How About It, Dad? Doesn't It Look Delicious?

Everything felt suspicious to Min-ah now.

Her father, Eun-hyeok, had never once lied to her. That was precisely why she had always been able to trust him, to follow him without a second thought. But now Eun-hyeok had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠lied to her — and his daughter had caught it the instant it left his mouth.

The fabric freshener he'd mentioned. As far as Min-ah could remember, that had not been the smell of fabric freshener. It was unmistakably shampoo and body wash. No woman alive would ever confuse that scent with a fabric deodorizer.

Min-ah was thrown into confusion. The father who had never once lied to her had deceived her as naturally as breathing. She had believed so fiercely that he was not that kind of man, and the shock of it hit her hard. She did not let it show, though. Min-ah knew. The moment she revealed that she had caught him, every last scrap of her father's affection for her would vanish.

Min-ah carried trauma.

The day Eun-hyeok and her mother, A-yeong, had begun divorce proceedings, Eun-hyeok had tried to leave Min-ah with A-yeong. Even as a child, Min-ah had known: if she were handed over to her mother, she would either be beaten to death or driven mad until she died. Whenever Min-ah dared to voice an opinion of her own, A-yeong had persecuted her for it with vicious enthusiasm. The gaslighting had been endless.

A-yeong's vicious words were still driven into Min-ah's skull like nails. That was why she never carelessly revealed what she truly felt — not until she was certain she held a complete, unassailable advantage. Hiding her heart had become second nature. Even with her father, it was no different.

Eun-hyeok was an extraordinary man. He had grown up wanting for nothing, and then, in a single stroke, he had lost his parents, his lover, and his money. But he had risen again on nothing but will. It had been the same when he divorced his wife. Even as everything collapsed around him, he had never let go of hope. He had accepted Min-ah — who was not even his own blood — and raised her with painstaking devotion.

Min-ah did not know that she was not Eun-hyeok's biological daughter. If she ever found out, she would be stunned by the sheer scale of the sacrifice he had made for someone who was, in the end, a stranger. But even believing she was his real child, Min-ah had always been grateful to her father. Eun-hyeok had given up everything for his daughter. That was one of the things for which she thanked him most deeply.

And so Min-ah loved him. Not as a father. She wanted him as her lover.

A feeling that could not be reined in. Nothing in this world could stop Min-ah.

Then where had this burning, consuming affection of hers begun?

Min-ah was certain of the answer. She had hidden her true feelings and shown her father only what he wanted to see — and that was why he had chosen her. And so she had always wanted to appear before Eun-hyeok as the perfect daughter.

Min-ah was human, too. There were times she got angry. Times she wanted to throw a tantrum. She never did. She believed her father would hate that sort of thing.

A performance. A vast, elaborate performance, all for her father's sake.

Somewhere along the way, Min-ah's heart had twisted. It was a wound left by the abuse she had suffered as a child at the hands of her mother, A-yeong.

That was his daughter's iron will. And then —

That was her father's devoted love. Those two things, in a fantastical collaboration, had kept Min-ah's twisted heart suppressed for a very long time. But the heart had not been corrected. It had only been held down — and that created a problem of its own. The thing she had been pressing under began, like a malignant tumor, to eat her from the inside.

In the end, Min-ah decided she would have her father. She arrived at the conviction that it had to be her, and no one else. It was a forbidden love society would never condone, but she believed that if she did it well enough, she could overcome even that.

There was a problem, though. To her father, Eun-hyeok, a daughter was still only a daughter. Not a woman. A daughter. And so Min-ah kept seducing him, trying to make him see her as a woman. Even back in high school, the times she had occasionally begged him to wash her — that had been why. The reason she gave on the surface was that it soothed her, that it settled her heart. That was not the truth.

Min-ah knew exactly how much her body could appeal to a man. A 75E cup so full she could barely find a bra that fit. A twenty-inch wasp waist. And the beautiful line of her legs, falling from full, generous hips. If he saw that — if he touched it — she was certain even her father would look at her as a woman.

But Eun-hyeok never did. A ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠daughter was a daughter, after all. He was not the kind of wretched father who would lust after his own child.

Min-ah, on the other hand, grew more and more restless. She had been sure he would eventually take her. He never did. She hated him for watching Japanese AV instead of her. In the end she despaired, crushed by the knowledge that she was somehow less than the actresses who resembled the mother she cursed.

Min-ah grew more beautiful with every passing year. She had seemed to be at her peak, and then another year would go by and she would be more stunning still. She tried, and tried again — pushing the seduction as far as she could without ever letting it show that she was seducing him. But Eun-hyeok never fell for it.

And so, in the end, she went to see a shaman.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

The shaman's words were chilling. Absolutely not. She would not let anyone take him from her.

"Come on in, sweetheart. Let's get you washed up."

Her father had already taken off his shoes. He called to her from the entryway.

"Coming, Dad!"

Wearing the smile of a daughter more well-behaved than anyone alive, Min-ah ran to the door.

What should I wear?

Min-ah was deliberating. She had already showered, so there was no real need to wash again. She had simply dampened her hair, pretended she had bathed, and come out to her room, where she now stood trying to decide what to put on.

Something a little more aggressive than last time's slip, maybe.

What she picked up was a slip of a far cleaner, more elegant design than the last one. The hem, however, was outrageously short. Even a slight squat would expose her entire backside.

This one gathers the chest a little more.

The bust had padding sewn in, pushing Min-ah's already generous breasts into even more dramatic relief. It would carve out a deep, lush valley of cleavage.

Good. Now pair it with this.

She picked up the T-back she had worn last time.

Perfect.

She stripped in a matter of seconds and pulled on the slip and the panties.

Right. The shaman said this much was fine.

Min-ah tied an apron over the rest of it.

I wonder what face Dad will make.

A low, private little laugh started in her throat.

Once I was home and the pressure of my daughter's promise had lifted, the tension drained out of me completely. I wanted to sink into a hot bath, but I held off — I still had a late dinner to eat with her. Even so, my shower ran twice as long as usual. I stood under the warm water in a daze. As my body went pleasantly slack, every last knot of tension came undone, and sleep began to tug at me.

"Dad, are you done in there?"

Ah. I had taken too long. My daughter's voice called from the kitchen.

"Sorry, sweetheart! I'll be right out!"

"Take your time! Wash as long as you want, Dad!"

Still an angel of a daughter. She was taking such good care of me.

"I still can't keep my girl waiting. I'll be out in a second."

"Okay, Dad! Thank you!"

I started washing in earnest.

I finished quickly, put on lotion, and changed into my sleepwear. Through the slightly open door of the master bedroom, a delicious smell came drifting in, teasing at my nose.

That's... spicy pork stir-fry?

Usually I was the one who prepared the family's meals. I wanted my daughter to be able to throw herself entirely into her studies. But... how had she made jeyuk-bokkeum?

Right. I'd heard meal kits were quite good these days. I preferred cooking from my own recipes, so I had never actually bought one — but In-ju had said something about it at work a while back.

This smell. This was not the smell of spicy pork stir-fry made by an amateur. It had to be from a meal kit. My stomach gave a low, eager growl.

"Dad! Food's ready!"

Not quite a nudge. A pleasant little prod.

"Yeah, I'm coming."

I opened the door and walked into the kitchen. And then —

"Dad, ta-da!!"

I couldn't help but be startled.

"The spicy pork stir-fry you always make! Min-ah's version!!"

A gorgeous plate of jeyuk-bokkeum. Made with pork belly so marbled with fat that it glistened from the edges inward. And then —

A heavy sway.

Great, heavy masses shifting beneath the apron.

...My daughter was standing in the kitchen to greet me, wearing nothing but an apron.