Park Ayoung (1): A Sultry Sanctuary
Leaving the funeral hall behind, the pickup truck smoothly glided across the asphalt. Buried in the passenger seat, Ha Ohu stared blankly at the city lights flashing past the window. The tension should have melted away, unleashing a flood of exhaustion, but his nerves stayed razor-sharp. Just minutes earlier, after that brutal clash with Nyaistlinger, he'd dumped Na Miyang in the trash heap like garbage. Then he'd used the hypnosis app to command her to jerk off right there on the street.
The lingering sensation of having done something straight out of his scumbag father's playbook with his own hands for the first time since possessing this body refused to fade. Trying to sort his thoughts, Ohu turned his head toward the driver's seat to look at Ayoung—but his gaze drifted to the space behind it.
I noticed it the first time I saw it, but...
In any normal pickup or SUV, there'd be a back seat. But here, nothing. Right behind the front seats loomed a thick, crude partition—like a bank vault door or a solitary confinement cell—completely sealing off the interior. The steel plate even gleamed with a sinister matte sheen, as if coated in bulletproof armor.
Ayoung, gripping the wheel, flashed a soft smile and spoke up. "Pretty unusual, right? The interior setup."
"Ah... yeah. The back's totally sealed off. No windows either."
"Sometimes I have to transport villains myself or haul dangerous seized goods. So I converted the rear into a fully enclosed restraint cell. It's built tough enough that even if a B-grade ability user blows up inside, the truck won't have a single scratch."
Ayoung eased the wheel with a light chuckle. "Doesn't exactly scream 'commuter car for a lady,' huh?"
"Nah, makes total sense. You're an exec at the Hero Association, Aunt Ayoung. Safety first, obviously."
Ohu's casual "Aunt" slipped in naturally with his deadpan reply, drawing a beaming smile from Ayoung as her eyes crinkled. "Thanks for calling me Aunt so comfortably."
At a red light, she turned to him briefly. "No need to stress. I live alone, separate from Dad. He won't just drop by the house or run into you—ever."
"...Thanks."
Wasn't exactly what I was worried about... but good to know. Safer together, but it'd be a hassle too.
Ohu traced the cold steel plate with his fingertips, reminded once more that this world he stood in could see villains snap his neck at any moment. The truck rolled onto Jamsil Bridge. Even late at night, the artery slicing through Seoul's heart crawled with red taillights, stop-and-go all the way. Outside, garish neon signs shimmered over the inky-black Han River.
"I'll send a special cleaning crew to the house first thing tomorrow morning. They're reliable—tied in with the Association."
On the clogged road, Ayoung calmly outlined the next steps. "But it's a murder scene involving a hero, so Association investigators will overlap for a few days. Cleaning and decontamination will take time before it's livable again... Don't worry about costs. Just crash at Auntie's place comfortably till then, okay?"
"Yeah, I'll impose on you. The cleaning bill... I'll pay you back somehow later."
Clutching the bag with 15 million won inside, Ohu replied. Ayoung chuckled and shook her head. "Don't make that indebted face when an adult's offering help. Think I can't do this much for Sara unnie's son?"
The truck cleared the bridge and hit another light. Ohu finally eased back into the seat, tension draining. Then—
"Ugh, why's traffic this bad..."
The car ahead slammed brakes; Ayoung hit hers and instinctively reached for the gear shift. Whoosh—her hand veered slightly, heavily grazing Ohu's left thigh on the passenger side.
Her whole palm pressed into the meaty flesh, sliding in a blatantly suggestive stroke.
Huh...?
Ohu's body stiffened. Nerves that had just relaxed spiked again at the soft, warm touch of a woman's hand on his thigh.
Startled, Ayoung yanked her hand back and glanced at him, her pale cheeks flushing red under the streetlights. "Ah... s-sorry. Meant to grab the gear and..."
"N-no... it's fine..."
Ohu coughed awkwardly, subtly shifting his thigh inward. But then—
Gripping the wheel and facing forward, Ayoung murmured so faintly—yet clear enough to pierce the car's silence and reach the passenger seat.
"...So firm. Muscular... Just like Sara unnie."
What the fuck?!
Accidental slip during a drive? Or deliberate seduction? Goddamn eroge... Should I just roll with it?
He'd shot a snuff thriller with blood and guts, forgotten for a moment. Now, crashing with this stunning self-appointed guardian aunt in a cramped truck—her blushing after accidental skinship. Ohu swallowed dryly and turned to the window.
In the thick, breathless tension, the pickup slipped safely into the underground garage of a Gangnam luxury apartment complex.
* * *
"Come on in, Ohu."
The door lock clicked open. Stepping into Ayoung's place, Ohu nearly gasped. A dozens-of-pyeong luxury apartment smack in central Seoul. The floor gleamed with blindingly white marble; floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic night view of the open Han River.
"You've barely rested through the funeral. Must be beat—go wash up."
Ayoung kicked off her shoes at the entry, her tone warm and caring. "Ah, yeah. Thanks."
Ohu carefully set his bag and his mother's urn near the sofa, scanning the space. In an exec's home—a stranger woman's—he stayed on edge, never knowing when an eroge cliché might drop.
"Um, Auntie? Got a spare phone charger?"
Ayoung nodded, heading to the kitchen. "Yeah, in the master bedroom. What type?"
"C-type."
Ohu pulled out his smartphone, plugged in the cable. The charging bolt icon lit up center-screen; only then did his rigid shoulders drop. Knowing the hypnosis app-loaded phone was juicing up felt more secure than any vault.
"Ohu, if the living room bathroom's embarrassing, use the en-suite in my room."
Ayoung swigged from a bottled water, pointing to the master bath. "Your room's? Uh... still..."
"It's fine—double doors, so no shower sounds leak. You'll be comfy. I'll leave clothes by the door after."
"Got it. Thanks, Auntie."
Ohu bowed lightly and entered her master bedroom. King-size bed, ambient lighting—cozy luxury. A faint diffuser scent hung in the air. He opened the inner bath door, cranked the shower lever. Hot water roared from the sunflower head, pounding his thick back.
Whoosh— invisible grime of fatigue washed away with white foam. Muscles unwound under the warmth; relief finally hit, like he could breathe.
"Haa..."
But rinsing foam from his face, Ohu's gaze drifted down.
"...Fuckin' hell. This shit again."
A self-loathing sigh escaped. Healthy even after seeing Mom's corpse. Healthy, yeah right... Fuck. Right after her funeral? You piece-of-shit body.
Staring at his grotesquely swollen cock, bitter reality crashed in. Cause was obvious. Back at the funeral alley—subduing Nyaistlinger, hypnotizing her via text to dig her sensitive spots and masturbate in defeat—he'd fantasized. Add Ayoung's hand pressing, stroking his thigh in the truck. This vermin body, Shooting Star genes dumped entirely into his junk, converted every petty thrill and sticky vibe into explosive testosterone.
"Hoo..."
Ohu pressed his forehead, yanking the lever cold. Ice water blasted his body. Goosebumps erupted in the bone-chilling freeze. He forced down the boiling blood, suppressing the body's gnawing instincts. This lifeline—he couldn't fuck it up over some base urge.
Grinding his teeth through the cold shower, he toweled off and prepped to exit.
"Ohu, clothes by the door."
Ayoung's kind voice filtered through as he dried his hair. "Ah, yeah! Thanks!"
Drying thoroughly, he cracked the door. On the hall console: neatly folded clothes she'd left.
But unfolding them, Ohu's face twisted oddly.
...Ah.
Plush, thick men's shower robe—like from a five-star hotel. The tie-waist kind that left the chest wide open. Logically, a mid-30s woman living alone wouldn't stock big-guy tees or pants. So guest robe or her loosest option—made sense.
Brain said yes. But late night in a hot older woman's empty home. Fresh from shower, man and woman alone in robes, facing off in the living room...
Ohu swallowed a wry chuckle at the eroge god yanking him into hentai-plot hell. Haha... Just close my eyes and do it?
He draped the robe over his towel-covered privates, cinching the belt tight. His massive gut gaped it slightly, but it covered enough. Cautiously, he stepped out to the living room.
"All clean? Come sit. Fancy a cold beer with Auntie?"
Ayoung lounged diagonally on the wide sofa, shaking her can invitingly. Table: chilled beers, simple dry snacks set up.
"Ah... sure."
Ohu shuffled over awkwardly, sitting at a safe distance. Glancing sideways—his heart jolted, undoing the cold shower calm.
Ayoung had changed too. No more prim cardigan and skirt—in a thin, soft silk slip loungewear. Her white nape exuded subtle sexiness. But above all—
Her full breasts strained the fabric. Mind-melting curves. Fresh from her own shower, no bra. Silk barely veiled her ample bust; sharp nipple outlines swayed dizzyingly with each breath.
Gonna lose it.
Ohu fixed his eyes on hers, grabbing a cold can. Chink—refreshing hiss as they toasted.
"You worked so hard on the funeral. Down it."
Cold beer gushed down his throat, alcohol igniting his veins on an empty stomach. The no-bra bombshell aunt and robed fat nephew knocked back three cans, four...
Days of insane stress and starvation made the booze hit his brain abnormally fast. Body went limp, wariness melted away. Ayoung flushed pink, sprawled vulnerably on the sofa.
"Ohu."
Fiddling her can, she spoke first. "You asked at the funeral, right? About Sara unnie's glory days."
"...Yeah. Wanna hear."
"Unnie was... a comet. A shooting star, pure."
A bitter yet envious smile curved Ayoung's lips.