To Seoul (4)
To Seoul (4) — Hanmaum Guwon Cult, 3rd Floor
Having put Yoon Ayoung to sleep in the cult leader's chamber, I headed straight down to the third floor.
Creeeeeak— Pushing open the massive white door into the executive office, I was greeted by the soft scratch of a pen at work. Seong Gaeul lifted her head, glanced at me, then dipped it right back down and buried herself in her documents.
“And here I thought I told you to rest and wait for me today, of all days. It's a festival, Seong Gaeul.”
“Then I'd feel way too sorry for tomorrow's me, stuck carrying today's workload. Work that has to get done doesn't care whether it's today or tomorrow.”
Haa— seriously, drop that woman in the ocean and she'd bob along forever on nothing but her mouth.
I let out a deliberate, theatrical sigh — loud enough for her to catch — and leaned back against the table. A wine glass sat before her; she kept turning pages without the slightest interest in whether the cult leader had arrived or not. Tapping lightly on the wine bottle and glass sitting there all alone, without so much as a snack to keep them company, I said,
“So this is the lonely little festival Seong Gaeul enjoys?”
“And why is it that you skipped Joo Joohye to come see me first?”
“Ah, Joohye?”
Come to think of it, the proud confidence Joo Joohye had worn at its peak when she awakened as the Gatekeeper of Salvation had been quietly dying off ever since. Probably because the [Gate of Salvation] was underperforming compared to her expectations. It actually made sense to me now why corporations — the old standard-bearers of capitalism — used to pour fortunes into publicity. Celebrities and influencers hadn't spent all that money getting their names out there for nothing.
So what good was finding a stable channel? There wasn't a single survivor left who knew the way in.
Publicity.
Not publicity for the Salvation Cult itself — what I desperately needed was some means of putting the mere thought of 'salvation' into people's heads.
“Maybe I should scrape together a helicopter and start scattering flyers?”
“And who exactly would pilot this helicopter?”
“Me, obviously! I'd just drag it around with telekinesis.”
“Then it'd be faster for you to fly around dropping the flyers yourself.”
“…Aha!”
“…Haa.”
At the idiotic exchange, Seong Gaeul finally took her hands off the paperwork and rubbed her temples. When she caught me snickering at the sight, her eyes narrowed even further.
“Looking at this, who would ever believe you're the same man who was preaching before the believers just minutes ago?”
“What? I'm like an onion, aren't I? Peel it and peel it, and there's always a new side to find. I hear men like this are the best to date.”
“Pfft! Heard that where? A book? Or YouTube?”
“…A highly credible YouTuber with 700,000 subscribers.”
“PUHAHAHAHA—”
Seong Gaeul doubled over, her whole body shaking with laughter. Watching her ears flush a brilliant red at a truly impressive pace, I tipped back the wine glass on the table. A sharp sweetness slid cool and clean down my throat.
“Khh—”
I scrunched my face and refilled the glass. From what I'd heard somewhere, wine wasn't meant for one-shotting — there was even a whole ritual to pouring it. Well, the age where such fussy etiquette mattered was long dead. I filled it up light and easy, like pouring soju, and looked at Seong Gaeul, still trembling with the aftershocks of her giggles.
“You're enjoying that a little too much, no?”
“Ahahahah— ah… look at this, I'm about to cry. Got a tissue anywhere?”
“…I've got wet wipes, though.”
I handed over the wet wipes pulled from my inventory while deliberately wearing an exaggerated scowl. The weapons that had once crammed my inventory full were all sleeping safely on the basement level now; the only things left inside were daily necessities and rations, stocked against whatever emergency Seoul might throw at us.
I watched Seong Gaeul dab at the corners of her eyes with the wipes I'd passed her. Fair, slender hands combined with that lovely face — even something as simple as wiping her eyes radiated an air of elegance.
“Now the executive office finally feels a little bit like a festival too.”
Ahahahaha— The instant the words left my mouth, the believers' laughter came drifting through the window. The festival that had started on the first floor had spread all the way to the temple garden, songs floating over the glass along with the shrill giggles of little children.
Ah, right — can't very well have religion without hymns, can I? Should I drag a composer in from somewhere?
“…Thank you.”
Seong Gaeul said it to me as I watched the believers in the garden through the window. The sudden seriousness in her voice made me turn to face her. As always, I found myself reflected in those starlight eyes, steady and unclouded.
“…Out of nowhere?”
“Yes. Honestly, I never imagined you'd be this good at it. I suppose the system does weigh aptitude to some degree after all?”
Lifting her wine glass, Seong Gaeul walked over to the window. I gave a small shrug and stood beside her, looking down at the garden together.
At the center of the lawn, Kim Areum — Kim Cheolsu's daughter — was twirling in circles with her arm crooked in front of her nose like an elephant's trunk. When she saw Shin Jihoon and Park Himchan spinning beside her with even more speed and abandon, her cheeks puffed out in a pout. She spun faster to catch up, lost her balance, and toppled onto the grass. The two boys, oblivious, kept gleefully spinning away — and Kim Areum's face began to crumple on the verge of tears. Seeing that, the boys exchanged a quick look and nodded.
“Uuuuuhhh— I'm sooo dizzyyy—”
Watching them flop dramatically onto the lawn, Kim Areum lit up all over again. She popped right back to her feet and spun in circles, giggling — and the two boys, refusing to be outdone, rolled off the grass and got up to twirl with their elephant trunks raised once more.
“Areum! Daddy's gonna help you beat those big boys!”
Kim Cheolsu — clearly well past tipsy — came sprinting over, scooped up his daughter, and whirled her round and round.
“Teehehehehe—”
Kim Areum squealed with delight while Kim Cheolsu swayed worse and worse, his wife hurrying to steady him.
“What on earth are you doing, drunk like that?! Honey! I told you it's dangerous! Ohhh—!”
“Ehehehehehe— Areum!”
“Hehehe— Daaaddy—”
At that unguarded happiness, every believer nearby broke into easy smiles.
There was happiness here. A rare emotion, nearly impossible to find anywhere in this world anymore — no, a fragment like a homesickness you had to bury if you wanted to keep living. And there was peace here too.
Every day at noon, barring anything unusual, all the believers gathered in the second-floor prayer room. And before they listened to my sermon as their cult leader, one of them took the microphone each day. Whoever held it spoke of the pain they had endured, and of the happiness they'd found since entering the Salvation Cult. It was, in essence, one enormous act of group therapy.
Watching that peaceful scene unfold, I remembered something one of those believers had once said. He'd been a man who loved nothing more than a thoughtful stroll, he told us — and the apocalypse that had swallowed the world only became real to him when he saw the place where he used to take those walks.
The chattering laughter of students coming down the hill. Office workers hurrying somewhere with brisk, clicking footsteps, old men trundling slowly along with their handcarts. All of it — the oddly harmonious hum of traffic, the rustle of leaves in the breeze — had vanished, and what claimed the space instead was overturned cars and abandoned garbage. A desolate wind blew through, and the eerie silence raised gooseflesh. The only things left to break that silence were the equally chilling howls of zombies and the screams of the humans being devoured.
Only after seeing all that did he accept that the world had truly ended. And then he'd said something else. That the world he had lost was here. That the peace he'd ached for was right here.
Just as that believer said. There was peace here. No — peace existed here, and here alone.
“Back when Cheolsu's neck got snapped, I never imagined we'd all end up enjoying peace like this.”
Cheolsu? Cheolsu is right over there, alive and well — what do you mean, a snapped neck? Ah…! Lee Gyeongmin's one and only best friend — his name had been Kim Cheolsu, hadn't it. The scene of me possessing the tutorial fairy and snapping that neck flickered and replayed across my brain. That obnoxious little bastard had been named Cheolsu too. Wow, talk about a common name.
“Wow— I'd completely forgotten that until you opened your mouth, honestly.”
“…I was being serious for a good while there. Don't wreck the mood — just listen.”
“Ah, yes ma'am.”
Seong Gaeul shot me a sour look, then turned back to savor the peace outside and went on.
“You're a better person than I thought. Lately, sometimes… I really do believe you'll fix everything. ……Like a true god.”
“Now that's blasphemy, Vice Cult Leader — unforgivable, even from you.”
At my ever-playful answer she glared at me over her wine, eyes narrowed to slits — a suitably theatrical glare, a perfect mirror of mine from earlier. And I couldn't hold in my laughter at the sight of it.
“Honestly… you never let me win. Not even once.”
“That makes it one–one, right?”
Her triumphant smile as she looked at me was so impossible to hate that I just shook my head a little. One apiece. Just as I had filled her loneliness with joking answers and playful jabs, she had tickled my heart right back with praise and reassurance.
Tap— With telekinesis I shut the window overlooking the garden and drew the curtains. Reading the mood, she set her wine glass on the windowsill, and I let my hand glide gently down her face.
She truly was a captivating woman. At times she felt as close as an old friend; at other moments, I couldn't begin to guess what was going on behind her eyes. Much like the 8% of her deficiency I still hadn't filled.
But I felt no impatience, no rush. The college student Seong Gaeul who'd pined after Kang San no longer existed. Seong Gaeul, Vice Cult Leader of the Guwon Cult, was a flower that bloomed only by my hand — because I had already made her exactly that.
Squeeze— mwah— I drew Seong Gaeul into my arms, pressing soft kisses along her neck. She nestled against me with practiced ease these days, and I looked down at her and asked,
“So what's my score as a cult leader so far?”
“Hmm… 92?”
The number lined up, to the digit, with the portion of her deficiency I'd already filled. I was a little startled. Wow— this woman's an absolute demon—
“Aw, that's harsh! How could anyone do better than this?”
“Hmmm— my heart just happens to say exactly 92?”
“…Sneaky little fox bitch.”
“What was that?”
“Hahaha— nothing, nothing.”
I deflected breezily as she arched a suspicious brow, one hand already kneading the pantyhose hidden beneath Seong Gaeul's skirt. Savoring the soft give of the stockings and the springy firmness of her rear in the same handful, I lifted her up. Her legs crossed behind me at once and she clung like a cicada as I carried her to the conference table. Heat radiated from her mound as I tormented it with small, deliberate touches — her pussy was already in heat, dripping with anticipation for the next step.
“What? What's got you this hot and bothered?”
“…Mmmmm—”
Instead of answering, she dodged — so I pressed a dark kiss-mark into her neck and laid her out on the table. Her bob spilled slightly askew, her beauty utterly unbroken even viewed from above. I held her face in place and slowly parted my lips, letting the Liquid of Subordination drip down. The smooth, unbroken strand of saliva slid softly into her open mouth — and at the soft “Ahhh—” that spilled out of Seong Gaeul, a sound far too cute to belong to her, my cock, already hard inside my robes, gave a small twitch.
Watching Seong Gaeul roll the Liquid of Subordination around and swallow it down like a showpiece, I asked, “What happens once I become a 100-point cult leader?”
“Hmm…”
Even as she mulled over my question, her legs kept subtly toying with me — the thighs locked around my waist rocking up and down with a lewd, whispering slide. And, making sure I saw it, she tapped her crimson lips with her index finger, answering in a lazy drawl that suited the obscene picture she made perfectly.
“…You already know, don't you?”
With that short question she smiled slyly and exhaled something sweet — a breath soaked through with excitement. I smiled too.
“Mmm— chuuup— chup—”
Our lips met, parted, and our tongues wound together. Crimson tongues coiled up each other like snakes, trading saliva in full.
“Mmmh— chuuub— chuuup—”
As her honeyed moans kept flowing, my left hand — one more serpent — wormed its way up beneath her skirt.
Riiiip— I tore the pantyhose apart with ease and nudged the black thong I'd dressed her in to the side. In that instant, hot, heavy air flooded my palm, and my hand pressed deeper to stroke her mound.
“What on earth could have turned you on this much, hm?”
“Aaaaaahhhnn!”
My middle and index fingers slipped gently into her entrance and scratched along its upper ridge. The reaction came instantly — she bucked — so I draped my body over hers and ground into that spot even harder.
Squish— squelch—
“Haah— aaaaahhhnn—!”
Against the heel of my hand as it kneaded her folds, I could feel — even without looking — the thick white foam churning up. Her pussy was loosened enough that my cock could charge straight for her cervix with nothing in the way. So what had made her like this? The Liquid of Subordination? No. Truthfully, I'd been working her over from the moment I walked into this office — talking and laughing the whole time, trading moves neither of us could see.
Seong Gaeul's love-deficiency was no different from Yoon Ayoung's — only the direction each filled the affection they'd never received set them apart. Yoon Ayoung, terrified and anxious before a love so unfamiliar she'd never once known it, found her satisfaction in being used and needed by me.
But Seong Gaeul was different. She knew love; it simply never came back to her. For a woman who'd known nothing but a straight line that never touched its destination, the love I gave was an addiction. She just never showed it. Perhaps because she'd yearned after Kang San for so long only to be discarded, she wanted to be the one yearned for — and the more possessiveness and appetite for her I showed, the deeper she fell into heat.
“Finally fucking this Gaeul pussy that only I can fuck, huh?”
“Haaaaahhhnn—”
Her eyes rolled up toward the ceiling as her juices quivered against my rubbing fingers. Drinking in the sight of her cresting a light peak, I peeled off my robes in a rush, then fitted my painfully swollen cock against her slit, thong pushed aside.
Squelch— With a sticky sound I pushed inside, grinding through depths still quaking from her peak.
“Ahhhh— w-wait—!”
Contrary to her words, her legs locked tight around my waist; I seized those sleek, curving hips in both hands. The instant my tip kissed the far end of her, I started driving my hips out of my mind. Maybe because I had her hips secured, every hard-driving thrust left her flopping like a fish.
“Ahnn— ahnn— ahhnn—!”
I pinned her body in place with telekinesis and turned my gaze to the buttons of her blouse.
Pop— pop— The blouse and bra restraining her chest peeled away under telekinesis.
“Ahhhn— ahnn— ahhnn—”
Watching her breasts shake violently in time with her heaving body, I asked, “Whose tits are these?”
“Ahhmnn— y-y-yours—!”
“Not Kang San's?”
“Haaaaahh— don't say San's name— don't say iiiit—!”
“San,” of all things — for the bastard who ditched the camp and bolted. Kind of stings, honestly. I immediately took her pink nipples and pulled them long with telekinesis.
“Haaaaahhhnn—!”
Whether from the telekinesis or the pleasure, her upper body bent like a drawn bow. I admired the sight and asked again, “If I'm a 92-point cult leader, does the remaining 8 belong to Kang San?”
“Mmmmmh— wh-why would you— don't aaaask— don't ask me thaaat—!”
Hm. So that leftover 8% really does get under my skin. Irritation sharpening every motion, I deliberately dragged my tip along the upper wall of her pussy.
“Aaaaaahhh— d-don't scrape— don't scrape theeere—!”
“I love you, Gaeul.”
“Hik— hnngh—!”
At that lightly tossed whisper, she drew in a breath instead of a moan. I knew perfectly well she would never betray me — the lesson I took from that day still lingered in my mind, after all. It wasn't that a whole 8% remained; it was that only 8% was left. And still, people always live gazing at higher ground. We don't want most of it. We want all of it.
Creak— creak— The table rocked in time with my violent rhythm.
“Haaaaahhnn— I-I'm cumming! I'm— I'm gonna cuuuum—!”
Watching Seong Gaeul shake her head senselessly, I thought: what words would work? What scenario, what line, could fill that warped love-deficiency of hers right to the brim? And then the perfect question occurred to me.
“Gaeul.”
“Mmh— mh— mmmh—”
“Once we've grown the congregation a little more, how about we build a school? And an amusement park, too?”
“Mmh— an am-amusement paaark?”
“That's right. When I become a 100-point cult leader, you and I are going on a date. I'll dress casual instead of the ceremonial robes. And you…”
I deliberately let the sentence die and looked down at her, biting my lip to dam the orgasm surging up from imagination alone.
“A pink blouse, a white tennis skirt. And black canvas slip-ons on your feet.”
“Ah… aaaaaaahh—! Ahhhhhhhnn—!”
The clothes she'd worn the very first time we came face to face. Her own carefully styled ensemble, decked out to the nines to impress Kang San. Understanding what I meant, she drove her hips up off the table — and in the same instant, her pussy squeezed down like it was wringing my cock dry, and I burst out everything I'd held back to the very end.
“Khh—”
“Hnnnnnnnnghh—!”
Gripping her hips, I finished spilling myself as deep as I could reach, then took her face in my hands. Fixing her eyes level with mine, I asked, slow and easy, “The cult leader asked you a question. You answer, don't you?”
Slowly — very slowly — her gaze, which had been fixed on somewhere far away, came back. Her lips, opening and closing faintly, parted just enough to spill the words I'd been waiting for.
“…I'll wear that.”
94% — The twisted love and attention given by Han Guwon
06% — The complete love and attention given by Kang San
So — did that make me a 94-point cult leader, then? I ran [Lack Identification] over her one more time as her eyes slid shut again, and smiled.
I drew out of her slowly, wiping the mingled love juices and cum from my cock with the wet wipes on the table. The only officer left was Joo Joohye — take care of her before bed, and today's checklist was done.
The moment I slid the window back open with telekinesis, the festival's still-lingering songs seeped up into the executive office. I could see the sun sinking, slow and low, toward the horizon. Looking up at a sky where far too perfect a day was fading out, I found myself recalling — for the first time in ages — that bastard's damn handsome face.
Kang San. Are you still alive out there, by any chance? Odds are you're pushing up daisies by now — but I hope you made it. Because if you did, I've got one hell of an entertaining sight to show you.
'Even if you do come back… don't come tomorrow.'
Crrrick— I stretched toward the sky as the sun vanished to make way for tomorrow, and with the faint crackle of my bones in my ears, I stared past the place where the sun had gone — at the place I truly needed to go now.
“Because tomorrow, we're going to Seoul.”