Grandfather's Wish
It's thick and long. Grandfather had passed away. Sure, we'd grown distant after I moved to Seoul for work, but he was my only blood relative. By the time I got to his house, it was already too late.
Couldn't even say a proper goodbye.
I'd rushed out the moment I got the call, but the physical distance made it impossible. Sitting at the mourning table, I regretted not visiting more often, but what was done was done—spilled water.
Seo Chan-ho, my team leader, came rushing over in one go. He'd heard the news on set, shooed me off telling me to hurry down while he'd send another manager in my place—a senior I owed big time.
"I'll handle your leave, so come back next week. You've got stuff to sort out here anyway."
"Thanks, team leader."
"Thanks my ass. I owe you for covering Han Yu-ra for a whole year. Thought I'd get some peace without that bitch around, but then this happens."
Han Yu-ra was the top actress in her twenties—irreplaceable in acting chops, looks, and box office pull. She kept our team fed. But her personality was such a pain in the ass that no manager lasted a month with her. I'd stuck it out for over a year, earning me the nickname "Baby Buddha" at the company.
I'd figured with her overseas shoot starting last week, I'd have a peaceful month. Never imagined I'd be hit with this instead.
"I came down alone today because of schedules—the rest of the team will be here tomorrow."
"It's fine since you came as the rep."
"Fine my foot. How many people owe you one? Don't talk back—let them console you. They say celebrations come and go, but funerals stick around."
Just like the team leader said, that night and onward, team members and the celebs I'd managed started pouring in to pay respects.
"Ji-hoon, I don't even know what to say."
"Manager, hang in there."
"Thank you. Grandpa must've gone to a good place."
I really hoped he was somewhere nice, free from pain and at peace.
On the day of the burial, I dozed off at the mourning table in the early dawn and had a dream.
—
What a dream.
I stared blankly outside; it was still dawn. Half-asleep, but meeting Grandpa felt weirdly vivid.
So, how's it gonna make me fuck?
Dawn wood had me stiff as hell. The rock-hard morning erection suggested the word "sex" had me riled up. Not that I had any use for it.
No point trying to sleep more, so I stretched and got up. Laughing to myself—starving for it so bad I dream of this at a funeral?
Yeah. Drop a hot chick from the sky or something.
A bit later, but the girl didn't fall from heaven—she walked in through the front door.
*****
Following the will, we held a tree burial, then I came to Grandpa's house to sort his belongings. His sole inheritance to his only grandson.
Still the same, this place.
A pristine three-story mansion fit for a villa. Beach with killer views out back, not far from tourist spots—people mistook it for a pension sometimes.
"Isn't it too big for you alone, Grandpa?"
"Friends visit plenty—it's fine."
He'd lamented how his annual buddies were thinning out. Should've visited more.
The path to the entrance and little gardens on both sides were perfectly landscaped. He used to laugh that the caretaker handled it all, no sweat.
Front door was open. Caretaker still around?
I pushed it open—and something appeared right in front of me.
"Uwaaah—!! Wh-what the hell?"
I stumbled back in shock, landing flat on my ass.
What materialized was a translucent window.
A window crammed with unrecognizable symbols. No meaning I could grasp, but they kept shifting, slotting into place endlessly.
Moments later, all symbols vanished, and a voice spoke.
Language analysis complete. You use Korean.
"Wh-who's there?"
Pleased to meet you, Kang Ji-hoon. I'm Yemina-i, dispatched from the underworld to grant your wish.
"Yemina-i?"
Yes. Think of me as one of those AIs humans use a lot.
"No, I mean... then... no way..."
Grandpa mentioned it in your dream, right? You heard.
It'd been so vivid I figured it wasn't a normal dream, but I never dreamed the wish was real. Who'd believe a dead grandpa shows up promising sex?
Believe it now. The status window you see, my voice—all real.
Now it's reading my mind. I touched the window—no sensation. Hand passed right through like a hologram. No physical form, but visible to me.
Had to accept it. Late Grandpa wished for me, and whatever got that wish sent this voice and window to grant it. No other explanation fit.
"Uh, um... so you're granting the wish?"
More precisely, I'll create the environment for it. Even if you wanna fuck, you in the mood if she just shoves her pussy at you and says "put it in now"?
"Your phrasing's real direct."
Want me to say "spread the labia and slide the glans into the tight vaginal opening" instead?
"No thanks. Stick to normal."
Good choice. Sex talk needs to be raw and filthy to get you hard.
Even got a lecture on boner science from an AI.
"What do you mean by 'environment for the wish'?"
I'll turn this house into a prime fucking spot.
"Like a love hotel?"
Sex-friendly setup. First things: love hotels, room salons, helper joints. None fit Grandpa's quiet mansion.
For starters, you're a guy with killer hardware but shit software.
Yemina-i switched topics outta nowhere.
"What's that mean?"
Scanned your body data and profiled your mind. Results later in detail.
"You can do that?"
Yep. Hardware—your body's top-notch. Athlete background means great strength, stamina, immunity.
Played soccer through high school. Promising star at a powerhouse school till a major injury in my senior year tournament forced me out.
Dick's thick and long too.
Cough! The unexpected rating made me hack up a lung.
But software—your sexual appeal? Lacking. Girls see you as a good guy, comfy to be around, but not "I wanna fuck him."
I clutched my chest on instinct. Fact-bombed by an AI—what a hit.
Hurts, I know, but listen up. You need this.
"I know, so can we stop?"
She nailed it. On set and at stations, I was the reliable manager, the fixer for dirty work, the dependable senior, the competent junior who handled anything. Zero sex appeal anywhere.
Nope. Grandpa asked, so I gotta make you fuckable.
Thanks a bunch. Tears—no, precum—level gratitude.