Talent, and a Sense of Kinship
The perverts on the other side of the screen seemed plenty satisfied. After one explosive fountain show from her pussy and the insane broadcast of me licking it up, the sponsorship money had already surpassed 3 billion won. Once we convert to VOD sales, this... yeah, today's quota is basically done. Time to shut down shadow director mode.
I switched back to my normal self. Smiling, I led everyone to the bar table with the blueprints spread out.
"Alright, let's get into the real 1F layout meeting now."
My staff pulled out their notebooks and focused on my every word. Cha Su-ah, forcing her trembling legs to steady, lowered her gaze to the blueprints.
The vast, empty 100-pyeong space on the first floor. A huge blank canvas with no partitions anywhere. To me, this wasn't just a building.
Twelve years. Rolling in the shit, starving for my art. Kneeling endlessly before the massive wall of capitalism. Filling up on cup ramen in a moldy basement studio, sketching my true world in my head thousands of times. Now, that enormous canvas was finally unfolding before my eyes, ready to drag it all into reality.
I love my real work—the art in my head. That's why I do this fucked-up directing in the shadows, pandering to VVIP big shots, spreading whores' pussies wide. At first, the point was just money. Now I see the raw violence, voyeurism, and dangerous aesthetics unfolding inside it. But whatever— that's shadow shit. Here on the sunlit first floor, I want to be an artist with my uncompromising world, more than anyone.
"This 100-pyeong open space. Main area gets a full-height horizon setup to max out the ceiling height. Wide pathways for basic profiles and chroma key for large-scale CG work all in one go."
Cha Su-ah's eyes flickered at my firm, passionate directing spilling from my mouth. Was this the same demon bastard who'd jammed fingers up her skirt, treated her like a whore, and made her lick the floor moments ago? My voice dripped with pure, professional longing for art.
"Next to it, partition off an antique room and a modern concept room... And in that back corner, a kitschy pop-art vibe with glaring neon signs. Vivid colors to grab the eye. And—"
I pointed to the darkest, deepest corner with the worst natural light.
"This is the main feature. Block out all external light completely. Center it with a massive clamshell object. Like Venus being born from the shell—ocean fantasy concept."
My blueprint to bring the first floor to life. Cha Su-ah's face twisted in complicated awe as she listened.
"That... clamshell object..."
Her lips parted. Legs still shaky, voice trembling faintly. But those black eyes on the blueprint weren't the whore's from the floor-licking.
"The shell... better go matte white over pearlescent paint. It needs to absorb light, not reflect it, for true luxury."
Oh. There it was—her real professional self. Adrenaline surging from a designer's imagination sparked by mine.
"Ceiling gets a water ripple projector, casting rippling reflections across the entire floor. Floor finish in thick, layered transparent epoxy... so the light refracts in layers. It'll nail that Venus floating over the deep sea. Flow this way—"
Cha Su-ah slashed her pen across the blueprint without hesitation. Worlds apart from the shaky lines when my fingers churned her pussy depths. Sharp, confident strokes from an expert claiming the massive 100-pyeong space filled the floor plan.
I watched every touch, genuinely awed.
"Whoa. Water ripple projector with thick transparent epoxy layers. Insane."
What the hell is this woman? A total jackpot. She took my vague mental image and rendered it with expertise I didn't even know existed. No wonder she's on TV. Pure talent—she's the real deal.
At my quiet admiration, Cha Su-ah flinched, pen in hand, eyes lifting from the blueprint. I beamed at her, pure joy, thumbs up.
"You pulled that abstract image floating in my head straight into a tangible design. Water ripple? Never crossed my mind."
To spit out that design just from my words.
"It's beyond what I envisioned. For real, CEO Cha, that chief designer title isn't bluff. Your aesthetic sense is legendary."
Pure praise, no mockery. Her pale face flushed to her neck. Different from the wretched shame of squirting on the floor behind the staff's backs. The sharp thrill of a client fully recognizing her true talent.
The staff, holding their breath, jumped in excitedly.
"Whoa! Artist's imagination plus CEO's details—it's already vivid in my head. You two are the ultimate partnership!"
"We'll source the epoxy materials right away. Portfolio main feature scale."
Ultimate partnership. Cha Su-ah's legs twisted oddly at the words. She looked up at me through her glasses. Eyes that should burn with fear and contempt now flickered with strange heat.
"Perfect. Lock in the 1F concept like this."
I scrawled my signature on the blueprint in satisfaction. Staff cheered, grabbing survey gear with energy.
"Yes, artist! Back to the office for base drafting. See you!"
Cha Su-ah slipped into the group, grabbing her bag to escape. As her heels turned toward the entrance, I spoke low.
"Ah, CEO Cha."
Her steps halted.
"1F art space synced great. But we haven't discussed the basement setup. Special flow there—needs just you and me."
"Ah..."
Staff beamed obliviously.
"Total workaholic duo! Awesome! We'll dip out. Good luck, CEO!"
Door shut. Just me and Cha Su-ah in the vast space again. She hunched, bracing for my hand up her skirt or a slap. Shallow, anxious breaths filled the quiet living room. Thighs clenched tight in unconscious no-panty defense.
Sigh. I just gazed at the 1F blueprint on the bar table, exhaling tiredly.
"Haa..."
I looked straight at her rigid form.
"Thank you, truly, Cha Su-ah."
Her full name, plain and sincere. Her eyes shook wildly at my earnest greeting.
"You untangled the fucked-up mess in my head perfectly. I respect your aesthetic and skill from the bottom of my heart."
"......"
The psycho who'd made her lick her own pussy juice. Now flaunting artistic flair, treating her as a fellow artist. Cha Su-ah bit her red lower lip hard. Her mind visibly churning.
Yeah, fair. Even I think the shadow-directing me and this me feel like a split-personality psycho. But I see it as proof my mental health's solid.
Silence hung heavy. Cha Su-ah gripped the table edge, voice mosquito-thin but edged.
"Why... why are you doing this."
"Doing what."
"Raking in money like that... unnaturally. You just made 1.2 billion in minutes with that madness."
Head bowed, she spilled suppressed emotions.
"At capitalism's peak... why cling so purely to a space like this? Your eyes on the blueprint weren't the money-grubbers I've chased my whole life."
Confusion. Unjust bafflement. She couldn't understand me. She'd sold her soul to become a monster for money. Why did I keep artistic purity amid monster shit?
"Do you know... why I went mad for money and vanity?"
Her unasked past poured out. Extreme pleasure and shame, then my sincere punch—her mental locks shattered.
"As a kid... lived in a rotting semi-basement flooding to my ankles in rain. Parents fought to kill over pocket change, went to school in moldy uniform, treated like bugs."
Her voice trembled. Tears welled behind glasses.
"Like you... I loved designing. Drawing spaces in my head escaped my trash reality."
She swallowed.
"But reality's fucked. No money, no backing—a girl survives this industry by hardening her shell completely."
"......"
"Called to booze-ups with stinking old men, sold smiles, ignored groping thighs for contracts. Clawed up to fame... but left with a shell mad for money, embezzling."
Self-mocking chuckle escaped her lips.
"So... when you described this space. I envied you. That stubbornness holding art through brutal poverty. And the power to make it real."
Cha Su-ah slowly lifted her head. Tear-filled eyes no longer a debtor's. A woman's gaze craving Han Siwoo—the twisted devil with noble convictions she lacked.
I listened silently, lit a cigarette from my pocket. Long exhale. Pity for her now? Nah. Everyone's got their shit. But I could admit her muddy path smelled like mine.
Me too—twisted in this fucked cycle.
"Cha Su-ah."
"......"
"Whatever disgusting shit you did to climb? Not my business. Money madness, embezzling? Outside my scope."
I stubbed the cig, stepped closer.
"What I care about? Just your talent perfectly mapping water ripple lights and epoxy finishes on my space moments ago."
Her shoulders twitched.
"Luxury shell? Meaningless. Your real value's not elite bullshit—it's that genius aesthetic you just showed. You're not a money-crazed monster. Just... an artist with killer survival instincts."
Tears finally spilled from her eyes. I'd shattered her money-vanity armor, stroking the wounded real Cha Su-ah curled inside.
I gently lifted her crying chin.
"So... you might think I'm a total psycho. Solution: total separation. Like me."
"Like you...?"
"This talk? All real. Not pussy-rubbing bullshit or pig-treating crap."
I continued.
"Artist me, normal human Han Siwoo—separate from the sadistic shadow director. Don't wanna sink deeper in capital's swamp."
My thumb wiped her tears.
"You too. Days: realize my dream spaces with that aesthetic. Nights: pay poverty trauma with that sexy body per contract."
She swallowed quietly.
"That's our real partnership. Thoughts?"
She nuzzled my hand like a child, sobbing. Fear and shame gone. Just faith in her savior-understander, and rising sticky lust.
"I... misunderstood you..."
Still teary-voiced.
"Well... you saw what you saw. Blackmailing trash selling dirty vids? True. Just don't wanna rot to the core."
"What... should I do? Already rotten."
Her eyes calmer now.
"What I can do: days realize your self, nights fulfill contract. That's it. How you change, step back into the world? Your call."
"Yes..."
Feels like we opened up. Somehow bonded by kinship. Doesn't change her trash past or my current trash life. But this talk... probably heals us both a bit.
