Taking Care of a Friend's Family
Only three men were saved in the phone of the wastrel son, Seong Yu-ra's housekeeper.
One was a middle-aged informant planted simply to gather company intel. The other two were guys around the same age as me.
The first was the son of another major conglomerate chaebol, just like me. What can you say—birds of a feather. I'd met him once at a drinking party, and he looked like a doppelganger who'd undergone cell division from Cha Do-yeon. A total playboy who touched every vice: women, booze, smokes, you name it.
The other was a high school buddy he'd hung out with. This one was a bit of a slacker too, but not chaebol stock—his dad was a lawyer, so they'd lived comfortably. Why say "lived" in past tense? "Urgh... fuck!" Clink! He knocked back the soju in one gulp and slammed the glass on the table with a racket. His eyes already glassy, he filled it up again with that endless slurping.
The booze stench hit my nose like a punch—guy drank like he was trying to snort it up his nostrils.
"Hey, ease up on the drinking."
"Hoo... You think I look like I can stop now...?"
After reciting his umpteenth drunk line, "Do-yeon. My life's totally fucked right now. How could I not crave booze every damn day?"
"Doesn't your tiny brain get that the more you drink, the more fucked it gets?"
"Shut up... What the hell do you know!"
He had a decent face, backed by a solid build. Any drinking buddy would call him handsome. And yet, here he was, lamenting his life.
His reasons? "Hic! Like you know, it's been five years since Dad died... The insurance money's finally run dry, and now the house is buried in student loan debt for me and my sister. What the fuck am I supposed to do with my life now..."
"..."
What a load of unrelatable whining. Sure, I felt bad about his dad's passing—he'd heard it was acute myocardial infarction. Must've been rough raising a punk teen through puberty.
But scraping by on the family savings and insurance, only to wreck it all on student loans? Whose life isn't fucked then? It tugs at the heartstrings—or it would, if it didn't scream "donation scam."
'Still in denial, huh?'
I mulled over why he was bitching like this. Probably because they'd lived middle-class comfy. Sipping clean water from the upper stream his whole life, then splash—dumped in the sewer. His brain couldn't process it. Clinging to dreamlike memories, rejecting reality, trapped in the past.
"You're gonna work anyway. If the debt bugs you that much, get a part-time gig."
"Fuck, part-time? You think I'd do manual labor on a construction site or some shit like that?"
"I'd have to."
I skipped the booze and picked at the snacks instead. "If you don't, what do you think your mom—who drags her ass to work every day to pay for your tuition—will say?"
"..."
Cold, hard truth. I hammered it home, telling him to face reality, but glug-glug—clink! He just raised his glass high, chugged it, and swallowed my lecture.
Like a kid refusing to grow up, he kept dodging himself to the end.
'Sigh... All blockheads surrounded by more blockheads.'
Leave him be, and he'd burn the whole family down like unextinguished trash. Booze lost its appeal—I had no urge to drink—but then, "Um... you don't need to worry about him."
The voice came from the current head of the house, the star of this sob story, carrying a small plate of dried snacks. A woman who looked perfectly domestic in her white apron. Wavy hair swept to one side, cascading to her shoulders in a refined yet soft style. Kind eyes that seemed fragile at the same time.
Once a regular housewife keeping a normal home, now raising kids alone—freckles dotted under her eyes from the grind. This deadbeat's mom. Her name: Seong Yu-ra. Her drunk-as-fuck son: Lee Tae-min.
Since I'd come over for a casual drink at their family home, she'd laid out some modest drinks herself.
"Tae-min's just stressed from college lately. He's venting—don't take his advice-seeking seriously, President Cha."
"Uh... doesn't he have just a year left till graduation?"
"Yes, but... he's worried about his grades and job hunting..."
'Yeah, no way a mess like him can focus on studies.'
Still, Seong Yu-ra played the supportive mom, setting snacks on the table to ease his stomach pains. He ranted about his ruined life at home, but she patted his shoulders—the son she'd birthed in agony—and cheered him on. "......Enough already!"
"Ah!"
This bastard was still a brat. Brushing off her tender gaze like he didn't need it, putting on tough-guy airs, and downing another glass.
No hope for him.
*
"Snooore... Pffft. Snooore..."
"After all that fuss, he passes out."
"Yeah..."
Lee Tae-min showed his pathetic side and face-planted on the table. Even at this embarrassing sight, Seong Yu-ra fetched a blanket like a true mom and draped it over his shoulders.
"Hoo..."
But no matter how much love you wrap someone in, moms are human too—they have limits. Her shoulders, holding the family alone, looked narrower and more pitiful.
The easy keyword "financial help" crossed my mind, but I let it slide.
"I shouldn't butt in rashly, right?"
"..."
She gave a loaded look—needed, yet hard to accept. Complicated.
This happened way before my possession, but apparently, as his chaebol buddy, I'd directly tossed them money back then. Even this wastrel looked after friends—neat 50 million won.
How'd Tae-min blow it? "He said he gambled it all away. To grow it quick. Even dragged family cash into it."
Straight to gambling. Money meant to patch tuition? Nah, seed money for horse races and sports betting. Different league altogether.
Wrong hole from the start—outcome was obvious. Hooked on dopamine highs, blind to reality more each day.
That's why he called me for drinks and vented—I saw through it but ignored on purpose.
50 million or 100 million? Pocket change to me now. But looking at him, hand it over and he'd devour the house next time. Worse: no sign of improvement.
"You okay, ma'am?"
"Somehow... I'll manage."
Five years soldiering on after her husband's sudden death. She says she'll endure, but her eyes dimmed like a firefly's last flicker, losing hope.
Gazing at her utterly broken son must've gutted her—her eyes grew misty.
'Hmm... I see.'
Heh. Time to step in for my goals.
I eyed up my friend's mom, the widow with a milf body. Top to bottom: hips hidden by her skirt, those full tits. Plenty passing grade—lips curled up.
I'd come to their house and endured the whining for a reason. My prize awaited.
"Ma'am, where'd you say you work now?"
"...To be honest, the job market's shaky. Recession hitting hard—even with certifications, aunties like me barely snag contract gigs..."
"Hmm."
Makes sense—COVID whispers spreading, guests drying up, shops shuttering left and right.
"Perfect timing then."
"Yes...? Pardon?"
"Our service satisfaction's been low lately, so I was looking to hire a new housekeeper."
"!"
Her face rippled instantly. Desperate for work—lit up at the words.
"W-Would that mean—"
"Yeah, thought you might be interested, so I mentioned it."
I flashed a grin. "Not just anyone—you, so full-time contract. Flexible hours, great for side gigs. Once a week. I'll match your schedule."
"Any time works! Th-Thank you so much for the opportunity, President Cha! Thank you!"
Seong Yu-ra called me "President" always, even as her son's friend. Deep down, maybe I was her last lifeline for this punk. A sturdy pillar when things crumbled.
"Let's see... travel expenses like this per visit?"
"Th-That much?"
I gestured quickly with my fingers—shoe price. Tempting sum, plus I'd cover all insurance and pension.
"Such great terms... You sure it's okay?"
"We're practically family."
"Thank you... truly."
Bowing deeply in genuine gratitude. As she bent, U-neck dipped—tits gathered invitingly.
'Ha... Milfs are the best.'
I leered with a sleazy smile. Savored the view, then laid out my real intent.
"Oh! But there are a few conditions."
"Conditions...?"
Innocent face, ready to nod to anything.
"Mmmmmm... Ungh, mm..."
Right here—friend's son, someone's kid snoring away—I sidled up to mom. Eye level with her estimated 165-168cm height, I whispered close.
'...That's it. Those are my special conditions.'
"..."
She froze stiff. After spilling it all and pulling back, Seong Yu-ra's face was rigid. Cheeks faintly flushed, like she'd been toyed with.
"Why... why such indecent conditions?"
"Dunno. Looking at my face now, you should know why I added them, ma'am."
"..."
I smirked, milking it. Closed in again, tracing her moistened milf face, slipped my business card into her hand.
'Agree to these, call anytime.'
"That's..."
'Looking forward to it, ma'am. Or should I say, Seong Yu-ra?'
"..."
Calling her by name, she turned away. As I brushed past and left the house, she stood rooted, deep in thought.
Days passed.
Didn't expect her to bite so bold, but Seong Yu-ra messaged my phone.
Ding-dong! When I arrived at the address she'd sent—