My Mom's Too Cool (7)
Tomorrow's Sunday. And with Mom home, I don't even have to handle breakfast. No worries at all—I showered, flopped into bed, and started scrolling on my phone, casually blowing past my usual bedtime.
"The algorithm's usually shoving science channels at me by now to lull me to sleep. What's up with today? Only recommending stuff that actually looks fun..."
Time slipped by like that until, around 1 a.m. heading toward 2, my eyes were finally starting to droop even after binging watchable videos.
Thud.
From downstairs—more precisely, from the master bedroom where Mom and Dad are—a rattling vibration started shaking things up.
I didn't need to go check. I knew exactly what it was: Mom reclaiming the eel she'd fed Dad for lunch.
"Damn it, I should've crashed earlier."
The Ban family home runs a kendo dojo, but there's no residential neighborhood nearby, so no noise complaints. That saved us the cash on soundproofing you'd expect at a music or gym academy—but living here means enduring every dojo racket with your whole body.
My room on the third floor has it easiest. The second-floor living room, kitchen, and master bedroom block most of the noise and vibes. Not perfect soundproofing, but livable.
Thump!
'H-honey... s-slower, please...'
'You wanna beat your sister even once in your life like that? Gotta get my money's worth from lunch...!'
'Keep it down...! Jun-sook sis, Do-young might wake up...'
'C-cover my... mouth... ngh...!'
"Fuck."
But what if the noise hits from the second floor? Not the dojo students' hearty kiais, but those sharp, nerve-tingling cries that make you flinch without thinking?
"Earphones... earphones."
I jammed the wireless earbuds from my desk into both ears. They won't stop the shaking, but the muffled sounds leaking through? Manageable.
Sealed my ears with noise cancellation, skipped the algorithm, and tapped into the latest science channel upload myself.
"Perfect. Now just close my eyes and wait it out."
I pulled the blanket over my head—got a bit stuffy, but the vibrations dropped noticeably. See? Brains over brawn.
All that's left is riding it out quietly till morning.
> Today's viewer questions on science from HANDA. Let's read the first one.
> ID: xes7496 asks: "Why are all body organ names in Hanja, but the G-spot is in English? What's the pure Korean term for the G-spot...?"
"Wait, why's this science channel doing health ed today?"
The video's questions were spicy today.
"Ah, I wanna get laid."
The impulse slipped out unconsciously. Muttering stuff like that means I still think of myself as a guy, huh.
"Wonder if the all-ages webtoon's main heroine should be doing this."
It's been about two weeks since I possessed Ban Do-young's body. Haven't tried relieving urges solo yet.
Lying if I said no curiosity at all, but popping that first button? Kinda scary.
Once I know that sensation, no going back, right? That fear.
Thud.
"Screw it, just do it."
That final thump broke me. I yanked down my shorts.
Solo doesn't count toward virginity loss, duh.
Locked the slightly open window for ventilation—no leaks.
Didn't lock the door. That'd scream what I'm doing.
Phone charging: OK. Earbuds battery: OK. VPN: OK. Cleanup tissues: OK.
"Ban Do-young, here I go!"
Prep complete, trembling hand heading south for takeoff.
"..."
Just touching my own body, but I held my breath like it was a crime, soothing my pounding heart, easing in bit by bit.
Hand slipping between my thighs—
Knock knock.
"Eek!"
"Do-young-ah, you asleep? Can I talk to you for a sec, sweetie?"
All-ages protection kicks in right here.
...
I tidied up quick, pulled my shorts back on, deleted recent search history just in case, then let Mom in.
"..."
"..."
An awkward silence hung between us. No surprise—what do you even start with?
"W-well, my girl... you're not just tall, huh. Mom's seeing you in a new light."
"Ugh...! Might as well kill me with a bamboo sword."
Never got caught by my parents as a guy. Who knew my first try in Ban Do-young's body would bust me day one.
"I-it's not like I did anything bad, though?"
"Don't be considerate—makes me wanna die more."
Does the all-ages webtoon heroine have some invisible virginity shield? Nah, probably not.
"Mom did that stuff at your age too, y'know. Don't feel bad. It's fine. Mom doesn't care at all."
"...Really?"
"Of course. Back then, thinking of your dad, I'd do it three times a day."
"Whoa, that's intense."
Didn't need that backstory. Dad said Mom's three years older, right?
"Anyway, been a while since I came into your room, Do-young."
Mom sat beside me, scanning the room. Her gaze lingered on the drawer packed with trophies and medals.
"Remember that one? Your first big win at the elementary nationals in third grade—the plaque and medal."
"Ah... yeah."
No memory, but I nodded like I did. Can't deny it with that beaming kid-me photo, gold medal around her neck, stuck right there.
"It meant a lot to us, Mom and you. First award after switching from lefty to righty."
"Lefty..."
"Yeah. You earned that one despite Mom forcing the change."
Now it clicked. Why Mom rarely asked about my hand.
"...What're you doing, Do-young?"
"One sec."
I grabbed a pen from the desk with my left hand, scribbled my name on a notebook.
Perfectly fine.
Clean black letters, no different from my right hand. My mind felt uneasy, awkward gripping the pen lefty, but Ban Do-young's left hand handled it like a pro.
Original Ban Do-young was a natural lefty. Mom's training flipped her to righty.
Reason unclear, but probably lefties disadvantaged in kendo.
"Right after winning first, you ran straight to Mom for a hug. Said you crushed all the natural righties and took gold, just like Mom taught."
"..."
"Mom was so happy then. Not just the win, but you coming to me first, before anyone else. Felt like my girl really loves her mom."
"Hehe, total mama's girl back then, huh."
"Girl...?"
"Ah, no... mama's boy. Wait, mama's girl."
Mom looked puzzled for a sec, then gazed wistfully at the trophies, caressing each one like old memories.
"This is the silver from fourth-grade nationals, bronze from fifth-grade nationals, semifinalist plaque from sixth grade..."
Starting with that third-grade gold, ranks slid gradually lower over time.
Like Ban Do-young's limits creeping in.
Commemorative photos told the same story. Bright smiles in early elementary faded with higher grades and slipping results.
Last one: sixth-grade nationals. Teary Do-young, no medal after semis loss, arm-in-arm with a beaming girl who looked just like her—gold medal shining.
"Hey, Do-young."
Mom stared at that sixth-grade photo, voice soft, head not turning my way.
"Starting kendo... Mom forcing your lefty hand to righty..."
"..."
"Being born Mom's daughter... you don't regret it?"