmph! Mmmph!"
Muffled by the pillow, not too loud—but desperate enough to carry.
This level was fine. Not loud enough to leak outside.
Forcing my knife hand up against its downward pull made my pillow hand slip lower as recoil.
"Mmmph! Mm... m... mm..."
Her face sank into the mattress; screams faded. The room quieted again. My rage swelled inversely.
I set the knife by her head. Then, like I'd smother her without it, I straddled her hips and crushed the pillow with both hands.
Rage from her suing me on a whim, then glaring like I was vermin at school;
From scraping by post-prison on odd jobs, branded a sexual predator;
From suicide's edge, venturing out to see her face plastered on a massive plaza screen, crowds adoring her;
From her rabid fans trashing Mom's clothing store—me helpless as Mom stood stunned amid shattered glass, broken mannequins, torn clothes.
All exploded at once.
"..."
Yujin stopped thrashing. One more minute, and her brilliant future ends miserably here.
Of course not.
Too merciful for her.
Those memories were pre-regression; they haven't happened here.
Killing her for crimes she hasn't committed makes me like her. Unbearable—worse than holding back now.
I'm different from those bitches.
I lifted the pillow.
"Hah... h-hic! Hiiik! H-hiiiik! Hk—hk—hi—hiiik."
She gasped desperately. Eyes red, tears flowing. Our gazes met.
Recalling the myth that seeing a kidnapper's face means death, she squeezed her eyes shut.
"It's fine. Open 'em. You've already seen me. You know who I am."
I spoke calmly, rage subsiding.
I'm no kidnapper or thief—she can see my face. Hell, she must. Know who I am. Why I'm doing this.
But she kept them shut, playing dumb. So I stood, smashed the pillow back, balled my fist, and slammed her massive tit!
Thud!
"Mmph!"
She yelped in pain. Too weak. Again!
Thud!
"Mmmph!"
I opened my hand, lowered the pillow to her eyes.
"Open 'em."
She shook her head.
I raised my fist. This time, not her fatty tits—her flat, protruding lower belly.
"Oof!" "Open your eyes. Won't say it thrice. You know my voice."
"D-don't know. Don't know. Didn't see anything. Didn't hear."
No more words. I punched the spot again.
She cried "Aaaah!" but I didn't stop—hit it again. Third strike per the three-strikes rule, then opened my hand.
Her legs went limp. One more and she'd piss herself. No thanks to that stench. I spoke.
"Why am I here?"
"..."
Silence. Her body shivered through the pillow. Not deaf—playing dead again.
I lowered to eye level, raised fist. She peeked, trembling.
"Answer."
"..."
"Answer."
"..."
Fist up.
"Mmph!"
Eyes open, she nodded compliance. I swung anyway.
"Mmph-!"
Tears streamed.
Fist up again. She thrashed her head wildly, sobbing. Enough.
I lowered it. She panted relief—until I grabbed the bedside knife, terror renewed.
"Who am I?" I asked, lowering the pillow slowly, daring her to scream.
"My name."
"D-don't know."
"Don't know?"
Amnesia? We met this afternoon.
She's not grasping yet. Fist up.
But she rolled her eyes desperately—no!
"N-not that!"
"Shut up. Quietly."
Cowed by my killing aura, she whispered.
"Name. Don't know your name."
Logically, yeah. School idol now, national soon—why memorize a nobody's name?
But it hit like a gut punch.
Two months classmates, even framed me—and doesn't know my name?
Logically again: do you google a bug's name or stomp it?
Stomp or ignore. That's how superiors treat inferiors.
But the bitches who ruined my life not even knowing my name? Rage beyond rage.
A hollow laugh escaped.
Unrequited love exists; so does unrequited revenge. Lesson learned. I resisted biting her earlobe and screaming my name till her eardrums burst.
Soon, she'd dig it up herself, memorize it, scream it desperately.