#4. Taste
#4. Taste
The best Sida.
That was the first nickname I got after entering the Department of Architecture.
At first, I thought it was a compliment.
Because a Sida is someone who helps others with their work.
It meant I was the ultimate helper.
My seniors and classmates didn't hold back their praise for my handiwork.
[For real, Na-eun-ah. How are your hands as pretty as your face?]
[Na-eun-ie, you have to do my graduation exhibition with me no matter what. I seriously can't let some other kid snag you.]
At first, I ran around busily helping this senior and that senior with their projects.
The tips they shared and school stories were fascinating, and after pulling all-nighters, seeing their completed models gave me such a rush of satisfaction—nothing beat it.
But I had a fatal, decisive flaw.
It didn't take long to notice it.
[Student Na-eun. Why can't Student Na-eun grasp any direction for a specific concept?]
Concept. In Korean, that means "concept."
I couldn't escape criticism about concepts in every design project.
If they were regular people who knew nothing about architecture, they'd probably rave about the exterior of the buildings I designed, but the professors' evaluations were always harsh.
No proper concept in sight. It's just a pretty shell.
...I was sick of it.
What the hell did they want from me anyway?
A building looks good—that should be enough. Is this "concept" crap even useful?
Unfortunately, the nagging that tormented me didn't let up no matter how many seasons passed.
I flailed around trying to fix it, but every guiding professor who oversaw me just shook their heads.
Getting treated like a brainless kid was wearing thin too.
My room started filling up, one by one, with models dismissed as pretty trash.
It had been ages since I'd quit being seniors' Sida.
I didn't want to become their laughingstock anymore.
'A kid with crap design skills but killer handcraft.'
'A spineless drone perfect for just cutting stuff.'
Sophomore year, second semester.
That's when I decided to Tal-geon.
Did I really need to keep putting up with this bullshit?
With that thought, I boldly told my parents I wanted to drop out.
But their response was ice-cold.
[Na-eun-ah. What the hell are you gonna do to survive? Huh? Without even a college diploma.]
[We didn't bust our asses paying academy fees to send you to college for this. Just graduate somehow.]
Cold, but realistic.
I was just a fresh high school grad adult with zero means to support myself.
...An escape route.
I needed a way out of this hellish architecture nightmare.
Golden hands. Born with all my talent in making and drawing pretty things, it wasn't long before I dipped my toes into an industry I couldn't tell a soul about.
That was...
Even though I should've been used to it by my junior year, the brutal critique during the presentation hit me right on cue.
The professors' voices still echoed vividly in my ears.
The same damn criticisms repeating again.
Stress shooting straight to my head, I got back to my place and frantically turned on my phone screen.
Any new uploads?
I logged into the Novel World site and quickly hit the refresh button on notifications.
Please... please... be up already...
Oh! Two whole chapters...!
My post-school evaluation funk vanished in a heartbeat.
Heart pounding with excitement, I tapped the screen with my phone.
And this episode's title was...
["Open your mouth, you fucking cunt bitch."]
...Fuck, I love it.
The title alone was perfection. Total satisfaction.
The more I scrolled, the more euphoria bubbled up inside me.
Nam Ga-yeon, the star of the illustration I'd finished and sent today, was crumbling pathetically.
[Despite Nam Ga-yeon's screams, Jin-seong didn't stop.]
[It was to etch into her brain what a real male was.]
[Jin-seong tapped the exhausted Nam Ga-yeon's cheek with his massive cock.]
["Open your mouth, you fucking cunt bitch."]
Ah... I can't take it.
I paused my already busy hands for a sec and grabbed the transparent dildo stashed deep in my closet.
One hand on the phone screen, the other shoving the dildo into my mouth.
[Jin-seong grabbed Nam Ga-yeon's hair and mercilessly ravaged her half-glassy-eyed mouth.]
Me too... me too...
The dildo hit the back of my throat, dry-heaving kicking in.
But I couldn't stop.
The protagonist of [I Imprisoned Her.], 'Lee Jin-seong,' would've never ended it at this level.
[Nam Ga-eun chose to give in to her instincts.]
[She shook her head back and forth in time with Jin-seong's fierce thrusts.]
Jin-seong's brutish hand flashed in my mind.
I imagined myself collapsing mercilessly under his touch.
"Haa... haa... please, me..."
Even though no one was around to hear, I kept spewing filthy words like he was right there.
I'd jammed the dildo so hard into my mouth that drool was dribbling down my T-shirt.
When the scroll hit the end, I couldn't hide my disappointment.
Ending it... here?
My scorching pussy was still unsatisfied, squirting like it was pissed.
I was always grateful to the author for these masterpieces, but damn, how could anyone be this sadistic?
Sure, as a content creator, you can't drop everything every chapter—I get that—but this was straight-up cruel.
Still burning up, I considered a reread jerk-off sesh, but nah, I gave up on it.
...Wouldn't get me all the way anyway.
Brutally throat-fucking myself with the dildo was routine, but surprisingly, I only masturbated with my hands.
I'd never actually shoved a dildo into my pussy.
Reading erotic novels made the insertion cravings hit hard sometimes, but no way.
Because... the protagonist of [I Imprisoned Her.], Lee Jin-seong, was a virgin fetishist.
He wouldn't even glance at non-virgins, let alone hunt them.
Of course I knew he wasn't real, but one thing was clear from the novel.
No clue on the exact ratio, but tons of guys obsess over a woman's 'first time' and get massively turned on by it.
That's why, at 24—
An age where having experience wouldn't raise eyebrows—I was still a virgin.
I roughly fixed my soaked sheets and headed to the bathroom for a shower.
Splash.
Hot water on, I stared at my reflection.
...Looks pretty fuckable, right? Or not?
I mean... where the hell am I gonna find a guy to match my batshit tastes?
If I wanted a normal boyfriend, I could've had ten by now.
But that's not what I craved. Boring vanilla romance? Pass.
Sweet starts and heart-fluttery almost-dating? That shit looked pathetic to me.
I wanted a Lee Jin-seong type.
A guy who'd make me play hard-to-get all high-and-mighty, then force me to my knees.
Someone to lead a "normal" girl like me with my twisted kinks.
We might've actually met if that was all the criteria.
But add one more condition, and no dice.
Namely...
Meeting a guy like that naturally.
I didn't wanna go hunting for "Master" like some horny bitch in heat.
That'd trash my dignity as a woman.
And begging some dude to fuck me? Zero turn-on.
Might as well skip the red bean paste-less sweet bun.
Out of the shower, I let out a deep sigh.
Am I seriously gonna die a lonely old virgin like this?
That thought in mind, I flopped into my chair and booted up the computer.
...Oh right.
Gotta apologize properly.
I'd been so slammed with my deadlines I hadn't sent a real sorry message to the author.
What if he switches illustrators over my late delivery this time...
Ugh... nooo...
No matter what other gigs came in, I always prioritized illustrations for Han Gyeo-ul, author of [I Imprisoned Her.].
I was that invested in the work, that much of a fan.
I knew the story inside out, so I could nail exactly what the author wanted every time.
[Author-nim. So sorry for being late today.]
I was hemming and hawing over the email when my phone buzzed.
[Lee Min-ho.]
The dawn encounter I'd blanked on came rushing back.
Right. This guy. Today...
Illustration deadlines, design deadlines, professor critique bombs—I'd totally forgotten about him.
...Should I pick up?
Maybe ignoring him means he won't call again? But that felt too naive.
Sigh... fine, answer it.
[Hello?]
[Hey.]
His deep, low voice.
...One possibility flickered through my mind.