Yojora Doesn't Give Up (3)
There are a few inconveniences to having long hair. One: if you don't lightly tie it up before bed, it tickles your cheeks or sometimes wraps around your neck. Two: when eating something, just lowering your head sends a few strands creeping into your mouth. Three: when trying to dry your wet hair under the dryer, you have to endure the hot blast for ages.
"......"
11 a.m. Yojora stood blankly under the dryer, its high-pitched whine filling the air. The memories from last night were calmly replaying one by one in her mind.
Showing up at Seo Woojin's place late at night with a few bottles of soju, jabbing the intercom buzzer relentlessly. Clinging to his sweat-scented body as he returned from a workout, trying to seduce him with her own. Heading to a bar together. And then...
And then...
"......"
...drinking like a fish until she was wasted. As always, passing out face-first on the table. Being piggybacked home on Seo Woojin's broad back in a hazy stupor, mumbling directions. He understood her slurred instructions perfectly, without laying a single hand on her body, and dropped her off straight away.
All of it. Taken individually, they were nothing events. She drank, fell asleep, and a relatively sober Seo Woojin carried her home. End of story.
Besides, as the saying goes, third time's the charm—she'd only made one real move so far, right? They'd gotten a bit closer yesterday, so now she just needed to tease him little by little and lure him into scouting for the company. A healing-type transcendent was an incredibly rare resource; it'd make future operations a breeze, and there'd be plenty of "fun" to go around.
Despite the lack of gains, Yojora decided to think positively for now.
"......"
That said, separately from all that...
One problem lingered.
"......"
Yojora set down the scorching dryer mid-dry and shuffled to her desk. She rummaged for a pen or eraser—any writing tool—but amazingly, all she found was a cheap ballpoint. Well, ever since dropping out of high school to become an eternal high school girl and crossing into Korea, she hardly ever needed stationery anyway. No wonder there wasn't a ruler on the desk.
She gave up on precise measurement. Instead, Yojora perched on the bed, draping one foot over the opposite thigh. Her naturally flexible body—thanks to no exercise needed—soon had her sole facing her face. She spread her fingers wide over her foot, then gradually closed them to gauge length.
She'd always aced health and PE. Not just women's anatomy, but men's too—she knew it inside out.
Soft and squishy normally. Hardens when blood rushes in. Spongy tissue? Whatever—once engorged, it thrusts in and out of a woman's insides, right?
So those brushes against her foot yesterday were the pre-arousal, floppy version.
"......"
...So, about this size?
Yojora prodded the soft space between her heel and sole, tilting her head. Nah, didn't seem right. This felt too long. At least 12 or 13 cm by rough estimate. They say it doubles or more when erect...
Ah, right. She'd forgotten one thing amid the hangover haze. While teasing yesterday, not just the shaft but the ballsack had grazed her foot too. So, trimming a bit from here...
Exactly this length.
"......"
Flaccid, at exactly this...
Then...
This position, that position...
Swallowing it all the way...
Squelch, squelch...
Yojora sat on the bed, hips bucking faintly as fantasies swirled. She snatched her charging phone and tapped the screen.
In the quiet room, the ringtone trilled: trrr, trrr, click.
"...What. At this hour."
A curt, bored voice oozed irritation, like Yojora was a total nuisance. Par for the course. He wouldn't even pick up at night. This was the best she'd get calling during the day, sans booze talk.
"Uh, that... what was it...?"
"Spit it out. Short."
"The red string of fate...? Ah, right. Red string. Isn't this it...?"
"Sigh..."
"Told you. It's not just about looks..."
"Busy. Hanging up."
A short sigh, then a unilateral cutoff.
Bitch. Probably thought she was drunk rambling again. Weird—she was clear-headed, just hungover. Whatever. They weren't strangers who'd never meet. Next time, she'd grab him tight and spill the tea—no escape.
He must be playing the model student now, ignoring booze, smokes, boys, grinding training hard. But pristine goody-two-shoes like that? Their hidden sides are pitch black by contrast. She'd learned that early in high school—thanks to the discipline chair caught blindfolded, collared like a dog, banging her boyfriend (the PE teacher) in an empty classroom.
"Nngh..."
Come to think of it, she was already pitch black herself. Spy life.
Just a plant pretending to be a student on the rival turf's Most Wanted list, yet studying so damn hard. Nngh. Yojora stretched her back with a groan, tossing the phone onto the bed. Her hair felt mostly dry now. A quick brush would do.
Ah, long hair inconvenience number four: skip brushing, and it turns to dog fur. Especially playing around half-dry like this.
She gave up combing the tangled mess and jammed on a small cap. Dressed haphazardly, she bolted from her officetel.
For hangovers, nothing beat soju chasers and kongnamul gukbap.
*****
Three hours before Yojora woke from her drunken stupor.
Lee Jiyoon, who'd been gaming since early morning, headset around her neck, stared at Lee Hayun's back.
...Unnie's acting weird.
"...Hum hum."
"......"
See? Totally off. Humans don't monologue unless desperately lonely—no barking like dogs, purring like cats, or peeping like chicks.
But Hayun, cooking breakfast in the kitchen...
"Hee hee..."
"......"
Kept grinning creepily to herself. Twisting her body, tapping the wall lightly, coughing mid-seasoning. Nonstop.
"Whatcha doing?"
"...Huh? Oh. Jiyoonie. You're up?"
"Didn't sleep. It's Friday—my day off."
"Ahh. Friday already..."
Suspicious. Unnie never forgot days. She lived for weekends—didn't even know it was Friday?
Something happened, for sure. Something making her forget days and giggle like an idiot. Top suspect, obviously...
"...Seo Woojin?"
"......"
Her ponytail froze mid-sway over the braised tofu.
Super, super, super suspicious.
"Did something happen with him yesterday?"
"...N-no?"
"Secret date plans behind my back?"
"...Never."
Liar. That evasive reaction screamed 99% yes. Not that Jiyoon should meddle in Unnie's love life, but personally? Jumping into a relationship after mere days felt off. Sure, Woojin wasn't actor-hot but decent-looking, top-tier skills. Still, shouldn't they learn more about each other first? Hidden flaws might pop up—annoying habits, whatever.
Meanwhile, Unnie's treatment bills vanished, plus a hot guy? Instant heart-snatcher.
Hmm. What to do? Can't check academy drama till enrollment in two weeks.
Jiyoon crossed her arms, tilting her head decisively. Headset squished her cheek.
"Don't be too nice to guys. Remember middle and high school? All those confessions from dudes misreading you."
"Y-yeah, but...?"
"Same goes both ways. Girls misread nice guys too."
"......"
"You. Hayun."
"......"
Only the savory bubble of boiling doenjang jjigae filled the air. Hayun quieted—she got it.
Hoped it'd put some distance between her and Woojin.
Sniffing the salty stew and tofu scents, a faint ding chimed from Jiyoon's headset. Then raid-ready pings and apologies for lateness.
Morning raid crew assembled. Honestly, she'd love to bullet another in the head, but game buddies begged. What if they pushed for an IRL meet? Half guys half girls, probably safe... some chatted nearly three years. Couldn't ghost.
...Whatever.
"Lemme finish my game, then eat. Unnie."
"Yeah..."
"Have fun. I'll cook dinner."
"Not ramen again."
"Instant noodles are healthy. Better than burgers. Cheaper too."
"Sigh..."
Hayun sighed softly, killed the flame, washed hands. Jiyoon, watching, donned her headset and slipped into her room.
So she missed it.
"......"
Hayun's flushed ears as she lightly slapped her cheeks and headed out. Stopping at the convenience store for an embarrassing purchase—one tube. No, two after hesitation.
Of course.
She had no clue.