The Idol Trainee's Dangerous Deviation

Am I dreaming right now?

Or have I somehow gotten tangled up in a ghost story I've never even heard of?

The situation unfolding before me was so unbelievable I had every reason to wonder.

"That's definitely Arara's personal account…"

It didn't seem like I'd been sucked into some SNS-based urban legend. These days corporations were thorough about anomaly countermeasures — they dealt with the weirdness long before people could fall into a ghost story. And if this really were an anomaly's doing, there'd be that distinctive uncanny quality to it, like the text itself had gone feral and started thrashing around…

"This is just a normal message."

I stared quietly at the notification on my phone screen.

"Better screenshot it first."

Click.

I captured the notification, then steeled myself and tapped the message. The Tuwitter app relaunched and opened the direct message inbox.

Every single message that should have been there now showed nothing but a deletion notice.

"…She wiped them?"

Tuwitter had a feature that let you completely erase a message before the other person read it, leaving no trace behind. It was mostly used for situations exactly like this — scrubbing the evidence of a "mistake" that was about to become a permanent black mark.

"But I already took the screenshot."

Still half-suspecting this might actually be a dream, I checked the captured image. No matter how many times I looked, the username and profile picture in the notification were unmistakably Arara herself.

"…No, wait. What am I even going to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠do with a screenshot?"

There was always the possibility that some rival trainee who couldn't stand her had gotten hold of Arara's phone and pulled a prank. Trainee bullying dressed up as "harmless fun" was notorious, after all. And Arara in particular was famous for being a walking disaster zone full of chaotic energy — so infamous she and her partner got nicknamed the Trouble Makers — which meant she had no shortage of people who hated her guts.

A new message arrived. This time it wasn't from Arara — it was from a bizarre barcode-looking username with no profile picture at all. The kind of account someone would make if they were trying to hide their identity.

"Oh for fuck's sake, Arara, you absolute idiot…"

She could have at least changed the wording. This wasn't advertising that she was the same person who'd messaged me earlier — it completely defeated the point of switching to a new account.

"No, wait. It could just be a coincidence."

I desperately tried to work through the logic. But my brain wasn't cooperating. Probably the leftover alcohol still floating around in my system.

"Ah, screw it. I'll just play the scammer and see what happens."

Even a girl they called one of the Trouble Makers would come to her senses and block me on her own if I pushed hard enough.

One Ammu Coin was worth roughly a million won. Five coins meant a cool five million. Anyone with half a brain would recognize this as shameless fraud. And on top of that, demanding a selfie with one breast out while holding an ID card? A normal person would rain down curses and hit block immediately.

"Haha. No reply, just like I thought."

Over five minutes of silence. She'd blocked me for sure.

The second that thought crossed my mind—

Ding~!

An Ammu Coin "gift" link arrived on Tuwitter.

"…Huh?"

Startled, I tapped the link anyway. No way this was real. It had to be some cleverly faked—

"Holy shit, is this real?"

Five coins had genuinely been deposited into my Ammu Coin wallet.

"What the hell is even… I mean… damn it, I can't think straight."

Having half a million won's worth of crypto materialize out of nowhere was a first, and I was completely thrown. My head was a mess — I couldn't tell if this was real life or if I was genuinely dreaming.

Ding~!

"Now what?"

I still hadn't recovered when another Tuwitter message came in, and I tapped the notification out of habit.

And then—

"Hhk?!?!"

A single line of text and one photo arrived that I could never have imagined in a million years.

Attached below the message was an explicit selfie of Arara herself. Judging by the setting, she'd still been practicing dance late into the night — the photo was taken in a corner of the practice room.

There was just one problem.

"Sh-she actually took it all off…?!"

Arara had taken a selfie with one breast and nipple fully exposed. And as if that weren't enough, she'd plopped her ID card right on top of that luscious chest for an utterly brazen verification shot.

Insane. This was pure madness.

I'd always known Arara was one of the Trouble Makers — that much was common knowledge — but I never imagined she was this completely unhinged.

"Wait… she's not alone?!"

Off to the side of Arara's head, I could see the back of another trainee practicing dance. The trainees, Arara included, had appeared on various survival audition shows enough times that I could identify who it was from the back alone.

"I-it's gotta be edited, right? Edited. No one in their right mind would actually send this…… wait, but the Ammu Coins really did come through?"

When I came back to myself, my whole body was trembling. Not from fear. From a bone-deep excitement born of a situation so bizarre I could never have imagined it.

"First of all…… those pink nipples standing at full attention are already something else."

I immediately downloaded the photo and zoomed in hard. The nipple filled the entire phone screen. Was this a 200-megapixel selfie? Damn, that was no joke.

"This ID looks real no matter how I look at it…… so her real name is Choi Ara. That's why the nickname was Arara."

But what kind of idiot on this planet sends their government ID to some stranger on the other side of Tuwitter? Maybe this photo just happened to be a similar selfie she'd already taken, and a rival trainee who'd stolen her phone was sending it to destroy her…

"…Except the timestamp says it was taken just now."

The photo info showed not only the date and time of capture but the original GPS location intact. That killed even the faintest possibility that another trainee was behind this.

Arara, honey, you don't need panic disorder treatment — you need a psychiatrist, immediately. No matter how I looked at it, she was not in her right mind. I was the one who drank, so why was she the one doing crazy shit?

But even as I thought that, a filthy, scorching desire boiled up from deep in my bones. The absurd opportunity to freely ravage a beautiful idol hopeful — with her own consent. I could guarantee this chance would never come again in my entire life.

"Tch, damn it. Honestly, the panic disorder is just an excuse, isn't it? You're just a filthy bitch whose cunt was itching so bad she couldn't take it anymore."

If you had panic disorder, you went to a doctor. Why the hell were you hunting down some shady therapist on Tuwitter?

Even as I thought it, my fingers typed out a message that was thoroughly faithful to my desires.

She had a point. No agency was going to keep a trainee with panic disorder. But… given Arara's usual reputation as one of the Trouble Makers, I couldn't shake the suspicion that this was just some deviant roleplay she was indulging in. Let me say it again: a normal person would go to a doctor. They wouldn't contact some obvious sketchy bastard.

"Whether she's actually got panic disorder or she's just a pervert who gets off on acting out… ah, screw it, what does it matter? When else am I going to get to enjoy this? Whatever."

Rumor had it Arara was born with a golden spoon in her mouth. And the fact that she'd just handed over five ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠million won's worth of coins made that rumor look pretty damn solid.

In that case…

It was a deranged thing to say. This was blatant extortion and fraud — demanding a million won in tribute every single day.

But…

Arara magnificently proved the golden-spoon rumor true and sent one coin on the spot.

"Whoa. I just made six million won in a matter of minutes?"

Job hunting had already been completely wiped from my mind. A rich pervert girl had walked right up on her own two feet offering to throw money at me — anyone thinking about anything else at that point was a complete idiot.

"No idea how long this freak is going to keep dumping cash ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on her little deviant game, but I'm going to wring her dry down to the marrow."

To do that, the key was building things up carefully, step by step, keeping Arara's interest alive for a very long time. Push too hard too fast and she'd get bored in no time — I needed to construct the buildup with extreme care.

"So what menu should I go with?"

This was a girl crazy enough to bare a nipple and take a selfie while other trainees were sweating through their practice around her. Getting her to strip would be light work.

"Should I make her throw off her panties and send a verification shot with her pussy lips spread wide open?"

Khh, just imagining it made my crotch throb. But rushing things was how you ruined a good thing. I might need a little more buildup first. Exposing a breast and exposing your genitals were entirely different densities of shame.

"In that case… time to train her with real precision."

I glanced at the clock. It was late. The other trainees would start packing up and heading out one by one soon enough.

Several dozen minutes later.

A well-proportioned woman with a full chest, colored contacts, and prettily dyed pink long hair cascading down her back stood alone in a practice room where no one else remained.

She was idol trainee Choi Ara — known online as "Arara," a golden-spoon young lady.

"Hah… what an incredible command just came down…"

Ara wiped at her burning face and checked her surroundings several times over. After a past incident where practice room CCTV footage had leaked, the company had dismantled most of the cameras for security reasons. Thanks to that, there was absolutely no way management would find out about what was about to happen.

"My heart… feels like it's going to explode."

This was nothing like the unpleasant anxiety of a panic attack. This was a sharp, sweet tension that ran through her entire body.

"Just thinking about Dr. Pleasure's prescription… that suffocating anxiety washes away completely. It's truly… incredible!"

The truth was, Ara had been going to a famous private hospital and clinging to medication to cure her panic disorder. She never dreamed that would be the beginning of her misfortune. She'd had the rotten luck of landing a quack doctor who'd gotten tangled up in a recent ghost story and gone mad — and his botched prescriptions had only driven her condition to rock bottom. Without realizing any of it, she'd been swallowing mystery drugs and wasting away day by day.

The one silver lining, if you could call it that, was that her usual Trouble Maker image meant nobody paid much attention when she started acting strangely. But the point where she could keep hiding her panic disorder from the company was rapidly approaching — and that was when it happened.

Desperate enough to grasp at any straw, Ara had been combing through every corner of social media when that outrageously provocative line caught her eye. Nine times out of ten it was a scammer or some malicious prank. But pushed to her absolute limit, Ara made the mistake of messaging him with a hollow hope in her chest.

And the reply that came back was a shameless demand: bare your chest, hold your ID, and send a photo…

"That thrill from back then… I still can't forget it."

By any common sense it was insane, but astonishingly, the effect was immediate. She had merely imagined what the acts Dr. Pleasure would order might be like — and the anxiety vanished as if washed away, her whole body flooding with hot excitement. A single lewd command from a faceless stranger had treated an illness that no medication could touch.

In that moment, in the mind of an Ara who had been worn down to her absolute limit, Dr. Pleasure was branded as a savior. Like a fanatic who'd witnessed a miracle and thrown herself into a cult…

She couldn't help it. Ara had been so mentally broken that believing in him with near-religious fervor was the only option left.

"Dr. Pleasure is my only hope. Maybe… he's someone who handles an anomaly that heals through lewd methods…"

Anomalies were forces that defied common sense, after all. There were anomalies where opening a door revealed the other side of the planet — so an anomaly that cured illness through dirty acts wouldn't be strange at all.

Ara checked her surroundings again and again, confirming once more that there was no sign of anyone, then let out a deep breath.

And then, to carry out the lewd act Dr. Pleasure had commanded…

Rustle.

In the center of the wide, brightly lit practice room, she began to take off her clothes.