The Devil's Fruit Was Sweet
The devil's fruit was sweet. Having sold my soul, just the very next day I found myself seated at the head of the conference table in the office of that loathsome agency president, the man who'd become my sworn enemy. It had all happened so fast I couldn't quite process it. I just sat there, wide-eyed and dumbfounded.
A week earlier, this shameless bastard of a president and his nephew had been slapping my cheeks, calling me a "thieving piece of trash." Now they stood at my feet, their faces drained of color.
"Mr. Composer... there was a terrible misunderstanding. Our eyes must have been blinded..."
As their groveling apologies continued, the Park Manager standing beside me cut them off coldly. "Even dogs can apologize with words. Show some proper respect."
At the Park Manager's icy command, the president and his nephew exchanged glances before dropping to their knees in unison, as if on cue. They slammed their foreheads against the marble floor with resounding thuds, performing dogeza prostrations.
"Spare us, Mr. Composer! We've committed a mortal sin!"
The Park Manager shot me a look—a silent signal handing me their lives to do with as I pleased. It was like magic. The pact I'd made with the devil had granted me my first taste of power, something I'd never felt before.
Sinking deep into the sofa, I gazed down at the tops of their heads. Memories of last night's despair, when I'd contemplated suicide, flashed through my mind. Power was sweet. No—it was a lethal poison, an intensely addictive drug.
Twisting my lips into a smirk, I nudged the nephew thief's head with the tip of my shoe. "Lift your head. Admit with your own mouth that you stole my song. You're done in this industry. Got it?"
I could feel myself corrupting, bit by bit. But I had no intention of stopping. The pleasure this power brought was simply too overwhelming.
The main pages of portal sites had been plastered with one man's name for days now.
[Exclusive] Megahit Song 'Paradise' from 3 Years Ago—True Owner Is Unknown Composer Na Kanghan
[Heartwarming] Goddess 'Lee Seol' Rescues Na Kanghan from Agency Tyranny... "Stealing an Artist's Soul Must Be Eradicated"
[Shocking] 'Music Industry Goddess' Lee Seol Announces Surprise Wedding to Debt-Ridden Genius Composer
Just yesterday, I'd been contemplating death on a bridge over the Han River. Now I was the symbol of justice against entertainment industry corruption, the "hidden genius" chosen by top star Lee Seol, resurrected in a blaze of glory. Everything unfolded exactly according to the organization's meticulously scripted plan.
The wedding was arranged in a matter of days. By all common sense, it was impossible. The Dynasty Hotel wedding hall—the hardest reservation in Korea—was cleared in just three days. Thousands of rare lilies were airlifted from the Netherlands on a private jet. The top-tier venue, which normally required booking a year in advance, welcomed guests as if it had existed solely for this day.
All these miracles were the invisible handiwork of the "organization." The magic of power.
My parents stood at the entrance to the hall, their faces dreamy with disbelief. To the couple who'd despaired just days ago over their son's false accusations and crushing debts, this was divine salvation.
At the center of it all was the bride, Lee Seol, in her pure white dress. An hour before the ceremony began, in the bride's waiting room, I went with my parents to greet her.
Such a grand wedding could be rushed like lightning because there was ample justification to convince the public and both sets of parents: a collaboration project with the living legend of the world music scene, producer Angelo Malcor.
"Mother, Father, I'm so sorry. I wanted to take it slow, but Angelo suddenly scheduled the recording. He's so stubborn—if we miss this chance, Kanghan's genius might never see the light of day."
Lee Seol bowed demurely in apology, and my parents waved it off.
Who was Angelo? A Grammy-winning titan infamous for his eccentric perfectionism—locking artists in isolated studios for a month to "extract their souls." His iron rule, "Don't even attend a family member's deathbed for the sake of music," was industry gospel.
"No, Seol. We understand completely. What could be wrong with such a huge opportunity for our Kanghan? No contact during the whole recording period? Don't worry about us. A parent shouldn't burden a child chasing great art."
Mom still clutched Lee Seol's hand, her eyes welling up. She was overjoyed and grateful that her son, who'd suffered so much injustice, was finally shining.
"But couldn't the wedding wait until after recording? It's so rushed, we couldn't even gather all the relatives..."
Dad glanced at me regretfully. Then Lee Seol hooked her arm through mine and said sweetly,
"I couldn't wait even a moment longer~ Father~~"
When the goddess-like Lee Seol beamed and called him "Father," Dad's discomfort melted away instantly. I stood silently, listening to this nauseating exchange.
The "isolation for art" my parents believed in was just another name for the organization's "complete confinement." Behind the shield of Angelo's name, Lee Seol was destined for far more hardcore training than her busy schedule had allowed before. Every moment of ecstasy would line the organization's pockets.
The Pantheon started hardcore training when a slave turned 25 and her popularity began to fade, squeezing out every last drop of profit before culminating in a pregnancy birth show. That system even secured new sex slaves.
Lee Seol, at the pinnacle as the ultimate goddess, had just hit 25. It might seem early, but the organization was already in motion.
Of course, they weren't discarded after giving birth. They'd play the role of happy family with a proxy husband, raising the child in luxury with abundant "love" until age 20. Using the organization's unparalleled genetic tech, the mother's superior beauty was passed on. Then, blissfully ignorant, the daughter was offered to the Pantheon at 20.
That was one of the organization's grand delights. For VIPs jaded by every vice, nothing compared to breaking a lowly-born sex slave versus one raised like a sheltered princess.
And the most wretched, taboo thrill? Using the fake father who'd raised her and the birth mother—trained as a pathetic sex slave from the start, paired with a netorare masochist husband who'd bargained with the devil—as tools in her training.
They served the organization to the bitter end. My parents, oblivious that their son had allied with devils, smiled warmly.
"Kanghan, take good care of Seol. It'll be tough under that stubborn old foreigner—be her rock."
Dad patted my shoulder roughly. Smacking my lips with bitter relish, I bowed to them.
"Don't worry, Dad. I'll manage her 'very meticulously.' I promised Angelo I won't take my eyes off her until she produces the sound he wants."
"Our Seol is so beautiful. Live happily with Kanghan."
Mom's rough, warm hand gently covered Lee Seol's white-gloved one. Blushing, she smiled shyly. For that moment, she seemed not a product of the organization, but a beloved daughter-in-law, a normal wife to one man.
"Yes, Mother... I'll... do my best. By Kanghan's side..."
But that fragile vow shattered with the unannounced creak of the waiting room door.
Click.
Entering first was my father-in-law, Lee Hak-su. Then my brother-in-law Lee Hyun and mother-in-law Seo Ji-an. Ignoring me, his son-in-law, Lee Hak-su bent obsequiously to clear a path for the VIPs behind him.
"Congressman, Chairman! This way. Our Seol has been waiting."
They looked like wrinkled old men. But their eyes held the gaze of overwhelming predators. Thick cigar smoke and the arrogant scent of power devoured the room's lily fragrance in an instant.
Lee Seol's body, still holding my hand, stiffened noticeably. My parents hurriedly moved to leave.
"Oh dear, important guests. We'll head out now."
As my parents exited, in that brief instant, a seismic shift rocked Lee Seol's inner world. Her eyes lost their spark. The daughter-in-law who'd teared up holding her mother-in-law's hand was gone.
With each thud of the VIPs' shoes on the marble, her body and mind—pickled for years in training and drugs—reacted like a beast recognizing its master.
No... Mother's still outside... Please...!
Her mind chased her in-laws' retreating figures in guilty anguish, but her true nature had already betrayed her. When one VIP, a corporate tycoon, prodded her dress hem with his cane, hot, musky nectar gushed from between her thighs—barred from wearing panties by command—trickling down her luscious legs.
Beneath the goddess mask, the sex slave emerged. Lee Seol clamped her thighs, trembling in shame, but her conditioned body quivered near climax from their gazes alone. The clear, viscous fluid soaked her priceless silk lining, cooling coldly.
The door's closing thud rang like a death sentence. The Lee Seol who'd just vowed tearfully to my mother was erased. As the VIPs approached, exhaling cigar smoke, her body reacted with horrifying honesty—the result of years of torturous training and drugs.
She clasped her trembling hands between her thighs in futile resistance, but her glazed eyes yearned masochistically for submission to her masters.
"Come now, bride. Give a proper 'greeting.'"
An Madam, who lived with and managed Lee Seol at her home, commanded coldly. My wife slid off the sofa as if entranced, kneeling on the cold marble. Her pristine white dress pooled around her like wilted petals.
Tears streamed in humiliation, but unable to fight her ingrained slave instincts, she arched her ass backward.
It was the degrading pose the VIPs adored—one no different from a beast's. Transparent nectar poured ceaselessly from between her thighs, pooling on the floor. It soaked her pure dress hem in a filthy puddle, like she'd lost control and pissed herself.
It wasn't urine. Not squirting either. Slick, musky love juices reeking of arousal. Definitely nectar. Her constitution had changed through training, but this was far more than usual—proof she was in deeper heat than ever.
Unlike routine sessions in the organization's grand performance hall, just minutes ago she'd been a human bride greeting her in-laws politely, heart fluttering with normal excitement.
But that warm memory now fueled her masochism like kindling. The anticipation of it twisting into the filthiest acts, laced with exquisite taboo shame. Trembling in destructive ecstasy from the contradiction, she leaked thicker, muskier nectar than ever.
Her eyes, unfocused, stared only at the feet of the VIPs treating her as spectacle.