Punk City and the Girl?
In a world where technology had advanced so far that human dignity was reduced to mere numbers, governments inevitably lost their purpose. Public authority, meant to keep corporations in check, knelt before overwhelming capital and tech prowess—and citizens no longer heeded mobilization orders, chasing spiritual values over material ones. Money alone ruled everything. In such a world, governments were nothing but puppets and playgrounds for the megacorps. Thus, each megacorp was lord and king in the region of its headquarters—a fact no one disputed. Hickzen Group, one of America's top megacorps, was no exception. Colorado was their kingdom.
Even the lowliest Hickzen employees enjoyed better air, cleaner water, and superior living conditions. Executives and their families ranked higher still, granted privileges and immunities fit for nobility. And the king of this realm stood above the law. Sunlight rights and views? Trivialities ignored by their towering skyscraper. Not just tall, but thick enough to hoard all light and scenery from the surrounding area. Yet that wasn't enough—they ringed the tower with high-rises packed tight as a fortress wall. Buildings behind it moldered in shadow and mold, cut off from sun and sight. Every structure belonged to Hickzen Group. It was their corporate HQ—and the family estate.
At the pinnacle of this vast castle, its owner and the state's ruler reviewed his reports.
"So, the ninjas failed?"
The white-haired old man addressed a man in the same garb as the ninjas who'd pursued Amon's party. At the chairman's question, the ninja knelt penitently and reported.
"Yes, sir. They lost the targets. Everyone deployed to the scene was defeated and captured by the Holy Knights."
"Are they still alive?"
"They all successfully took their own lives."
"I see. Then we'll let this failure slide."
"Thank you for your mercy."
The old man nodded, dismissing him. The ninja left quietly. Silence settled over the room, now empty save for the chairman. News of the ninjas' annihilation stirred no emotion in him. To the old man, their failure was like picking the wrong knife to peel fruit—no more. One doesn't rage at a paring knife for failing on a coconut. There was no reason to punish or fume over the ninjas. Had survivors spilled secrets, he'd have discarded the blade after a minor cut—but not this time.
The chairman assigned the ninjas new tasks and turned to his reports. Midway through, he pressed a finger to his temple and spoke to the air.
"Secretary. Come in."
Less than a minute later, a man in a crisp suit entered. The secretary bowed to the old man and asked his purpose.
"What can I do for you, Chairman?"
"This report. Bill wrote it?"
"Yes, sir. As it's a key project, the young master insisted on handling it himself."
"I see."
The chairman rubbed his chin, then spoke again.
"Just to check—does he still bring women into his office?"
"..."
"No need to mince words. Tell me straight."
"Well... he's fixated on a certain establishment lately. They keep supplying women."
The secretary finished, gauging the chairman's reaction—bracing for wrath vented on him over the young master's debauchery. But the chairman's response was calm, even accepting.
"Well, he's in his prime. Better that way, even. A man needs ambition, and greed fuels it, doesn't it?"
To the chairman, such flaws in his son were trivial. If the boy leaked secrets or shirked duties for vice, he'd have exploded. But he just summoned women to his office and lived indulgently—while handling work flawlessly. Employees might cringe at women under his desk, but operations ran smoothly. Objectively, excluding his tastes, the son was competent. He outworked most executives even with women around, knew when to send them out, and never dodged hated fieldwork. The chairman would have given a non-relative a private office for such talent. Thus, he tolerated the boy's excesses.
The secretary nodded in agreement. Sure, bringing whores into company HQ for office romps wasn't normal—but who were they to argue when the space's god deemed it so? He simply obeyed.
Proud of his son, the chairman smiled faintly as he reread the report. Then he remembered why he'd called the secretary and hardened his expression. The secretary straightened, alert.
"Was there any critical report while that whore was with him?"
The secretary pulled up his pad, cross-checking timestamps. There was overlap—but the young master always sent the woman out for reports. Defending him, the secretary mentioned it. The chairman approved.
"No worries. I'm not scolding him. Big project—bound to stress him out. Gotta release it properly, on time."
"Phew..."
"But forgiving the whore is another matter."
"Understood. I'll handle it."
The secretary's loyalty was to the young master alone. Gone was the fawning commoner before the chairman; in his place stood a ruthless corporate man. One woman's fate was sealed. Outside the corporate fold, she held no value to them—not worth considering alive.
The secretary left the office and, using his connections, ordered her disappearance. No big deal. Not the first time. How many whores had died since the young master joined and rose to section chief? Just routine to him. Still, he felt something.
"Aigoo... be more careful."
Annoyance and pity—not for her, but the young master. Guilt? What did that buy? Checking his phone calendar, he muttered.
"Lasted a whole month, though. Must've really liked her. He'll blow up hearing she's gone."
Shaking his head, he called the young master's favorite spot.
"Yeah, it's me. Young master might want a new toy. Oh? Fresh ones in? Send pics."
Ding!
A photo arrived. The secretary nodded slowly.
"This'll do. Send her by 6 PM. Yeah."
He hung up and headed to his office, steps free of guilt or regret.
Ding-ding! One whore erased from the world; a new one arrived at the company. As she stepped into the lobby, eyes locked on her.
Ooh...
Her bust and hips were modest, but her beauty overshadowed that. While guards gawked, she approached the waiting secretary.
"Hello. I'm Ari."
"...Korean descent?"
"Do I look it?"
Ari smiled with her eyes; the secretary glanced away. Experienced as he was, she was top-tier.
Madam said she's new.
She'd be the house ace within a month. Maybe even the young master's favorite before that—sparing her a quick end.
Favorite concubine, and she won't die so pointlessly.
Whore, concubine, wife—worlds apart. A concubine wouldn't get iced for overhearing a call. The secretary saw real odds for her ascent.
Not some Cinderella.
Whore to megacorp heir's concubine overnight? If it happened, her life would bloom. Better stay on her good side, just in case.
With calculations done, he guided her courteously—not overly deferential, nor dismissive of her status. Like entertaining foreign VPs. Pleased, Ari kept smiling with her eyes.
Whoa, so this is getting foxed.
That Korean proverb from deals fit perfectly. Beguiling beauty, yet no lust stirred—just admiration, like for an idol or artwork. Exaggerated, that smile could claim the lady of the house. Her demonic charm made the thought plausible.
Enchanted, he led her to the young master's office.
"He's waiting inside."
He held the door, ever polite. Ari bowed slightly and entered.
Click-clack.
The room's master ignored the heels, buried in work. The nameplate read 'Wilhelm Hyzenberg' in bold letters. He didn't glance her way. Mindful not to disturb, Ari waited silently. An hour of quiet passed. Finally, head in paperwork, Wilhelm spoke.
"You're hired."
"Pardon?"
"Most whores rush to finish and leave. Women who wait quietly like you are rare. First one who doesn't touch her phone, too."
"Well... it's my first time..."
Ari's pearl-like voice tickled his ears. Whether her demeanor, voice, or looks—he nodded approvingly.
"All the more reason. Just to ask—where'd you learn manners like that?"
She hesitated, then shared her backstory: daughter of some company prez, elite uni grad, but firm dungeonized after lab failure—forcing her to sell her body. Common tale here. Yet with rare beauty and voice, it became tragic tearjerker.
Wilhelm liked her more.
First time means virgin... spotless background.
If true, pure romance novel stuff. Born to megacorp royalty, pampered—yet he was a man, dreaming of fated encounters.
Perfect.
One-in-a-million, but if she became his woman, he'd even save her family. His gaze dropped from her stunning face. Flat there. No dealbreaker—money fixed sizes. Satisfied, he beckoned.
But she froze—truly a newbie?—glancing around.
"U-um... any monitoring systems?"
"Hah."
Monitoring: internal surveillance on VIPs. Most whores ignored it, but her CEO-daughter vibe made her cautious.
Guess it's legit.
Wilhelm smiled reassuringly.
"Relax. This is my office. Who's watching me?"
Plenty of his shames happened here. Even he didn't want underlings seeing his ass and dick. No cams. Relieved, Ari approached, timidly stroking his chin—
Stab!
"Fuck. What kinda bullshit experience is this?"
With vulgar curses, she slit his throat.