Chapter 20: The Naked Sushi Banquet
The next day after the shrimp feast, I lounged around the house, indulging in a debauched lifestyle at a leisurely pace. The 75 billion won investment was underway, the male protagonist dealt with, producer recruitment ad posted, prison business prep kicked off. The big picture was more or less wrapped up, so nothing urgent came to mind right then.
When in doubt, play the scoundrel to the hilt—fuck around like the wastrel I was supposed to be. Call it image management(?). People get suspicious if you change too suddenly. Emilia didn't order that background check for nothing—she sensed something off. So I had to keep up the playboy routine.
With that NIS spy Seo Eun-mi in the mix too. I had the trainees dancing while I fucked Sua right in front of them, or I'd mess with the sweetly smiling Seo Eun-mi until her face twisted in ecstasy. Or text Emilia to snap pussy pics on demand. Non-stop cum-draining fun.
Around 3 p.m., amid all the prison biz chaos, Sua brought over some docs.
"Master, the materials you requested."
It was profile info with a photo of some woman I'd never seen.
"Ah, yeah. This the one?"
"Yes. Yoon Ha-young, reporter at Shinmirae Daily."
The file I'd asked for that morning—the one who'd posted Kim Dong-gi's exposé yesterday. Couldn't just let that slide, right? Time for a warning shot. Mistake or not, aim at me and pay the price.
"Full article attached at the end."
"Hm."
Seemed like a breaking news rush job; the body wasn't long.
"Hits all the key points."
"Yes."
"Shinmirae Daily's a big outfit, isn't it? Reporters don't post solo like that."
"Normally, no. But it came down in 10 minutes, so maybe rogue."
"Hm..."
True. No sane person piles on a blatant powder keg like that. Sex bribes in entertainment? Touch that and piss off every high roller. Media lives on ads.
Flipping further, another woman's photo popped up.
"Oh?"
Early 30s, strikingly pretty. Intellectual vibe with a sultry edge. Total MILF.
"Seo Hyun-ju, team leader of Social Affairs 1, Yoon Ha-young's boss."
"Her superior?"
"Yes."
Sua handed over more sheets. Like she'd read my mind, big prints of the team leader's deets. Award ceremony shots, interviews, MeTube video caps. Multiple angles, no unflattering ones. Real beauty, not photo magic.
'...To debut LUMINA and get 'em stable, need cozy media ties anyway.'
Excuse, really—dick was already hard.
"Pretty face, can't control her subordinates. Tsk tsk tsk."
I tapped the printed face, handed it back to Sua.
"Call her."
"Team leader, I still can't accept it."
"..."
"Take down my article on your own? Apologize and put it back up."
"..."
The team leader sighed. At first, bold newbie with principles—great hire. But yesterday's fiasco revealed the truth: clueless about the world. Ignorance breeds bravery, bravery fuels half-baked justice crusades.
Would she stay true when facing unyielding reality?
"Ha-young, forgot you need my review before posting?"
"You killed my last one too!"
"Had reasons."
"None! Perfect article—taboo topic, spot-on morally, grammatically, ethically. Protecting public right-to-know, exposing ugly skirts—that's our calling, right?!"
"..."
The team leader gazed up calmly. Pursed lips, steely eyes—no backing down. That 'righteous fury' rampage looked so fragile. World has no-touch zones beyond right/wrong.
"Never think you might be wrong?"
"I can be. But not last time or yesterday. I'm right— you saw that broadcast!"
"..."
Yesterday, rookie Yoon Ha-young stumbled on a MeTube live while browsing. Rainbow Miracle's chief of staff. Shocked her speechless.
Sex bribes. Female trainees to elites, celebs involved routinely. Agencies with dedicated hospitality squads.
Outrage. Wrote it up. Considered team review but rogue-posted anyway, past trauma fresh.
Down in under 10 minutes.
"Sent you the downloaded clip. You watched."
"Yes. Then my PC crashed. Yours too."
"That's—"
"Your actions hurt others too."
Ha-young clenched her fists. Couldn't stomach that logic.
"How many... how many silenced by that? How many ugly truths buried by ass-kissing hacks?"
"Watch your mouth, Ha-young."
"I won't bend! This filthy, corrupt industry—"
Team leader's phone rang. She silenced Ha-young with a hand.
"Ugh...!"
"Yes, Social Affairs 1 Team Leader Seo Hyun-ju."
Bellowing from the receiver. She pulled it away, then back.
"...Y-yes? Yes?"
Her sharp face flooded with shock; steady pen-hand trembled.
"Wh-who... did you say...?"
Ha-young's first time seeing that expression.
"..."
Call ended. Hyun-ju set the phone down blankly. Even rage-blinded Ha-young worried.
"Wh-what's wrong?"
"N-nothing..."
"?"
Eyes closed, deep breath, composure regained. Swallowed hard, back to normal.
"Nothing. Back to your desk. Drop it."
"Team leader... Sigh... Fine. Calling it today."
Wanted to press, but that face was dire. Ha-young retreated.
"Nyotaimori?"
"Yeah."
The chef (female, houseguest since yesterday) replied dryly.
"No issue, but body heat means it won't last long."
"Don't care."
"Understood. Who's the model?"
"Hm..."
Thought a sec, called my first trainee fuck, Seong Ye-ji.
"Y-you called...?"
She approached, head down, dejected.
"Her."
"...Nyotaimori requires stillness. Can she?"
"Y-yes? What're you planning...?"
"No need for perfection. Just vibes."
"Then... Model, wash thoroughly."
"???"
"Heard? Scrub up."
Ye-ji vanished to the bath clueless.
...
6 p.m.
"Master, Seo Hyun-ju team leader arrived."
"Heh... Send her here."
"Yes."
I waited in the first-floor tatami dining room, long table set horizontally. First guest, so extravagance. Trainees (minus Ye-ji) two per side, slinky strip-dance vibes. Music queued. Seo Eun-mi diagonal behind me, still. Corner: all-female chefs prepped sashimi live. Nyotaimori base, backups ready.
Probably won't need.
"Gotta welcome the first big."
Pouring booze into lone glasses on empty table. Sliding door opened—Sua and Hyun-ju entered.
"Master, brought her."
"...!!"
Tense-faced Hyun-ju startled at near-nude dancers.
Fair—basically naked.
"Seo Hyun-ju? Sit."
Gestured opposite. She bowed slightly, sat. Uncomfortable. Suit-jacket hand shook pitifully.
Rumor: early career, upright crusader. Now? Compromised journo archetype. Gorgeous, though.
"Haven't eaten?"
"Y-yes... Th-thank you for calling? S-sorry? N-no, first—"
She half-stood.
"Sit."
"...!"
"Eat."
"Ah..."
Plopped back. Offered full glass. She lifted two-handed, hesitant—timing perfect. My(?) masterpiece: Seong Ye-ji nyotaimori on a cart.
"Excuse us."
Four hefted to table. Ye-ji's killer bod loaded with sashimi, sushi. Decadent.
I admired the real deal; Hyun-ju dropped her glass in shock.