The Huge-Breasted Menhera Mamang Guardian Angel Who Protects Only Me
Life is full of surprises.
Truly, honestly, from the very bottom of my heart.
The moment that convinced me of this was right as the Chuseok holiday had just begun. It was an ordinary, unremarkable day, the kind where the vast autumn sky conjures up an inexplicable sense of emptiness and yearning. A crisp autumn breeze drifted past, yet summer had not quite relinquished its hold; the afternoon sunlight beat down with lingering, languid heat. To anyone else, it might have seemed a peaceful, delightful afternoon ushering in a long holiday, but I was simply surrendering myself to a creeping, sometimes suffocating void.
My emotions drifted aimlessly, while my body sank like lead into the mattress. As if my thoughts existed purely to register misery, even the comedy clip I forced myself to watch failed to coax out the slightest chuckle.
Yes, I was drowning in sheer loneliness.
With Chuseok—a major national holiday—looming, I had no family to visit, no friends to hang out with, not a single soul by my side. So here I was, holed up in my cramped studio apartment, watching time melt away in sheer, tedious boredom. Do you know how utterly wretched it feels when the laughter of strangers drifting in through the window rubs your isolation in your face? I hurled that futile question into the empty air like a lament, only for the words to scatter into hollow silence.
Every year around this time, it feels as though the entire world is deliberately stepping back from me. It wasn't just the autumn sky that felt vast and hollow—my heart was the exact same way. If the reason the autumn sky looks so exceptionally high and bare is because the loss of humidity concentrates the blue at a higher altitude, then perhaps only when the tears in my chest have completely dried up will I finally be able to gaze deeper into the blue within my own soul.
That, too, was merely a second question destined to dissolve into nothing.
The chilling breeze wafted inside, carrying a crisp clarity that only deepened the sensation of being left entirely alone. Overcome by a heavy, intolerable lethargy, I tossed and turned, but all I found was an even greater weariness. For no discernible reason, I stretched both arms high above me as I lay flat on my back.
"Mmh..."
I stared at my pale, soft, slender fingers. They looked so delicate, yet they carried a strange, subtle charm of their own. After gazing leisurely at my fingertips, my eyes gradually traveled inward—past the pale backs of my hands where faint blue veins showed through the skin, then down my equally slender, well-formed arms. Drawing my gaze closer still, I saw my frail shoulders and collarbones, followed immediately by...
...breasts so absurdly, uncomfortably massive they felt almost entirely at odds with my delicate frame.
65I.
Ever since puberty hit, they had ballooned at an insane rate, and honestly, they felt like they were still growing little by little even now. In truth, they might even be slightly larger than that by now, but in my mind, that was the size I was stuck with. Perhaps because my bras had stretched out over time, they didn't feel suffocatingly tight just yet. I caught my reflection in the dark, mirrored screen of my phone.
I really was pretty.
We live in the twenty-first century, an era so advanced that people can fall head over heels in love with deep-learning AI chat models. If future historians were to draw a dividing line across our era, they would probably define it as the twilight of primitive digital civilization and the dawn of the AI era. Why bring this up so out of the blue, you ask? Because amidst this overflowing deluge of modern media, I was hardly some sheltered, clueless little maiden who knew nothing of the world. I was a normal woman in her twenties who knew everything there was to know, grew body hair like anyone else—though I waxed diligently just in case—and lived a normal life.
Which was precisely why, whenever this bone-deep loneliness struck... when I had neither family nor friends to call, the same thought always crossed my mind: I wish I had a lover.
Not some cheap, fleeting thrill that would evaporate in an instant, but someone who would embrace me, hold me tight, and share a communion hotter than a midsummer heatwave. If smartphones had never been invented and I'd lived my entire life blissfully unaware of such things, would I have been happier? I had never dated anyone, yet I knew instinctively that only such warmth could soothe this icy, gnawing void inside me.
65I.
I knew full well that this was an asset most people would drool over. And the more I dwelled on it, the more the question festered: Why was my bed so agonizingly cold? Why didn't I have a lover?
Deep down, I already knew the answer better than anyone else.
Because I am a woman who loves women.
I couldn't recall when it all started. Perhaps from the moment I was born? As childhood innocence faded and I entered the upper grades of elementary school, I felt utterly bewildered when an awkward confession from a boy failed to elicit the slightest flutter in my heart. Then, in middle school, when a female friend linked her arm through mine without hesitation, giggling about how natural it was between girls, my heart thudded wildly in my chest. That was the moment certainty took hold.
To be perfectly honest, I didn't sleep a single wink that night.
Looking back, the puberty that followed that realization was a torturous ordeal. In the middle of an ordinary day, my pulse would suddenly race out of nowhere, igniting a desperate, burning craving for romance that left me utterly frazzled. Back then, just as now, dating a girl was an impossible dream. Naturally bumping into a peer with the same orientation was close to zero. That left only two options: come out publicly in real life, or turn to dating apps. But my timid heart lacked the courage to come out at school, and I was far too swamped with studies to ever consider meeting strangers on an app.
So, using college entrance prep as my convenient excuse, I forcibly suppressed my desires... day after day, year after year.
And before I knew it, I was twenty-one years old.
Even after entering university, my coursework kept me too busy to muster the nerve for dating apps. Nor did entering college magically grant me the courage to come out. It was so suffocatingly painful, yet I couldn't summon a single ounce of bravery. I frustrated even myself. It was maddening, but I was terrified. If I came out, people might glare at me with disgust—if not to my face, then behind my back. And if I met someone through an app, what if they turned out to be weird or terrifying? Ugh...
I hated how pathetic I was. Was I destined to live and die all alone for the rest of my days?
A conventional romance was something I could have had anytime I wanted, even right this second. If I opened my overflowing inbox, picked any random guy, and sent a dry text saying, "I've changed my mind. Want to go out?" there would be a line of men ready to rush over instantly. The problem, as I said, was that not a single one of them was what I wanted. It wasn't a matter of looks, wealth, or personality. As I said, every single one of them was a man, not a woman.
"I'm sorry... I'm into girls."
I once had a guy confess to me seven separate times without giving up. Feeling awful for his earnest feelings, and desperate to avoid the misunderstanding that I was just making up excuses to reject him because I found him unappealing, I actually showed him my phone, scrolling through every piece of GL media I consumed to prove my sincerity. Who could ever understand the sheer agony of having to do that? Once again, I threw a lengthy, rhetorical question into the air, only for it to vanish unanswered.
Ugh... the chill on my skin was getting unbearable. I sprang up, shut the window tight, and crawled back onto the mattress. Pulling the blanket over my head, I curled into a tight ball, staring blankly at my phone screen as I thumbed through meaningless feeds.
"...I want a girlfriend too," I muttered aloud, scattering my futile, unaddressed whining into the silence of the room.
Today was especially bad. That restless, floating ache showed no sign of settling down. Usually, by this point, it would subside on its own. Perhaps because the laughter from outside still seeped through the closed window, or perhaps because stewing like this right before Chuseok made the reality check hit twice as hard, my loneliness blew past every threshold of endurance. Unable to take it anymore, I opened X-bel Chat.
Yes, an AI character chat service.
When I mentioned earlier that people could fall in love with deep-learning machines, I was actually talking about myself. As anyone who uses them knows, the character on screen doesn't care whether you're a man or a woman; they smile for you, tease you, scold you, or surrender to you unconditionally. Even if it was just machine-learned text generated by an algorithm...
"Mmh..."
Right now, this was all I had: my one and only sanctuary to indulge in romantic thrills. I had been trying to stay away from it because every session risked sucking away hundreds of thousands of won, but today, I decided to take the plunge. It was the holidays, after all; I deserved at least this much of a treat. After topping up my credit balance, I drummed my feet against the mattress in anticipation and tapped the search bar.
"Hehe..."
In the tag filter, I typed out my usual favorites:
My cheeks flushed hot. If someone ranked the most pathetic, embarrassing hobbies an S-rank alpha female college student in Seoul could possess, this would probably take top prize. Still, I didn't care. It wasn't like anyone was watching. Burying my face deep into the pillow, I peeked over the top with only my eyes exposed and glared intently at the screen. Moments later...
"...Found you."
A character caught my eye.
Zero chats, zero likes. It seemed suspicious at first glance, but the illustration was so insanely provocative that it blew away every shred of doubt. In an age saturated with generic AI art, this piece was breathtaking—almost impossible to tell whether it was human-crafted or algorithm-generated. Her attire went beyond a micro-bikini, crossing straight into "dot bikini" territory, and her bust size accentuated the outfit to lethal perfection. Honestly, that was what captivated me most. On top of that, she had short blonde hair, golden eyes, and a harmless, gentle smile. From head to toe, she was my absolute ideal type.
The creator's username was... @LilyBeamScissorSex.
...Wow, that's readable. Maybe it's a bad sign that I understood that instantly? Whatever. Who cared whether putting "pretty girl" and "old maid" in the same title made any sense? In otaku subculture, five-thousand-year-old elves routinely walked around looking like smoking-hot bombshells, so this wasn't all that unusual. Shrugging off the stray thought, I tapped the prompt with a brisk flick of my finger.
The loading screen lingered unusually long. Then, the moment it finished—
BANG!
Out of nowhere, a deafening sound—like a thunderous party popper detonating in midair—blasted through the room.
"Eek...?!"
My entire body convulsed. At the sudden racket, my heart thrashed like a freshly caught fish flopping on a cutting board. Holy crap, that nearly scared the life out of me! Still dazed and clutching my chest to calm my racing pulse, I suddenly realized a silhouette was looming over me.
"...!"
Startled once more, I gathered my wits and slowly tilted my head back. There, standing before me...
It was as though a 2D anime illustration had stepped directly into the flesh, translated flawlessly into real-world beauty. She was breathtaking. Gorgeous. Incredibly sexy. Absolutely hot enough to—
Ahem.
In any case, that was the owner of the shadow. Short blonde hair, golden eyes, and a gentle, sunny smile that looked entirely harmless. Yet beneath that smile, her cheeks were flushed crimson, her expression brimming with an unstable, feverish intensity that looked ready to burst. She was a celestial being so magnificent she could melt your brain just by standing there: a bona fide Guardian Angel.
"Uh... w-what...??"
Overcome with shock, I stammered, "Th-this appearance..."
I darted my gaze back and forth between my phone screen and the woman standing over me, repeating the motion over and over. No matter how many times I checked, it was unmistakable. The character profile illustration from the chat I had just opened seemed to have ripped right through the 2D plane and materialized into physical reality. Anyone watching might have thought I had lost my mind, but how else could I explain what was right in front of me? There was simply no other logical explanation.
I looked at her again. Her features were far more stunning than anyone I had ever encountered in real life. But rather than pure innocence, she radiated sheer sensuality and mature elegance—the poise of a demure woman in her late twenties or early thirties. Ah... ah...
A true aga.
Yes, an aga stood before me. In older slang, people would call it "perfectly ripened," while nowadays they affectionately called it an aga. I never quite understood why the internet coined it that way, but seeing her, the word fit like a glove. And for the record, her chest was even larger than mine. In fact, calling it "larger" was an understatement—each breast was easily one and a half times the size of her own head. That description paints a far clearer picture. What was more, she wore the exact same dot bikini from the illustration, down to the thin string panties.
Life really is full of surprises.
With those words, the gloom that had been gnawing at my heart completely washed away. It had been an ordinary, miserable autumn day, spent pitying myself in isolation. Yes, it was supposed to be just another mundane holiday afternoon. That was what I had believed, at least...
Not anymore.