On Stage with the Idol (2)
"Crazy bastard. So that's why you showed up looking like that?"
A low, chilling laugh echoed through the basement.
The massive man glared down at the pathetic figure rolling on the floor in nothing but his underwear.
"It seriously happened in an instant—no time to even react!"
"You dumb fuck. When the hell did I ever teach you to end up like this?"
Thwack! A fist slammed straight into the guy's gut. He went flying, tumbling across the floor with a strangled cry.
"Kuh... kuhk!"
"Slacking off on training, running around with thugs like some lowlife punk—isn't that why you're in this mess?"
"Kek... guh... ugh..."
The hulking brute stared down at the underwear-clad loser with utter disdain. Finally, the guy struggled to sit up.
Even sitting, his presence was intimidating—but when he rose to his feet, he was a towering giant, easily over two meters tall, his body a fortress of rippling muscle. No other word fit.
He rummaged through a small storage cabinet nearby, yanked out a set of clothes, and tossed them over like trash.
"Put this on. You're a fucking eyesore."
The guy, still dazed and crawling on the floor, scrambled to grab the clothes and hurriedly pulled them on.
"Rich little princeling, crawling around like a street rat. Nice work. So, who the hell was it?"
The brute plopped back into his seat, his face blank as he eyed the now-dressed thug.
"I can find out quick. Got a guy who's a pro at this shit."
The beaten man irritably brushed the dirt from his face.
"Call me when you know. Pay's settled like before."
"Fuck, just handle it right this time."
"Yeah, yeah... or maybe we spar while I'm here?"
"Busy."
The giant shrugged and turned away. The thug hurried out of the basement with a sigh.
"That fucker's impossible to control. But once I find out who it is... you're dead meat. Fucked me up good."
He ground his teeth, replaying the humiliation from a few hours earlier. For the first time in his life, he'd been looked at with such raw contempt. Born into wealth, he'd always been forgiven no matter what shit he pulled, living exactly as he pleased. The only real fear was his father—but even then, as long as he stuck to the old man's rules, no one touched him.
Yeah, let's just bury that bastard. No way I let this slide.
Even murder was fine, as long as there was no evidence. That was one of the ironclad rules, the creed his father had drilled into him endlessly.
So all he had to do was kill clean—no traces. The man grinned to himself, a pleasant chill running through him.
"Alright then. Let's get started."
The concert hall, which had been a roaring chaos just moments ago, now stood empty except for him. The show had kicked off, crowds pouring in, so the merch sellers had packed up and left too.
Time Manipulation activated.
Preparations were flawless. He'd scouted the place thoroughly yesterday—not some half-assed recon. He knew exactly where to find them, exactly how to play this out. All planned to perfection.
"First up, gotta be my fave, right?"
Some say save the best for last. Not me. You eat the tastiest shit first, before you're stuffed. Once your belly's full, even the best stuff just tastes meh. Idiots save dessert for the end.
"Heh heh, Yoonah, hang on. Daddy's coming."
No time to waste. Three uses at thirty minutes each—but with a whole group, he'd need to fuck multiple girls, so hustle was key. He took the route he'd mapped out yesterday and climbed onto the stage where they'd be waiting.
Yesterday, the sheer scale had overwhelmed him. Today? Different story. He was the god descending to devour their idols. If anyone should feel crushed, it was them.
"Continuous activation."
The timer jumped to fifty-five minutes. Plenty for a four-girl group. Save one use for regression, just in case.
"Alright, time for the panty inspection."
He snickered and approached Yoonah. Celebrities really do glow—no helping it. Even though he'd ditched being a fan ages ago, getting this close made his heart pound like crazy.
Slowly, inch by inch, he reached out and grabbed her chest. Gotta stay slim for the stage, so no real meat there—practically flat. Bigger tits would've been nicer, sure. But this? More than enough.
He forced his racing heart to calm, then slowly stripped her clothes off. He drank in her bare body like fine art—chest, stomach, pussy. Ran his hands over every inch. Neatly trimmed pubes, smooth as silk.