No Loss in Trying – Club Night Fever
Hey man, even if you lose, you break even. Seo Joo-hwan paid the entry fee and stashed his jacket in a locker. He got the stamp on his wrist and stepped into the hip-hop zone, where the music hit him like a wall—way louder than he'd expected. The pounding bass echoed in the sealed space, making his heart thump right along with it. No wonder people got hyped in a place like this; the rhythm alone was enough to get your blood pumping.
Lee Jeong-hoon grinned and said, "Man, it's been ages since I felt this vibe. What do you think, Joo-hwan? Pretty good, right?"
"Yeah. Better than I thought."
"Knew it. Suits your taste, huh?"
Lee Jeong-hoon chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. Seo Joo-hwan just stared blankly at the club interior, still buzzing from the heat. Boom, boom, boom! Flashing lights in every color poured down, the sound shaking his core. People surrendered to the music, bodies writhing everywhere. The atmosphere felt half-mad, a world apart from outside. He'd thought Hongdae's nightlife was wild, but this was next level. A place where you could let loose without a care—it was exhilarating just being here.
Do I actually like this vibe? He was surprised to find it wasn't bad at all. The club scene he'd always been curious about? It hooked him more than expected. His shoulders started bouncing on their own, tension rising.
That's when Lee Jeong-hoon slapped his back. "..." The music drowned it out.
Leaning in, Lee Jeong-hoon yelled into his ear, "Follow me!"
"Got it!"
Lee Jeong-hoon pushed through the crowd toward the stage. The closer they got, the wilder the dancers. The second-floor railing—VIP room, women only?—had girls in skimpy outfits smoking and looking down. One locked eyes with him and smiled, waving. Seo Joo-hwan waved back on reflex.
"Joo-hwan! You don't have to dance well—just ride the rhythm! Nod your head if it's too much!"
Considering it was his first time, Lee Jeong-hoon demonstrated, grooving like a teacher. Seo Joo-hwan smirked and joined in. The upbeat track amped him up; his shoulders rolled, body swaying naturally.
"Like this?"
"You said you could dance, and damn, you weren't kidding. Looking good!"
Lee Jeong-hoon nodded, impressed. His B-rank dance talent made even simple moves look smooth without needing shuffles or crocks. Gaining confidence, Seo Joo-hwan let the music take over.
Once he seemed settled, Lee Jeong-hoon started moving. Where's he going? He gestured like watch this and approached a nearby woman dancing. Experience counted for something. Before Seo Joo-hwan could react, Lee Jeong-hoon raised his arms and synced up behind her. Seo Joo-hwan worried it was too bold, but she glanced back, saw his face, and leaned in enthusiastically.
What the hell? Is that the handsome face probability? He'd caught her grimace for a split second, but it flipped instantly. Honestly, Lee Jeong-hoon was tall over 180cm, built, and handsome—the kind most girls crushed on, not the pretty-boy type guys mocked as parasites. Even the military buzzcut worked for him.
Nothing to learn there, though. How do you train for face probability? No plastic surgery on the spot, and no appearance items yet.
After chatting and dancing briefly, Lee Jeong-hoon returned. "What? Why back already?"
"Numbers didn't match. They're a group of three."
"Oh."
He hadn't thought of that—hunting meant matching numbers. "Groups of three are the most common."
News to Seo Joo-hwan, who'd never hunted before.
"Twos are common too. Usually two or three."
"Lucky us."
"Hunt solo for now. Call if it works out. Music's loud, so vibration only—pocket it."
Lee Jeong-hoon sounded like a pro. But he'd overlooked something.
Seo Joo-hwan looked flustered. "Hyung, I've never hunted. Can't we stick together?"
"Huh? Too shy to approach?"
He nodded. Even if he was smooth with women, cold-approaching strangers for fun felt heavy.
Lee Jeong-hoon smacked his lips. "Fine, but solo's better. That's my style."
Scattering was for vets; most stuck together. But Lee Jeong-hoon had always split from the start, scouting groups and picking winners. Group approaches felt foreign now.
He shrugged. "If you insist, together it is. But Joo-hwan."
"Yeah?"
"No need to fear talking. Half these girls came to hook up. That's the point."
"I know, logically."
"You know Zzjam?"
"Zzjam? The rapper? Of course."
Random, but he'd been a fan pre-regression too.
"He has this line in a label collab: 'Why fear her smile? You're strangers anyway. Hey man, even if you lose, you break even.' Ring a bell?"
"Heard it."
"Exactly. Strangers here tonight. Rejection's nothing; success is bonus. No loss. Keep it light."
What is this custom crash course? Absurd, but spot-on—especially quoting a fave rapper. It clicked.
...Yeah? Makes my nerves seem dumb. Clubs like this were for seduction. Even pure dancers knew the deal. Not for dating—just one-nighters. No reason to stress.
Mindset shifted, pressure lifted. "Alright, let's split."
"Nice. But don't expect much from me."
"I'll rely on you, hyung."
"Heh. If it's rough, just dance. I'll snag some."
This insane confidence... Seo Joo-hwan chuckled, watching him vanish into the crowd. Handsome privilege? His back looked reliable right now. Lee Jeong-hoon was the senior here.
*
Seo Joo-hwan had always built relationships slowly. Jeong So-ra: over a year including pre-regression. Im Su-hee: two months of PT. Choi Mi-hwa accelerated thanks to the killer rescue. Real hunting? First time. That's why he'd tensed up.
But "strangers, no loss" lightened him. Even better. No worry about ruining bonds. Past girls risked everything on a bad approach. Here? Rejection was just awkward, gone forever. Zero stakes. Free to grind.
Tension soared; he shook it off, grooving. Recalling teacher Jeong-hoon's demo: pick a great ass. Approach from behind, grind. Slap risk? Nah—one shot success. She glanced, smiled, bumped back.
Whoa, that ass. Grinding synced their hips; faint brushes electrified. No wonder guys chased subtle thrills. Teasing grazes were hotter. Firm cheeks strained her jeans.
Oh, boned. His dick perked up unbidden. Next brush—poke. She tilted head first time, frowned by third, bailed.
Come back, ass! I fuck good! Couldn't yell. He let her go, teary-eyed. Short but true love. You were prime ass!
Boom, boom boom, boom, boom boom boom! Music kept spirits high—no real letdown. Girls everywhere. He roamed, grinding playfully. No talk needed; rhythm bonded them. Fun as hell.
Then a line of women strutted through—cleavage-baring crop tops, mini skirts. Lightest outfits around.
Seo Joo-hwan blinked. "What, cosplay?"
"Nah, champagne girls."
Lee Jeong-hoon appeared. "Whoa! When'd you get here?"
"Called twice, no answer. Took forever."
"What? Oh, shit."
Two missed calls, 20 minutes apart.
"Doubled success? Where are they?"
"Left. Who waits forever?"
Plenty of guys; no point lingering. Seo Joo-hwan scratched his neck. "Sorry, lost in the fun."
"Good you enjoyed. Approached any?"
"Nah... just grinded and danced."
Not shy—just music-drunk. Embarrassed, he pivoted. "Champagne girls?"
"Watch. They're doing it. Close enough, free drinks."
They climbed tables, lit flaming champagne. Crowds gaped like chicks. Flames out, girls poured shots.
"Drink?"
"Hell yeah, looks fun."
They joined, mouths open. Face-pickers? Lee Jeong-hoon got his instantly. Jealous glance—then his turn. Their eyes met; she winked.
Peak hit when the singer mounted stage: black beanie, gold chains—big guy. Cheers erupted. Hip-hop heavyweight Swings!
Underground to now, a scene staple. Crowd buzzed: "Crazy! Swings at Hongdae club?" "What day is it?" "Who cares—scream!"
Mic up, beat drops—madness before verse one. Screams everywhere. Seo Joo-hwan, a fan, joined the frenzy.
Swings smirked forward; DJ slammed beat. Two-three tracks in, another joined: yellow-haired monkey-lookalike, Han Yoohan.
Track: FAKE RAPSTARS—Yoohan feat. Swings. Hottest lately.
Yoohan's signature opened: "- Uno! Dos! Tres! Cuatro!"
Waaaaaah! Kyaaah! Insanity peaked. Electro-rock hip-hop exploded the room.
Forget girls; they thrashed. Bounced apart. Seo Joo-hwan arm-hugged a stranger—girl, judging by massive bouncing tits.
Hook: full chorus roar, overpowering speakers. Hip-hop fans united.
"- Fake rapstars, all shut up!"
""Fake rapstars, all shut up!""
Swings' feature doubled: throats shredded following.
"- Rhyme fuck it! Rhyme fuck it!"
""Rhyme fuck it! Rhyme fuck it!""
Highlight: veins bulging on curses.
"- BlackDick drop the album! You fucking bastards!"
""BlackDick drop the album! You fucking bastards!""
Final hook closed the short, explosive set. Seo Joo-hwan exhaled heat, throat raw.
Then arms hugged tight— the jump buddy. Squish. Jiggle. Squeeze. Generous soul soaked his chest.
She bounced. "Kyaaah! Epic! Swings here! We went nuts together! Believable?!"
Jiggle jiggle. Press press.
"Y-yeah. Unreal."
Hard to believe such kindness rubbed his chest. "Right? Insane, huh?"
"Totally crushed it."
Still crushing. Your tits. Oblivious, she panted excitedly. "Haa... Me in Fake Rapstars chorus!"
Stranger grinding tits!
She snapped back, pulled away. "Ah, sorry! Got carried away..."
"No, fine. I was hyped too."
"Huh?"
Inner thought slipped. Down, boy! He feigned awe—genuine, thanks to her chest. "Swings and Yoohan live? Wild. Top of my playlist."
"Really? Me too! Oppa likes hip-hop?"
Oppa already? Social butterfly, blue hair like the sea.
He nodded confidently—true fan. "Obviously."
"BlackDick and Kang Min-ho?"
Her massive rack sparkled. D-cup minimum? He fixed eyes up. "From Show Me the Hip-Hop?"
"Yes! Oppa knows hip-hop! Eminem and Kanyeists?"
Quizzing eagerly. Questions weird, though. Knew Show Me guys but not legends? Every fan knew Eminem, Kanye.
Whispered over music: "Duh. Eminem did movies?"
"Whoa! Our M&M oppa acted?!"
Eyes wide. Likes hip-hop but not 8 Mile? Confirmed: trendy hip-hop newbie.
"Oppa, hang with us?"
Sea-blue smiled. Yi Bang-won's sijo echoed, bastardized: What of hip-newbie, airhead babe? Aura club crumbles—what of it? Fuck hard, dip out, done.
Not just dipping, though.