Paradise Lost (2)
In Korea, the word massage tends to carry an unfortunate reputation — the seedy, decadent associations cling a little too tightly. Not every establishment is like that, of course, and massage itself is hardly something impure.
Back when I was a kendo athlete, muscle pain was a constant companion. Somewhere on my body, always, yesterday's training left its mark. Our family wasn't poor by any stretch, but we weren't so well-off that money could be thrown around freely either. So during my competitive years, I never really got massages. Occasionally the instructor would knead my shoulders, but that was about it — more of a casual greeting than anything else. Adults, for reasons I never quite understood, had a peculiar habit of squeezing people's shoulders all the time.
Which is to say: massage was an utterly foreign culture to me.
"A-are we really going in?"
"Embarrassed?"
"A little…"
No. A lot, actually.
"This place isn't weird like that. Once you try it, I bet you'll love it."
"I don't know…"
"It's fine. First times are always a little scary."
I wasn't the type to look at the word massage through tinted glasses, anyway. And the place Elderin had brought me to looked unmistakably upscale at a glance — not some dingy, shady hole, but a proper establishment where decent people offered real service. I understood that perfectly well in my head.
But still… would I be okay?
Letting a stranger put their hands on my body was already a hurdle high enough. And on top of that, I'd have to get undressed, wouldn't I?
"Are we really going in?"
"We came all this way. You're bailing already? This was my condition, remember?"
"Ugh… fine. I'm going."
We'd talked about a lot of things in the car. Essentially, Elderin had offered to help me out in various ways — lending me her studio, providing streaming equipment and setup support if I needed it. In exchange, her conditions were things like: no more depressive spirals, three wishes granted, guest appearances on her stream. Conditions in name only, really. She wasn't asking me for anything that put me at a disadvantage. Even for today's outing, Se-rin had covered every last expense. All I had to do was show up and spend time with her. Objectively speaking, I was the one who ought to be thanking her over and over.
So I couldn't bring myself to refuse, and I came along. But the moment a staff member guided us into the changing room, I froze solid.
"Please take a quick shower, and put on the disposable undergarments in the cabinet. I'll wait outside."
"We just… strip right here?"
"We're both girls, so what's the big deal? You're awfully shy. Didn't you say you went to an all-girls high school?"
No — I went to an all-boys school, actually. Boys' middle school, boys' high school, then a sports university.
Guilt began to creep up from somewhere deep. The moment I registered it, my breath caught hard in my throat — because right beside me, Yoo Se-rin had started undressing.
I'd always thought of Elderin as having a much more girlish quality compared to Camelia. But one look at her well-maintained figure and that impression evaporated completely. The black lingerie under her white shirt, the full presence of a grown woman in her prime — it hit me all at once. Embarrassment whipped my head away. My face burned hot; I bit my lip lightly.
Come to think of it, of course. Elderin was a major figure even among female streamers — someone whose beauty had been recognized by countless people. Meanwhile, I was a body that had spent endless days swinging a bamboo sword in a gymnasium before rotting away as a shut-in. I'd been too drunk on the warmth of companionship to notice until now. But the moment the visual stimulus hit, a dizzying sense of distance washed over me.
"Daeun, you're not undressing?"
"I'll… change after you go in first."
"Okay. Just say the word if you need help."
Thankfully, Elderin only smiled her bright smile and didn't tease me any further. I kept my back turned, confirmed the sound of the shower booth door closing, and only then began undressing, gathering my clothes in a clumsy heap. Terrified someone might see, I scurried into a booth and locked the door.
The interior was far cleaner and more luxurious than I'd expected.
I guess this really is an upper-class hobby. Come to think of it, the underwear she was wearing looked really expensive too— no. Stop.
Get a grip. I gave both cheeks a couple of sharp pats and started washing. Fortunately, the water hitting my skin seemed to rinse the stray thoughts away.
Not that it mattered much. Having never gotten a massage before, I had no idea: the disposable undergarments provided for massage clients covered far less surface area than I'd imagined.
I was supposed to wear this?
For real?
Cool air touched my skin. Whether it was because summer was approaching and the air conditioning had already been switched on, or because my body was still slightly damp, I couldn't tell — but it felt a little chilly.
Thankfully, I didn't have to walk around with every inch of pale skin on full display. Temporary clothes had been prepared in the lower part of the cabinet: a light beige lounge robe. It didn't cover me completely, but it wasn't an especially mortifying look either.
"You requested that we not touch below your left knee, is that correct?"
"Yes. A very careful, light contact is fine. Just no pressure."
"I'll pass that along to your therapist."
Honestly, I'd have preferred no one touch my body at all. But I couldn't say something like that to a staff member wearing such a kind smile. It would also have been rude to Se-rin, who'd gone to the trouble of bringing me here.
Then again — money really did make the world go round. High-end places clearly offered a different caliber of service from the start. Instead of crutches, a staff member supported me as I settled into a plush chair. In front of each seat sat a foot bath tub fragrant with hinoki cypress. Elderin and I each claimed a spot and lowered our feet in; the staff member bowed politely and left.
"Ah, that's warm."
From the water in the wooden tub came a subtle herbal scent — a whole bouquet of pleasant smells that loosened something in my chest. I'd towel-dried my hair roughly, but dampness still clung to it. My bangs brushed annoyingly against my eyes, so I swept them aside. The moment I did, I felt a gaze from beside me — aimed squarely at my chest.
"Wh-why are you looking at me like that…?"
"No reason. Our Daeun has a much better figure than I expected. Have you just been picking the wrong clothes this whole time?"
"…"
"Can I touch?"
"Absolutely not!"
I didn't hear that. Just now, I heard nothing at all. And my face was not turning bright red whatsoever.
Fortunately, before the silence stretched too long, two massage therapists entered. Apparently they'd been told not to touch my left foot; calm hands moved toward the right one. Fingers parted the warm water and found my foot. And the moment they pressed firmly into the sole—
"Hyeek…!"
A sound burst out of me before I could stop it. Korean massage therapists are often deaf, so that part was fine — the problem was Elderin sitting right next to me. The corners of her mouth were twitching; she was clearly holding back laughter. I wanted to hide my face from sheer embarrassment. But that would make it far too obvious. So I just covered my mouth lightly and looked away.
"Don't. Laugh."
"Okay, sorry."
It was not a particularly sincere apology.
I wanted to say more, but I couldn't. My body really did seem far more sensitive than average. Every finger weaving between my toes registered with vivid clarity. Soft flesh free of a single callus, pressed and kneaded gently — and with each press, something inside me seemed to come undone. Happiness felt like it was dissolving into my bloodstream.
Oh no. What do I do? This feels… really good…
Just pressing the soles of my feet could feel this refreshing? I almost resented the fact that touching my left foot would hurt. The pressure stimulating every point on my foot melted the tension away in a slow, liquid slide. Meanwhile, the hands working my soles gradually traveled upward — pressing and rotating the heel and Achilles tendon, sweeping along the calf. So this was a professional's touch. My mouth fell open without my noticing.
I sat there in a daze for who knows how long. While the therapist towel-dried my water-soaked legs, I scrambled to reassemble my slack expression. A discreet wipe left a smear of drool on the back of my hand. The therapist looked at me and smiled warmly. I managed an awkward smile in return, and a polite hand gestured toward the center of the room.
Apparently, I was supposed to lie down on the bed.
Ah. Right.
The feet had only been the beginning.