Nightmare Pouch
As Sea's private jet left Korean airspace and soared toward the Pacific, Jinwoo sat upon his throne in the cold fortress of his Magic Workshop, monitoring every development in real time. The triple monitors displayed breaking news from global media outlets and the boiling reactions across internet communities. Beside him, the Magic Grimoire floated, emanating a satisfied crimson-black aura.
[Kukukuk... Behold, Master. That bitch... your first mongrel. She's performing her role magnificently.]
[That confident posture, those unwavering eyes, that eloquence that steals souls... I knew it from the moment you carved your rules deep into the womb of that screaming slut on the bed. She's no mere bitch who just takes it. She's a clever one who devours your essence, digests it as her own, and spits it back out into the world.]
[Look. That tongue of hers is no longer just for licking your shoes or cock. Now it's a blade voicing your will, piercing the hearts of the world's power brokers and extracting their submission. Her mind isn't just dripping wet fantasizing about your next fuck anymore. It's calculating the most efficient and ruthless ways to build your empire, craving your commands—becoming your very brain itself. Truly... the perfect mongrel, isn't she!]
Jinwoo merely wore a satisfied smile at the grimoire's praise.
The NIS Deputy Director's scream-like shout echoed through the frigid conference room. On the massive screen ahead loomed footage of Sea departing Gimpo Airport under U.S. Marine escort, accompanied by a nauseating U.S. media headline: 'New Horizons for the Korea-US Alliance'.
"This is humiliation... a total diplomatic and intelligence debacle!"
"One of our own citizens leaves our soil under American protection, without so much as a glance at us! And she tossed bundles of cash at that so-called 'brother' like it was charity! They've treated the Republic of Korea as some insignificant entity whose ties can be severed for a few bucks! That 'Crow' has toyed with us completely!"
One executive hesitantly spoke up. "Japan and the U.S. sides... refuse to share any details of the 'Sea Emissary' meetings. A strict gag order has been issued."
"Of course!" The deputy director slammed the table. "Now they've monopolized the only channel to communicate with the 'Crow'! We've discarded that golden goose, and now they're cradling it, discussing hegemony in a new era!"
The conference room reeked of despair and impotence. The pitiful girl they'd tried to use as bait had become an untouchable giant, slapping their faces before departing.
"We must... somehow make contact again," a young agent said with resolute determination. "The internet is exploding with criticism of the government's incompetence. If we do nothing more, we'll lose the public's trust entirely."
"Contact? How?!" The deputy director laughed hollowly. "She's a diplomat for the U.S. and Japan now! The moment we lay a hand on her forcibly, it escalates to an international incident! That 'Crow' calculated every bit of this from the start!"
Silence engulfed the room. They realized it now. Their opponent wasn't just a powerful mutant terrorist. It was an unknown 'Player' with overwhelming intelligence and ruthlessness, treating the world as a chessboard and maneuvering superpowers like pawns. And they were the most pathetic pieces, the first to be humiliatingly removed.
Meanwhile, as Sea's private jet reached stable cruising altitude over the Pacific, a faint 'thump'—like a heartbeat—vibrated once from the pristine white carrier on her lap.
'!'
She reflexively scanned her surroundings. The flight attendant politely averted her gaze from a distance. After a moment's hesitation, she reached for the carrier's lock.
Responding to the mana, the obsidian lock opened silently. Lifting the lid slightly revealed a small two-tiered bento box, identical to the one Aki had made—evoking memories of the hellish Yamashita family banquet. Atop it lay a single, jet-black, velvety soft feather.
Sea carefully picked up the feather. A small, folded parchment slipped from it into her palm.
Unfolding it revealed elegant handwriting laced with madness—not a computer font. It was a directive penned by Koharu using the feather pen bestowed by her Master.
Your first mission: superbly done. Your boldness and cunning exceeded my expectations.
Aki prepared a Korean-style bento just as you like. Eat it.
My bitches taste each other's service to know their place.
And... a new product for your first 'business' venture.
With trembling hands, Sea lifted the small, unassuming black leather pouch beside the bento.
◈ Deceives the laws of nightmares. Items placed inside remain even if you're dragged in naked.
◈ Limited size: One pistol or a few magazines max.
◈ Easily mass-produced. Invaluable to Americans where guns are free—for them, worth more than jewels.
A shiver ran through her body as she read. This was a game changer. Humans had always entered nightmares as powerless, naked prey. But with this pouch, they could step into hell armed with their own 'fangs' for the first time.
She slowly opened Aki's bento. The first tier held neatly sliced braised short ribs and japchae; the second, artfully arranged fruit. Spearing a piece of short rib with her fork, she brought it to her lips.
'Delicious...'
The food that had tasted of nothing amid terror and jealousy now melted sweetly on her tongue. It wasn't just the flavor. It was the taste of belonging. The realization that she too was part of this wondrous, horrific 'family.' Receiving her Master's praise, eating the meal prepared by the matriarch, being assigned a new mission—this perfect cycle.
Gazing at the clouds outside, tears welled as she smiled. Sweet braising sauce clung to her lips.
'Oppa... sorry.'
She looked back no more. Her gaze fixed solely on the new world ahead and the 'tributes' she would gather there for her Master.
Thus, at 10,000 meters in the jet's sealed cabin, the Crow Mage's first emissary quietly continued her meal, embracing her new mission.
When Sea's jet landed at Andrews Air Force Base near Washington D.C., she was greeted with honors befitting a head of state. A red carpet lined the runway, where the Secretary of State and CIA Director awaited personally, backed by a color guard and dozens of reporters flashing cameras frantically.
She descended the ramp with unwavering poise amid the fanfare.
The next day, in the White House Situation Room, America's top officials—including the President—gathered once more for her.
She wore the same pristine white suit, but the atmosphere had flipped. Yesterday, she had proposed; today, they begged her mercy.
"Once again, on behalf of the United States, we welcome our emissary." The President spoke with utmost courtesy. "All conditions you proposed—dual citizenship and diplomatic privileges—have been approved via special executive order this morning. You are now... a proud American citizen and our honored guest."
"Thank you, Mr. President." Sea bowed gracefully. "My Master will be pleased with your swift and wise decision."
She placed her white carrier on the table. "And in return for that trust, my Master has sent a new 'product'."
Opening it unleashed hundreds, thousands of tiny black leather pouches, pouring endlessly from the carrier's subspace to blanket the massive conference table in seconds.
"This is...?" The Secretary of Defense stared in awe and confusion.
"Nightmare Pouch." Sea held one up like a show host unveiling luxury goods. "The first mass-producible model from the mage's automated process."
She explained its effects verbatim from the directive read aboard the jet. "Items inside remain even if your soldiers or citizens are dragged naked into nightmares. In other words... you can finally take your guns into that hell."
The room buzzed. These were the people who understood the implications best.
"Of course, as a prototype, size is limited. Probably... a pistol of this scale." She gestured the size of a compact handgun.
From that day, a bizarre phenomenon swept America's gun market. Ultra-compact .380 pistols like the Glock 42 or Ruger LCP—previously ignored for self-defense or military use—saw sales skyrocket vertically.
Gun shops screamed in delight at the influx of orders, prices surging several-fold. People sought not the most powerful guns, but the smallest, most efficient ones that fit the Nightmare Pouch.
Days later, the first 'review video' proving its efficacy hit YouTube.
The uploader was an ordinary middle-aged man from Texas, part of the government's secret first test group for civilians.
In the footage, he fled an unidentified nightmare monster into a dead end. As it lunged, he drew a small pistol from his Nightmare Pouch.
"Get away from me, you ugly son of a bitch!"
Screaming, he fired. 'Bang! Bang! Bang!' The bullets didn't gravely wound it but startled it with pain and noise, buying him time to flee the other way and survive miraculously.
The video rocked American society. Calls for stricter gun control evaporated overnight.
"In a world where government and military can't protect us, will you strip our last means of self-defense?!"
The NRA's pro-gun voices gained unprecedented power. "Guns don't kill people! Guns are the only hope to protect our children and wives in nightmares!"
This NRA executive's TV interview resonated deeply.
The Nightmare Pouch's debut wasn't just a product launch. It was a massive event pouring fuel on America's hottest social debate: gun ownership.