New Work Serialization (3): Irresistible Longing
Dinner was drawing to a close. Choi Mi-hwa, reluctant to let the conversation end, kept her mouth moving nonstop, eager for even a moment more. The expensive wine she'd guzzled had loosened her tongue nicely.
"Yeah. I'll definitely set up my own management company someday."
"One that handles mostly 19+ stuff?"
"Nah, I won't limit genres. As long as it's fun, anything goes."
"I see. You'd crush it, Mi-hwa."
"Honestly, I'd love to just build my own platform from scratch, but that's impossible. The market's dominated by those big sites already—I'd need to pour in insane amounts of cash... No way. I'm broke."
"Haha, fair enough. Still, it's not totally out of the question."
Seo Joo-hwan slipped in a note of quiet certainty. After all, in the future, a new platform called Novel Dice would actually emerge. Backed by massive capital, Novel Dice would launch with aggressive strategies. In just three years, the upstart would balloon to rival the top three established platforms. Rumors pegged it as some chaebol heir's hobby project, but only insiders knew the truth.
Seo Joo-hwan drained the last of his glass and said, "Shall we head out?"
"Ah. Y-yeah. Time to go..."
Choi Mi-hwa nodded, unable to hide her regretful expression. The buzz had hit her hard, but his words sobered her right up.
"Let's go. Your place is in Gwangmyeong, right, Mi-hwa?"
"Yeah. Why? Gonna walk me home?"
"Might as well. It's the weekend—gotta visit the parents anyway."
"Oh, right. You live in Gwangmyeong too."
"Not anymore. Renting in Anyang now."
Seo Joo-hwan's family home and Choi Mi-hwa's place were ridiculously close. No car needed—just a 15-minute walk. That's why, during his end-of-service leave, Choi Mi-hwa had caught the killer's eye instead of Han Su-ah.
As Seo Joo-hwan moved to hail a taxi, Choi Mi-hwa tugged at his sleeve.
"Joo-hwan, let's take the bus."
"Why? No taxi?"
"I-it's a waste of money."
"I'll pay. Or just expense it, right?"
At his words, Choi Mi-hwa's face flushed with sudden anger. "Take the bus, you jerk!"
"Okay, okay. Why're you mad?"
"I'm not mad... you asshole."
"Says the one cursing."
"Hmph."
Choi Mi-hwa turned away with a grumpy huff. Her attitude screamed pissed-off, but her hand still lightly gripped his sleeve.
Is she pretending not to notice on purpose?
Her lips pouted as she hung her head. She stole a glance up at him.
This guy's just spacing out next to me.
Was he lost in thoughts about his new series? Staring blankly into space like that was annoyingly cute. Normally, she'd praise it as the ideal writer's mindset, but right now, it stung that he had his mind elsewhere with her right there.
Then it hit her, and she furrowed her brow.
This damn playboy...
Who even liked him? Jerk.
*
Choi Mi-hwa was an only child, graduating from girls' middle and high schools. Her private interactions with men were next to nonexistent. Sure, she'd "dated" a boyfriend in middle school, but it lasted a week—barely countable.
After high school, instead of college, she jumped straight into the web novel publishing management firm Red Novel, which specialized in romance and BL for a female audience. She chose it because no one else hired fresh high-school grads with zero experience.
Choi Mi-hwa had no beef with genres, but tastes being what they are, working on BL was tough. Once she built some cred, she switched to her current gig at Punibooks.
There, she proved her chops aggressively. Even back in school, spotting promising novels had been her knack. Using her freakish speed-reading, she scouted raw talents and locked in contracts. Then, armed with her self-studied knowledge, she gave sharp feedback to nurture their growth.
For a word addict like her, helping writers craft better stories was self-serving bliss. Her career drive boiled down to feeding her hobby. Work and passion aligned perfectly—hell, work was her hobby.
But others saw her differently: a hardcore workaholic glued to her desk, devouring manuscripts, editing, outreach, feedback loops. She'd chat with colleagues less than she'd read. Outings? Only for meetings or author visits.
She was respected for her skills, the backbone of tiny Punibooks. Her pretty looks and competence earned her that. But her intellectual, quirky aura kept people at arm's length. Guys drawn to it got brutally shot down, ending their crushes quick. She didn't even realize they were hitting on her—just built walls in honest obliviousness.
Change crept into her routine that chilly January, when the wind still bit. Later than usual after overtime, heading home. A thug jumped her in an alley, dragging her to an abandoned building.
The creep? That serial killer plastered all over the news—raping women, then dismembering them.
He bound her limbs, sealed her mouth with duct tape. As he yanked down her pants and approached, terror like nothing she'd known brought tears.
Help! Somebody save me! I don't wanna die!
Her silent screams echoed inside. No sound escaped. No one would come to this deserted ruin. Rape and death—that was it.
Or so she thought.
"Hey! You fucking bastard!"
How? Her inner cry somehow reached him. A man appeared out of nowhere, charging the killer. He grabbed a steel pipe, facing down the saw-wielding psycho.
"W-who the hell are you?! Why're you butting in?!"
"Sergeant, Republic of Korea Army! Eat shit, you fucker!"
From his shout, she pegged him: Army sergeant. He beat the killer senseless and rushed to her.
"You okay? It's over—relax."
His voice was gentle, reassuring, worlds apart from the brutal fight. A stranger's face, yet his eyes held deep sadness and pity for her. That voice, that gaze—it melted her fear. Overwhelmed, she sobbed into his arms, pouring out the world's woes.
His name, she later learned: Seo Joo-hwan. Grateful to her savior, she gave him her number, vowing payback someday. But as a soldier tangled in the incident, he shipped back to base. She waited, hoping for his discharge.
Fate reunited them unexpectedly. No clue on his ETS date, just waiting—then contacting her watched author. He picked up.
Whoa, destiny? Straight out of a novel.
Her rescuer was the writer she'd been eyeing! The drama made her heart flutter. For a book fiend like her, Seo Joo-hwan was fantasy made flesh.
Thus, she treated him to dinner, gave thanks, chatted. Turns out, talking with him was a blast. Normally, she'd keep it strictly professional, but not with her lifesaver. So, cocktails at round two.
The booze hit. Buzzed and tipsy, she knew his subtle seduction but let it pull her in. Always curious about sex but inexperienced, she figured giving her first time to him wasn't a waste.
Jerk! Trash! Asshole! Playboy!
That instant, her view of her savior flipped. She recalled his troubled face when she admitted virginity. Didn't guys like that? Her assumption boomeranged as hurt.
The wild night passed. She decided to see him as author, not man. One good fling—adults do that when vibes match. Brush it off.
But hearts don't play nice. No real dating experience, she nursed the emotional scar. Yet his mark etched deeper into her body than her heart.
Now it felt less emotional, more carnal.
They say knowing the taste makes it harder to resist.
She'd always been into smut but satisfied with text. Experience changed that. The branded night haunted her flashes, tormenting.
Soon, every other night, she'd spend thinking of him.
Ah, I want sex.
Did she like him, or just crave another round? Post-nut clarity might tell, but her unsatisfied urges piled daily. No interest in other guys—obsession, maybe?
"Where to? I'll walk you all the way."
His words after the bus. She hesitated, then bowed her head and took his hand lightly.
"...Seo Joo-hwan."
"Yeah?"
"You're pretending not to know, right?"
"......"
Silence fell heavy. Answer enough.
Choi Mi-hwa muttered a curse, suspicions confirmed. "Asshole..."
"......"
Was he evil for not speaking first? Or considerate his way?
"Don't... come inside."
Shame and embarrassment burned her throat. Leaving home, she'd never planned this—but after their time, sending him off felt impossible. Trembling, she spoke.
"If I say it first..."
—You promised you wouldn't refuse.
Before words formed.
"...Sorry, Mi-hwa."
"......"
Ah, rejection. That's when—
A big hand lifted her chin. Lips brushed softly, then parted.
"Sorry for making you say it first. Thought you'd hate it."
"...I do. I hate you."
"Sorry, noona."
"You coward, calling me noona now..."
Choi Mi-hwa trailed off, ducking her head again. Heat flooded her face.
What expression am I making?
Definitely beet-red. Vision blurry—tears too, probably.
Shouldn't have said it. Wanna die...
Rat hole, now. That cliché hit viscerally.
Then Seo Joo-hwan pulled her gently close, whispering in her ear.
"S-so, where? Motel?"
She shook her head no.
"Uh... your place then, noona?"
Dying of embarrassment, Choi Mi-hwa barely nodded yes.