The Day After the Storm Named Siron
"Hoo!"
The sun was just peeking over the horizon at the crack of dawn. I'd dashed across the guild's open lot and was now catching my ragged breath.
"Ahem. Here, have some water."
"Nah, forget that girl's stuff—drink mine. This one's got a cooling spell on it."
Women adventurers gathered around me, eyeing each other warily. But this was familiar territory, so I didn't miss a beat.
"I'm parched—thanks a ton." My throat was actually bone-dry, so I took whatever water they offered and chugged it down, bowing gratefully to each one.
"Heh, it's just water."
"We should grab beers tonight instead. Hey, I'll even cover yours, Smith!"
After-work drink invites rolled in—though "after" was a stretch for someone like me, half-owned by the guild. I had to smile and turn them down. Another day, another batch of good impressions locked in. Soaked in sweat, I headed to my corner room on the third floor.
"Hey~"
"Morning, Mage."
"Yeah, yeah. You're still as punctual as ever. Teeheehee!!"
I gave a quick bow to Vizelin, the city's top living mage who looked every bit the golden-haired girl. Blonde suited her perfectly.
"Here, fresh clothes. Speak up if the fit's off like last time."
"Thanks. I'll change quick and be right back."
Even I could tell this soft, high-quality fabric wasn't cheap. I grabbed it, ducked into my room, swapped outfits, and stuffed my sweat-drenched clothes and undies into a specially enchanted leather pouch. Then I stepped out with it.
"Here you go."
"Heehee, perfect."
Vizelin took the pouch, grinning, and gave her little magic wand a flick.
"Get clean."
A gentle breeze swirled around me, followed by a sparkle! When the light faded, my sticky skin and new clothes were fluffy-dry.
"Man, it's still fucking mind-blowing every time."
"Heh. That's what you get at my level. Anyone else, and you'd still smell or feel damp."
"No doubt. You're the best, Vizelin."
Flattery's free—might as well lay it on thick.
"Oh, and this."
"What's this?"
I took the small vial she pulled from her pocket.
"Holy water from the High Priestess of the Rapitera Temple. For you."
"Holy shit. This is the real deal?"
Holy water. Word was, one sip healed wounds, eased chronic knee pain in the rain, and basically granted a disease-free long life. The ultimate elixir.
"Smith, outlanders like you sometimes get the wrong idea. It's not that miraculous—just perks up your health a bit."
"Oh... really?"
"Yup. But this one's special. She made it herself, so it'll boost your resistances and such."
"Whoa... But why would the High Priestess suddenly give this to me?"
"Heehee, long story. Anyway, drink up and hand the vial back. Gotta witness it myself and return it."
"Got it."
Good for me? No need to overthink. I popped the cork—pop!—and a crisp, fizzy scent hit my nose. Holy water smelled like soda? Health benefits aside, my mouth watered instantly. I downed it in one go.
"Ahhh~!!"
"Heehee, what a reaction. Priestess'll love it."
"Yeah?"
I was buzzed—not just from the cool refreshment, but the pure soda flavor. Grinning like an idiot, I handed the empty vial back.
"See ya. Tomorrow."
"Take care."
"Yeah~"
Vizelin waved as she headed downstairs. I slipped into my room.
"Hoo~ Feels great!"
I flopped onto the surprisingly plush bed, stretched luxuriously, and stared at the ceiling with hands behind my head.
Seo Min-su, strapping Korean lad. Fresh out of mandatory service in the engineering battalion—a true K-youth. So how the hell did I end up here?
Post-discharge, fearless and curious about modern life's underbelly, my eyes locked on a job ad in ornate script: 'Adult Toy Manufacturer God Hand—New Hire Wanted.' A year till school resumed, so curiosity won. I applied on a whim, got accepted, and soon got the interview call.
Taxi ride had me second-guessing legality, but the 10-story building screamed legit. Felt dumb for doubting a biz helping humanity's... prosperity.
A lovely receptionist guided me to the interview room—no wait, straight in. Don't recall the questions, just that the stunning interviewers loved my answers.
Result? Signed the contract on the spot, inked my print like I was possessed, and left. Hit the elevator to head home.
Doors opened—not to the lobby, but a scorching desert that cracked my lips on inhale.
"Fuck. Still ridiculous thinking about it."
At first, rage and panic shook me to my core. Now? Just absurd. About to die alone, then some all-female slaver crew nabbed me—mercenaries for a trading company. Slave status confirmed.
Dragged to Molingta, they milked me dry till my eyes nearly popped. My sex resume? One awkward rub-n-tug with "Auntie Ji-na" courtesy of a barracks senior. This was overload.
Tied in the wagon a week, fed scraps, they rode me till I was spent. Still makes my balls shrivel. Thought multiple orgasms were myth—turns out, death by them's possible.
Auctioned in Molingta, I went to the Adventurer's Guild Master's bid. Four years ago.
"Time flies, damn."
Honestly, terrified at first. She was as stacked and sharp as the slavers—figured more draining awaited. But no. She cleaned me up, quizzed me, taught me the basics.
Language was fine, but literacy? Zero. Three years nine months to master this world's pretty script—English-hater like me pulled it off. Desperation juices the brain.
Four years in, but only two months as receptionist. That's why.
And yeah, you guessed it—this world's got a gender flip! Chastity norms reversed too.
Guards, high-risk adventurers—mostly women. Heavy labor spots? All gals. Local guys topped 170cm skinny, no muscle—slim at best, beanpole at worst.
Sahara tribesmen like my cover? Built like me. Complicated backstory there.
Point is: that's why Slim A and B bully me.
Unlike scrawny locals, my buff frame, height, muscles, and desert-tanned glow? Women eat it up.
Heard from a female clerk: guys snag receptionist gigs to hook top adventurers for easy rides.
Those two monopolized silvers till I stole 'em—including top-tier Siron picking me. Now I'm their thorn.
"Fuckers. One day, drowning in the well."
Lost in vengeful thoughts, a knock at my door. My corner spot plus Guild Master's threats kept adventurers away.
"Tch... Bad vibes."
Sure enough, an unwelcome voice from beyond.
"Smith? You there?"
Slim A. Hated responding, but my routine's guild-famous. Sighing, I got up.
"What's up?"
Opened the door—Slim A, eyes bulging like always.
"Hmm, no prep needed, huh? Smith, know the east gate?"
"East gate?"
"Yeah. East gate."
"Course."
Not like I'd only run errands once—city map's burned in my brain.
"Then head there now."
"Now? Anything to grab?"
"Nah. Got a report on a new labyrinth. We're swamped, so cover for us?"
"...Pardon?"
The fuck? Brain short-circuited.
"Why so shocked? You're a full receptionist now. Dispatch duty's part of it, right?"
"Well, yeah, but..."
Who wouldn't freak if their bully dropped this bomb?
"Adventurers waiting at the gate. They'll handle themselves—just confirm if the labyrinth's real. Easy peasy."
"Sounds... simple enough."
"Anyway, hustle to the east gate. Don't keep 'em waiting!!"
Done talking, Slim A bolted without a glance. So goddamn unfair, tears welled up.