#31
1.
The witch kneels before the slave.
To be honest, from the perspective of a modern person, it might not seem like a big deal, but for Siwoo, who had spent five years experiencing the feudal system of Gehenna, it felt quite different.
This was an unimaginable, sacrilegious posture.
It was enough to clear his head, which had been dulled by the aphrodisiac, to a considerable extent.
“So, Sophia… you shouldn’t be doing this.”
Regardless of what Siwoo said, Sophia simply placed her hands on her knees and looked up at Siwoo calmly.
She slightly raised her fox-like eyes, pretending not to know what was obvious.
“What?”
“I’m a slave, and you’re Sophia…”
“I told you, today you’re the master, Siwoo. I’m serving you, so do you not like it? Open your legs.”
Sophia, having parted Siwoo’s modestly closed knees, crawled between them.
Then, with her chest resting on Siwoo’s thighs, she stared intently at his penis.
“Hmm, as expected, you don’t seem to have any STDs. And the size is decent, so this also passes.”
“Passes… what do you mean?”
“It’s nothing.”
Sophia, pressing even closer to his penis, hugged it tightly between her breasts.
“Guh!”
As the soft, warm, and cozy breasts gently enveloped his penis, Siwoo began to tremble, as if he would ejaculate soon.
He never imagined such a sensation could exist. It was a world he had never conceived of.
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen a penis that can’t be completely covered by this. Wait a moment.”
As Sophia chanted a short spell, his penis suddenly began to feel moist.
She had gathered moisture from the air, condensed it into water, and then immediately used alchemy to transform it into scented oil.
The world was a stage, and I was merely a player.
That was the kind of thought that often crossed my mind these days.
It wasn’t because I was particularly dramatic or anything. It was just that, well, my life felt like a poorly written play.
I, Kim Min-joon, was a twenty-year-old college student. I was studying computer science, a major that was all the rage these days. But honestly, I wasn’t particularly interested in computers. I just chose it because it seemed like a safe bet for the future.
My life was a series of predictable routines. Wake up, go to class, eat lunch, go to more classes, maybe hang out with friends, go home, and sleep. It was a cycle that repeated itself day after day, like a broken record.
But even in this monotonous life, there were moments that stood out. Like the time I accidentally spilled coffee all over my professor’s notes, or the time I tripped and fell in front of the entire lecture hall. Those were the kinds of moments that made me question my existence.
And then, there was her.
Her name was Lee Ji-eun. She was a senior in the music department, and she was everything I wasn’t. She was beautiful, talented, and charismatic. She was the kind of person who seemed to effortlessly glide through life, while I stumbled and fumbled my way through it.
I had a crush on her, of course. It was a hopeless, pathetic crush, the kind that only existed in my head. I knew that someone like her would never be interested in someone like me. But still, I couldn’t help but admire her from afar.
I often saw her practicing in the music building. Her fingers would dance across the piano keys, creating melodies that seemed to fill the entire room. I would stand outside the door, listening to her play, and for a brief moment, my life would feel a little less monotonous.
One day, I decided to do something completely out of character. I wrote her a letter. It was a silly, rambling letter, filled with all the things I could never say to her face. I poured my heart out onto the page, hoping that maybe, just maybe, she would see something in me.
I slipped the letter into her locker, my heart pounding in my chest. And then, I waited.
The next day, I saw her walking towards me. My heart skipped a beat. She had a piece of paper in her hand. It was my letter.
She stopped in front of me, her eyes fixed on mine. I braced myself for the worst.
“This is… interesting,” she said, a small smile playing on her lips.
I didn’t know what to say. I just stood there, staring at her like a deer caught in headlights.
“I’m not sure what to make of it,” she continued, “but I appreciate the effort.”
And then, she walked away.
I stood there, dumbfounded. I had no idea what had just happened. Was she rejecting me? Was she intrigued? I couldn’t tell.
But one thing was for sure. My life, which had been so predictable and monotonous, had just taken an unexpected turn.
And I had a feeling that things were about to get a whole lot more complicated.
Sophia subtly shifts her chest, which she had been holding tightly with both hands.
“This should be enough. Shall we move?”
“Keeeuuugh!”
A glans repeatedly emerged and disappeared between the white valleys.
The nipple visible through the gaps in Sophia’s fingers, which clutched at her chest.
“Do you like it? Do you like it? Do you like it?”
Sophia seemed thrilled by Siwoo’s reaction, which was a mix of pain and pleasure.
-Thud thud thud thud
The sound of Sophia’s underboobs slapping against her thighs grew even louder.
-Squelch! Squelch! Squelch!
The sound of oil and air bubbles squishing followed closely behind, as if in hot pursuit.
The old woman’s face, wrinkled like a dried persimmon, was a canvas of countless years. Her eyes, though clouded with age, still held a sharp glint, and her thin lips were pressed into a firm line. She sat on the low wooden stool, her back slightly hunched, and her hands, gnarled and knotted like the roots of an ancient tree, were clasped tightly in her lap. The worn hanbok she wore was faded, but clean, and the silver hairpin that held her gray hair in place gleamed faintly in the dim light.
“So, you’ve finally come,” she said, her voice raspy, like dry leaves rustling in the wind. “I’ve been waiting.”
I stood before her, my heart pounding in my chest. The air in the small, dimly lit room was heavy with the scent of incense and old paper. It was a place that felt both familiar and foreign, a place where time seemed to have stopped.
“Grandmother,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.
She looked at me, her gaze piercing. “You’ve grown,” she said, her voice softening slightly. “But you still have the same look in your eyes.”
I didn’t know what to say. I had come here seeking answers, but now that I was here, I felt lost.
“Sit,” she said, gesturing to the stool opposite her.
I sat down, my legs feeling heavy. The wooden stool was cold beneath me.
“You have questions,” she said, her eyes never leaving mine. “I know.”
I nodded, my throat tight.
“Ask,” she said. “I will answer.”
I took a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts. “Why did you leave?” I asked, my voice trembling slightly. “Why did you leave us?”
Her face didn’t change, but I could see a flicker of something in her eyes, something that looked like pain.
“It was not my choice,” she said, her voice low. “There were things I had to do.”
“But why?” I asked, my voice rising slightly. “Why did you have to leave us?”
She looked away, her gaze fixed on the wall behind me. “Some things are not meant to be understood,” she said. “Some things are simply meant to be.”
I didn’t understand. I wanted to understand, but her words were like a wall, blocking me from the truth.
“But we missed you,” I said, my voice cracking. “We needed you.”
She turned back to me, her eyes filled with a sadness that made my heart ache. “I know,” she said. “And I am sorry.”
I wanted to ask her more, but I didn’t know how. The questions were swirling in my head, but the words wouldn’t come out.
“There are things you must know,” she said, her voice regaining its strength. “Things that have been hidden for too long.”
I looked at her, my heart pounding. “What things?” I asked.
She took a deep breath, her eyes closing for a moment. “The truth,” she said. “The truth about who you are.”
“A-ah… I think I’m going to… cum anywhere… right now…!”
Compared to masturbation, the pleasure was easily ten times greater, and Siwoo felt his mind go blank.
“Keeeuuugh!”
The world was a stage, and I was merely a character in a poorly written play.
I was born into a family that was, to put it mildly, dysfunctional. My father was a gambler, my mother a dreamer, and I, well, I was just trying to survive. We lived in a small, cramped apartment in the heart of the city, where the sounds of traffic and the smell of exhaust fumes were our constant companions.
My childhood was a blur of neglect and disappointment. My parents were too preoccupied with their own problems to pay much attention to me. I spent most of my time alone, reading books and dreaming of a better life.
School was no escape. I was a quiet, awkward child, and the other kids made fun of me. I was always the last one picked for teams, the one who was never invited to parties. I felt like an outsider, a ghost drifting through the halls.
As I grew older, I became more and more withdrawn. I stopped trying to make friends, stopped trying to fit in. I retreated into my own world, a world of books and imagination.
But even in my solitude, I couldn’t escape the reality of my life. My parents’ problems only seemed to get worse. My father’s gambling debts mounted, and my mother’s dreams became more and more unrealistic. The tension in our apartment was palpable, a thick, suffocating blanket that smothered any hope of happiness.
One day, my father disappeared. He left a note saying he was going to “find himself,” but we all knew he was just running away from his debts. My mother was devastated. She spent days crying, barely eating or sleeping.
I tried to be strong for her, but I was just a child. I didn’t know how to fix things, how to make everything better. I felt like I was drowning, and there was no one to pull me out.
Then, one day, I found a book in the library. It was a book about magic, about a world where anything was possible. I devoured it, reading it over and over again. It was an escape, a way to forget about my problems, even if just for a little while.
I started to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was something more to life than what I had experienced. Maybe there was a world where I could be happy, where I could be free.
And so, I decided to find that world. I didn’t know how, but I knew I had to try. I had to escape the life that was suffocating me, the life that was slowly killing me.
I packed a small bag, filled with the few things I owned, and I left. I didn’t leave a note, didn’t say goodbye. I just walked out the door, and I never looked back.
The city was a maze of streets and alleys, a labyrinth of noise and confusion. I wandered aimlessly, not knowing where I was going, not caring. I was just happy to be away from the apartment, away from the pain.
I spent the night in a park, huddled under a tree. The ground was cold and hard, but I didn’t mind. I was free, and that was all that mattered.
The next morning, I woke up to the sound of birds chirping. The sun was shining, and the sky was a brilliant blue. For the first time in a long time, I felt a glimmer of hope.
I didn’t know what the future held, but I knew I couldn’t give up. I had to keep going, keep searching for that world where I could finally be happy.
And so, my journey began.
Finally, the semen, unable to be contained any longer, erupted.
The old woman’s face was a roadmap of wrinkles, each line a testament to the years she’d weathered. Her eyes, though clouded with age, still held a spark of mischief as she looked at me. “So, you’re the one they’re calling the ‘genius’?” she cackled, her voice raspy like dry leaves crunching underfoot. “Well, let’s see if you’re as smart as they say.”
I bowed my head slightly, a gesture of respect I’d learned from my grandmother. “I am simply trying my best, Grandmother.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Best is never enough. You have to be better than your best. That’s what it means to be a true genius.” She leaned forward, her gaze intense. “Now, tell me, what is the most important thing in the world?”
I paused, considering her question. It wasn’t a simple one, and I knew she wouldn’t be satisfied with a textbook answer. “I believe it is the ability to understand,” I finally said. “To understand ourselves, others, and the world around us.”
The old woman’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise in their depths. “Hmm, not bad,” she admitted. “But understanding is only the first step. What do you do with that understanding?”
“We use it to create,” I replied, my voice gaining confidence. “To create solutions, to create beauty, to create a better future.”
She smiled, a genuine smile that softened the harsh lines of her face. “Now you’re talking like a genius,” she said. “But remember, genius is not just about intelligence. It’s about compassion, courage, and the willingness to never stop learning.” She reached out and patted my hand, her touch surprisingly gentle. “Never forget that, young one.”
The old man, who had been staring blankly at the ceiling, slowly turned his head. His gaze, clouded with cataracts, settled on me.
“You’re here.”
His voice was as dry as a withered leaf. I nodded, placing the bag of groceries on the floor.
“I brought the things you asked for.”
“Did you get the makgeolli?”
“Yes, I did.”
I took out the makgeolli from the bag and placed it on the small table next to the old man’s bed. He watched my every move with his hazy eyes.
“You’re a good kid.”
“It’s nothing.”
“No, it’s not nothing. You’re the only one who comes to see this old man.”
His words were heavy, like a stone. I didn’t know what to say, so I just smiled awkwardly. The old man coughed a few times, then spoke again.
“I’m going to die soon.”
I was startled by his sudden declaration. I had known he wasn’t well, but hearing him say it so directly made my heart sink.
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s the truth. I can feel it.”
His voice was calm, as if he were talking about someone else’s death. I couldn’t bear to look at his face, so I lowered my gaze.
“I have something to ask of you.”
“Yes, please tell me.”
“After I die… please take care of my dog, Mong-mong.”
Mong-mong. It was the name of the small, white dog that always followed the old man around. I had seen it many times, but I had never paid it much attention.
“Of course. I will.”
“Thank you. You’re a good kid.”
The old man closed his eyes. I watched him for a while, then quietly left the room. The old man’s words lingered in my ears. I had never thought about death before, but now it felt like it was right next to me.
The next day, I went to the old man’s house again. But this time, the old man was no longer there. He had passed away peacefully in his sleep.
I stood in front of the old man’s empty bed for a long time. Then, I remembered his last request. I went outside and called for Mong-mong. The small, white dog came running to me, wagging its tail.
I looked at Mong-mong and thought about the old man. I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I had to keep my promise. I picked up Mong-mong and held it in my arms.
“From now on, I’ll take care of you.”
Mong-mong licked my hand. I felt a strange warmth in my heart. It was the warmth of a small life, and it was also the warmth of the old man’s last wish.
Semen, violently ejected, surging through the urethra.
Sophia precisely cupped Siwoo’s glans with her breasts, timing it perfectly with his plea.
Yet, the semen, like a tide, overflows, creating a valley and swelling upon Sophia’s breasts.
Even the hollows beneath her neck and collarbone were filled with semen.
The old man’s face was a roadmap of wrinkles, each line etched with the passage of time. He sat hunched over a small table, his gnarled fingers carefully arranging the pieces of a go board. The room was dimly lit, the only source of light a single oil lamp that cast long, dancing shadows on the walls. The air was thick with the scent of old paper and dried ink.
“You’re late,” the old man said, his voice raspy like dry leaves rustling in the wind.
A young man stood in the doorway, his face flushed from the cold. He bowed deeply. “I apologize, Master. I was delayed.”
The old man grunted, his eyes never leaving the go board. “Excuses are like weeds. They grow everywhere.” He paused, his gaze finally lifting to meet the young man’s. “Have you been practicing?”
“Yes, Master. Every day.”
“Every day is not enough. You must practice every moment. The way you breathe, the way you walk, the way you think – it must all be go.”
The young man nodded, his eyes filled with a mixture of respect and apprehension. He knew the old man’s expectations were high, but he also knew that the old man’s wisdom was unparalleled.
“Come,” the old man said, gesturing to the seat opposite him. “Let us play.”
The young man sat down, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew that this was not just a game. It was a test, a trial by fire that would determine his future.
The old man placed the first black stone on the board, the sound echoing in the quiet room. The game began, each move a silent conversation between master and student, a dance of strategy and intuition.
“Haa…haa…haa….”
“Good girl, good girl~”
The old man’s face was a roadmap of wrinkles, each line a testament to the years he’d spent under the relentless sun. His eyes, though clouded with age, still held a spark of mischief, and his hands, gnarled and calloused, moved with a surprising dexterity as he tended to his small garden. He was a man of few words, but his actions spoke volumes, each gesture a story etched in the language of the earth.
The young woman, on the other hand, was a whirlwind of energy. Her laughter echoed through the quiet village, and her bright eyes seemed to absorb every detail of the world around her. She moved with a grace that belied her youthful exuberance, her every step a dance of life and curiosity. She was a breath of fresh air, a vibrant splash of color in the muted palette of the old man’s world.
Their paths had crossed by chance, a meeting of two vastly different souls, yet there was an undeniable connection between them. It was a bond forged not by blood or shared history, but by a mutual respect and a quiet understanding that transcended words. They were an unlikely pair, yet their lives were intertwined, each one a mirror reflecting the other’s strengths and weaknesses.
The old man taught her the secrets of the earth, the language of the plants, and the wisdom of the seasons. He showed her how to listen to the whispers of the wind and the songs of the birds, how to find solace in the quiet moments of solitude. She, in turn, brought laughter and light into his life, reminding him of the joy that could be found in the simplest of things.
Their days were filled with quiet moments of shared labor, the rhythmic sounds of their work a symphony of life. They would tend to the garden together, their hands moving in unison, each one anticipating the other’s needs. They would share meals under the shade of the old oak tree, their conversations punctuated by comfortable silences.
As the seasons changed, so did their relationship, growing deeper and more profound with each passing day. They were no longer just an old man and a young woman, but two souls bound together by an invisible thread, their lives forever intertwined. They were a testament to the power of human connection, a reminder that even the most unlikely of pairs can find solace and strength in each other’s company.
Sophia’s after-sales service was impeccable.
The day I turned twenty, I received a letter.
[INSERT_IMAGE_HERE]
It was a letter from my grandmother, who had passed away a long time ago.
“To my beloved granddaughter, Sooyeon.”
The handwriting was definitely my grandmother’s. I knew it better than anyone else. The slightly tilted ‘ㅇ’ and the way she always made the ‘ㅅ’ look like a ‘人’ were unmistakable.
“I’m writing this letter because I have something very important to tell you. I know you’ve always been a bit different from other kids, and that’s why I’m worried. But don’t worry too much. You’re not alone. There are others like you.”
My heart pounded. What was this about? What did she mean by ‘others like me’?
“You’ll find out soon enough. When you turn twenty, you’ll receive a special gift. It’s something that has been passed down in our family for generations. It’s a key. A key that will open a door to a new world.”
A key? What kind of key? I looked around my room. There was nothing that looked like a key.
“The key is hidden in a place only you can find. It’s a place that holds special memories for you and me. Think hard. You’ll remember. And when you find the key, don’t hesitate. Open the door. You’ll find the answers you’ve been looking for.”
My grandmother’s words echoed in my head. A key, a door, a new world… It all sounded like something out of a fantasy novel. But this was my grandmother’s letter. She wouldn’t joke about something like this.
I thought hard about the places that held special memories for me and my grandmother. The park where we used to feed the pigeons? The old bookstore where she bought me my first novel? The small garden behind our house where we planted sunflowers every summer?
Suddenly, a memory flashed in my mind. The old wooden chest in the attic. The one we used to hide our treasures in. Could it be there?
I ran to the attic, my heart pounding with anticipation. The attic was dusty and dark, filled with old furniture and forgotten things. I pushed aside the cobwebs and made my way to the corner where the old chest was.
It was still there, just as I remembered it. I opened the lid, and my eyes widened. Inside, nestled among old photographs and trinkets, was a small, antique key. It was made of tarnished silver, with intricate carvings on its handle.
This was it. The key my grandmother had talked about. I held it in my hand, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nervousness. What kind of door would this key open? What kind of world awaited me on the other side?
I knew I had to find out. I had to follow my grandmother’s instructions. I had to open the door.
The sound of the rain was deafening.
It was a downpour that seemed to have emptied the entire sky, and the world outside the window was a blurry mess of gray. I sat on the sofa, hugging a cushion, and stared blankly at the rain. The rhythmic drumming of the rain against the glass was strangely soothing, like a lullaby.
I was alone in the house. Mom and Dad had gone to a relative’s funeral, and my older brother was probably out playing games with his friends. I was left alone, as always.
I wasn’t particularly lonely. I was used to being alone. It was more comfortable than being with others. People were tiring. They were always talking, laughing, and making noise. I preferred the quiet.
The rain continued to fall. I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of the rain. It was a sound that filled the entire world, a sound that made me feel like I was the only person left in the world.
I opened my eyes again and looked at the clock. It was already past 5 PM. I was starting to get hungry. I got up from the sofa and went to the kitchen. I opened the refrigerator and looked inside. There wasn’t much to eat. I took out a pack of instant noodles and a few eggs.
I put the water on the stove and waited for it to boil. While I waited, I stared out the window again. The rain was still falling. It was a relentless rain, a rain that seemed like it would never stop.
The water boiled, and I put the noodles and eggs into the pot. The smell of the noodles filled the kitchen. It was a familiar smell, a smell that always made me feel a little bit better.
I ate the noodles in silence. The rain continued to fall outside the window. I finished my meal and washed the dishes. Then, I went back to the sofa and sat down again.
I picked up a book and started to read. It was a fantasy novel, a story about a world far away from this one. I lost myself in the story, forgetting about the rain and the loneliness.
I read for a long time. The sun began to set, and the sky turned a deep shade of purple. The rain had finally stopped. I closed the book and looked out the window. The world was still wet, but it was also beautiful.
I got up from the sofa and went to the window. I opened it and took a deep breath. The air was fresh and clean. I felt a sense of peace, a sense of calm.
I was alone, but I wasn’t lonely. I was content. I was happy.
I closed the window and went back to the sofa. I picked up the book again and started to read. The night was still young, and I had a whole world to explore.
The day I turned twenty, I received a strange gift.
It was a small, old, wooden box. The kind you might see in an antique shop. It was so worn that the original color was unrecognizable, and the surface was covered in fine cracks. It was tied with a thick, hemp rope, and a small tag was attached.
[To: Kim Min-ji]
[From: Unknown]
I tilted my head. Who would send me something like this? I didn’t remember anyone who would give me such a strange gift. I carefully untied the rope and opened the box.
Inside, there was a single, small, glass bottle. The bottle was filled with a clear, colorless liquid. It looked like water, but it had a faint, shimmering glow. I picked up the bottle and examined it closely. There was no label or any other identifying mark.
“What is this?”
I was curious, but also a little scared. I didn’t know what it was, and I didn’t know who sent it. I hesitated for a moment, then decided to put it back in the box. I decided to think about it later.
The next day, I woke up with a strange feeling. It was like my body was lighter, and my senses were sharper. I could hear the birds singing outside my window more clearly, and I could smell the faint scent of flowers from the garden. I felt like I had been reborn.
I got out of bed and went to the bathroom. When I looked in the mirror, I was shocked. My eyes were glowing with a faint, blue light. It was the same color as the liquid in the bottle.
“What’s going on?”
I was confused and scared. I didn’t know what was happening to me. I went back to my room and looked at the box. The bottle was still there, but the liquid inside was gone.
I realized that I had drunk the liquid in my sleep. I didn’t remember doing it, but there was no other explanation. I had no idea what it was, but I knew that it had changed me.
I decided to go out and see what had happened. I walked out of my house and into the street. The world looked different. Everything was more vivid, and I could see things that I had never noticed before. I could see the tiny insects crawling on the ground, and I could see the individual leaves on the trees.
I felt like I had gained a new sense. It was like I could see the world in a different way. I walked around for a while, exploring my new abilities. I could hear the conversations of people far away, and I could see the emotions on their faces.
I realized that I had become something more than human. I didn’t know what I was, but I knew that I was different. I was scared, but I was also excited. I had been given a gift, and I was going to use it.
I went back home and sat down at my desk. I took out a notebook and started to write. I wrote about everything that had happened to me, and I wrote about my new abilities. I wrote about my fears and my hopes.
I knew that my life would never be the same. I had been given a gift, and I was going to use it to make the world a better place. I didn’t know how, but I knew that I would find a way.
I closed my notebook and looked out the window. The sun was setting, and the sky was filled with beautiful colors. I smiled. I was ready for whatever the future held.
“You were going to sleep with all this piled up like this?”
The old woman, with her back bent like a bow, was still sweeping the yard. The sound of the straw broom scraping against the ground was the only sound in the quiet morning. I watched her from the window, a strange mix of pity and annoyance swirling within me. Why did she have to do that every single day?
“Hey, are you going to keep staring out the window like that?”
My roommate, Ji-hye, poked her head out from behind me. Her hair was a mess, and she was still rubbing sleep from her eyes.
“It’s nothing,” I mumbled, turning away from the window.
“You’re always looking at that old lady. What’s so interesting about her?”
“I just… I don’t know. It’s just weird.”
Ji-hye yawned and stretched, her arms reaching for the ceiling. “Well, I’m going to make some coffee. You want some?”
“Sure.”
I sat down at the small table, the worn wood cool against my skin. The apartment was small, cramped, but it was home. Ji-hye and I had been living here for almost a year now, and we had settled into a comfortable routine. She was the extrovert, the one who made friends easily, while I was the quiet observer, content to watch the world from the sidelines.
The smell of coffee filled the air, and soon Ji-hye placed a steaming mug in front of me. I took a sip, the bitter liquid warming me from the inside out.
“So, what are you going to do today?” Ji-hye asked, her voice still a little rough from sleep.
“I don’t know. Maybe go to the library.”
“You’re always going to the library. You need to get out more.”
“I like the library.”
Ji-hye rolled her eyes, but she didn’t push it. She knew that I wasn’t one for parties or social gatherings. I preferred the company of books, the quiet solitude of the library.
After finishing my coffee, I grabbed my bag and headed out. The morning air was crisp and cool, a welcome change from the stuffy apartment. As I walked down the street, I couldn’t help but glance at the old woman’s house. She was still there, sweeping the yard, her movements slow and deliberate. I wondered what her life was like, what stories she held within her.
I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. I had to focus on my own life, my own goals. I had a paper to write, a book to read. The library was waiting.
But even as I walked away, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to the old woman than met the eye.
Siu, looking exhausted, stared at the ceiling, experiencing a moment of clarity, while Sophia slowly moved her chest, which was slick with a mixture of semen.
The immediate stimulation following climax makes my back arch uncontrollably.
A little while later, Siwoo regained some of his senses.
“Th-thank you.”
The day I turned twenty, I received a strange gift.
It was a small, antique-looking music box. The kind you might see in an old movie. The box was made of dark wood, intricately carved with patterns that looked like vines and leaves. When I opened the lid, a delicate melody began to play. It was a tune I’d never heard before, but it had a strangely familiar feel.
I didn’t know who had sent it. There was no card, no return address, nothing. Just the box, sitting on my doorstep, as if it had been waiting for me.
I spent the rest of the day listening to the music box. The melody was haunting, almost hypnotic. It made me feel things I couldn’t explain, a mix of joy and sadness, longing and peace. It was like the music was speaking directly to my soul.
That night, I had a dream. I was standing in a vast, starlit field, the same melody echoing around me. A figure appeared in the distance, walking towards me. It was a woman, her face obscured by shadows, but her eyes shone with a gentle light. She reached out to me, and as our fingers touched, I woke up.
The music box was still playing. I stared at it, my heart pounding. It was just a dream, I told myself, but it felt so real. I couldn’t shake the feeling that the music box was more than just a gift. It was a key, a gateway to something I didn’t yet understand.
The next day, I decided to investigate. I took the music box to an antique shop, hoping to find out more about its origins. The shop owner, an old man with kind eyes, examined it carefully. He said it was very old, possibly from the 18th century, and that the craftsmanship was exceptional. But he couldn’t tell me who had made it or where it had come from.
I left the shop feeling more confused than ever. The music box was a mystery, and I was determined to solve it. I spent the next few weeks researching old music boxes, poring over books and websites, trying to find any clue that could lead me to the truth.
One evening, as I was listening to the music box, I noticed something I hadn’t seen before. On the bottom of the box, there was a tiny inscription, almost hidden from view. It was a name: “Elara.”
I had never heard that name before, but it felt like a piece of the puzzle. Who was Elara? And what did she have to do with the music box?
I knew I had to find out.
The heavy scent of night-blooming flowers wafted in belatedly.
“Were you that happy?”
The old woman’s face, wrinkled like a dried persimmon, was a map of a life lived. Her eyes, though clouded with age, still held a spark of mischief. She sat on the low wooden stool, her back slightly hunched, and meticulously peeled garlic with her gnarled fingers. The sharp, pungent aroma filled the small kitchen, mingling with the scent of simmering kimchi.
“Aigoo, this old back,” she muttered, her voice raspy like dry leaves rustling in the wind. “It’s getting harder and harder to do even this.”
I watched her from the doorway, leaning against the frame. The morning sun streamed in, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. It was a scene I had witnessed countless times, yet it always held a certain comforting familiarity.
“Grandma,” I said, my voice soft, “do you need help?”
She glanced up, her lips curving into a small smile. “No, no, child. You go on and do your studies. This old woman can handle a few cloves of garlic.”
I knew she wouldn’t accept my help, not unless I insisted, and even then, she’d grumble about me wasting my time. So, I just nodded and stepped into the kitchen, taking a seat at the small table. The worn wooden surface was etched with years of use, each scratch and stain telling a silent story.
“What are you studying today?” she asked, her hands still moving with practiced ease.
“History,” I replied, opening my textbook. The pages were filled with names and dates, battles and treaties, all of which seemed so distant and irrelevant compared to the quiet rhythm of life in this small kitchen.
“History, huh?” she chuckled. “What good is that going to do you?”
“It’s important to know where we come from,” I said, reciting the words my teacher had drilled into us.
“Hmph,” she snorted. “The past is the past. It’s the present that matters, and what you do with it.”
I knew she didn’t mean to belittle my studies. It was just her way of reminding me that life was more than just books and theories. It was about the simple things, like the smell of garlic and the warmth of the morning sun.
“I know, Grandma,” I said, closing my book. “But sometimes, I think about the people who came before us, the ones who lived in this house, in this village. What were their lives like?”
She paused, her hands still for a moment, and looked at me with those ancient eyes. “They were just like us, child. They laughed, they cried, they loved, they lost. They lived their lives, just as we are living ours.”
She resumed peeling the garlic, her movements slow and deliberate. The silence in the kitchen was filled with the gentle sounds of her work, a comforting melody that had been the soundtrack of my life.
I watched her, my mind drifting back to the stories she had told me, the tales of her youth, of her parents and grandparents, of the village as it once was. It was a history that wasn’t written in textbooks, but etched in her memory, passed down through generations.
And in that moment, I understood. History wasn’t just about names and dates. It was about the lives of ordinary people, the stories they carried within them, the traditions they passed on. It was about the connection between the past and the present, the thread that bound us all together.
“Grandma,” I said, my voice filled with a newfound understanding, “tell me another story.”
She smiled, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Which one do you want to hear today, child? The one about the mischievous goblins or the one about the brave princess?”
I laughed, the sound echoing in the small kitchen. “Tell me the one about the goblins,” I said.
And as she began to weave her tale, I knew that I was learning a history that no textbook could ever teach me.
But Sophia’s service was not yet over.
I should have just come a little while ago.
I feel a greedy desire to fight one more time.
I wanted to taste this pleasant thrill even more.
“Oh, geez, if Amelia hadn’t slobbered all over it, I would have devoured it.”
I couldn’t even properly hear Sophia’s muttering, as if she was regretful because of that.
“Cleanly!”
With Sophia’s incantation, the semen and oil vanish cleanly.
I was so excited that I couldn’t sleep.
I tossed and turned, then finally got out of bed and went to the living room.
The clock on the wall showed 3:17 AM.
I sat on the sofa and hugged my knees.
I was so excited.
I was going to meet my favorite author tomorrow.
I had won a lottery to attend a small fan meeting.
I had been a fan of this author since middle school.
I had read all of their books.
I had even written fan fiction.
I had always dreamed of meeting them in person.
And that dream was finally coming true tomorrow.
I couldn’t believe it.
I was so nervous that my heart was pounding.
I took out the author’s latest book from my bag.
I opened the book and read the author’s note again.
“Thank you to all the readers who love my books. I hope my stories can be a small comfort to you.”
I smiled.
The author’s words always gave me strength.
I closed the book and hugged it tightly.
I was so happy.
I was so grateful.
I was so excited.
I couldn’t wait for tomorrow.
I went back to bed, but I still couldn’t sleep.
I kept thinking about what I would say to the author.
I practiced my greeting over and over again in my head.
I finally fell asleep just before dawn.
When I woke up, it was already late.
I quickly got ready and left the house.
I arrived at the venue a little early.
There were already a few people waiting.
I took a deep breath and calmed my pounding heart.
I waited for the fan meeting to start, my heart filled with anticipation.
Sophia, having released the large breasts she had been diligently holding up, freed Siwoo’s belongings. It felt like she could finally breathe, yet a deep sense of regret made his dick twitch a few times.
Sophia, who had been watching the scene intently, said teasingly.
“It’s still not small enough? I need to do more.”
Although she had accurately grasped what Siwoo wanted, Siwoo, being a bachelor, didn’t have the courage to demand it outright.
Sophia grinned as if she found his reaction unbearably cute.
“Okay, now lie down on the bed.”
The old woman’s face was a roadmap of wrinkles, each one a testament to the years she’d lived. Her eyes, though clouded with age, still held a spark of mischief. She chuckled, a dry, rustling sound like leaves skittering across pavement. “You think you’re so clever, huh?” she said, her voice raspy. “But the world has a way of humbling even the smartest of us.”
I crossed my arms, trying to look unfazed by her words. “I’m not trying to be clever. I’m just stating facts.”
“Facts,” she scoffed. “Facts are just stories we tell ourselves to make sense of things. But the real truth? That’s a slippery thing, always changing.”
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, grandma. Whatever you say.”
She leaned closer, her gaze piercing. “Don’t dismiss me so easily, child. I’ve seen more than you can imagine. And I know a thing or two about how the world works.”
I sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing with her. “Fine. What do you know?”
She smiled, a slow, knowing smile that sent a shiver down my spine. “I know that you’re searching for something. Something you think is lost.”
My breath hitched. How did she know? I hadn’t told anyone about the locket, the one that had been my mother’s.
“And I know,” she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper, “that you won’t find it where you’re looking.”
I stared at her, my mind racing. “Then where should I look?”
She chuckled again, the sound echoing in the small room. “That, my dear, is for you to discover.” She winked, then turned away, leaving me with more questions than answers.
I flopped onto the bed like someone under hypnosis.
“Oof.”
My head suddenly rises.
I feel a soft object, distinctly different from a pillow, against the back of my head.
“How is it? Comfortable?”
What I see above is Sophia’s face, half-hidden by the symbol of motherhood, and Sophia’s face peeking out just above her nose.
Her hair cascades down like a waterfall.
Sophia is giving me a lap pillow right now.
“If you make such a cute face, I just want to keep doing more.”
Sophia supported one of her breasts and brought it to Siwoo’s lips.
“Say ‘ah’~”
“Ah, aah….”
Sophia offered her breast to Siwoo’s gaping mouth.
“Relax your body and lie down comfortably. That’s right.”
At the same time, Sophia’s long fingers steadily enveloped his cock.
Breast milk wasn’t coming out, but the position was exactly the same as a breastfeeding handjob.
Whether it was because of the aphrodisiac or because I had her breasts, which seemed to contain all the softness in the world, in my mouth.
A sense of coziness filled my chest.
Lately, I’ve been thinking that I might understand a little why Takasho likes this place. If you were doing this kind of thing every day, you might be happy too.
“Are you going to suck it this time?”
“Mmmph.”
The old woman’s face was a roadmap of wrinkles, each line etched deep with the passage of time. Her eyes, though clouded with age, still held a spark of mischief as she looked at me. “So, you’re the one who’s been causing all the ruckus, huh?” she said, her voice raspy like dry leaves crunching underfoot.
I bowed my head slightly. “I apologize if I’ve caused any trouble.”
She chuckled, a sound like pebbles tumbling down a hill. “Trouble? Oh, child, trouble is just another word for life. And you, you’ve got a whole lot of life in you.” She gestured for me to sit on the worn wooden stool beside her. “Come, tell me what brings you to my humble abode.”
I hesitated for a moment, unsure of how much to reveal. But there was something about her, a sense of ancient wisdom that drew me in. “I’m looking for something,” I began, “something that was lost a long time ago.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if she were peering into my very soul. “Lost things have a way of finding their way back, if you know where to look.” She reached out and took my hand, her touch surprisingly gentle. “Tell me, child, what is it that you seek?”
I took a deep breath and began to tell her my story, the story of the lost artifact, the one that held the key to everything. As I spoke, her eyes never left mine, and I felt a strange sense of peace settle over me. It was as if she already knew everything, as if she had been waiting for me all along.
The day I turned twenty, I received a strange text message.
[Congratulations on your twentieth birthday! As a gift, we’ve activated your ‘System’. Please check your status window.]
What the heck is this? A prank?
I looked around, but there was no one nearby. I was alone in my room, sprawled on the bed, idly scrolling through social media.
“System? Status window?”
I muttered, half in disbelief, and a translucent window popped up in front of my eyes.
[Status Window]
Name: Kim Min-joon
Level: 1
Class: None
Title: None
HP: 100/100
MP: 50/50
Strength: 10
Agility: 10
Stamina: 10
Magic Power: 5
Luck: 10
Remaining Stat Points: 0
“What is this…?”
It was like a game status window. I’d played a lot of games in my day, so I knew this kind of thing well. But this was real. It was right in front of my eyes.
“Is this some kind of augmented reality prank?”
I reached out, trying to touch the window, but my hand just passed right through it. It was definitely a hologram.
“This is insane.”
I pinched my cheek. It hurt. This wasn’t a dream.
“Okay, let’s think calmly.”
I sat up straight on the bed and looked at the status window again.
“Level 1… Class: None… Title: None…”
It was a pretty pathetic status. All the stats were just 10, except for magic power, which was 5. It was like a character that hadn’t even started the game yet.
“Remaining Stat Points: 0…”
I couldn’t even raise my stats. I was stuck at level 1 with no class.
“What do I have to do to level up?”
As soon as I thought that, a new message popped up.
[To level up, you must complete quests. Would you like to check your available quests?]
“Quests?”
I muttered, and a new window appeared.
[Available Quests]
[Daily Quest: Do 10 push-ups. Reward: 10 EXP]
[Daily Quest: Do 10 sit-ups. Reward: 10 EXP]
[Daily Quest: Run for 30 minutes. Reward: 20 EXP]
“This is… ridiculously easy.”
I couldn’t believe it. Was this really all it took to level up?
“Okay, let’s try it.”
I got off the bed and started doing push-ups. One, two, three… I did ten push-ups, and a message popped up.
[Daily Quest: Do 10 push-ups completed. Reward: 10 EXP]
[Level Up! Current Level: 2]
“Wow, I leveled up just like that?”
I was amazed. It was so easy. I checked my status window again.
[Status Window]
Name: Kim Min-joon
Level: 2
Class: None
Title: None
HP: 110/110
MP: 55/55
Strength: 11
Agility: 11
Stamina: 11
Magic Power: 5
Luck: 10
Remaining Stat Points: 5
“My stats went up, and I got stat points!”
I was excited. I immediately used the 5 stat points to raise my strength.
[Strength: 11 -> 16]
“Heh, this is fun.”
I did the sit-ups and the running quest right away. I leveled up twice more.
[Level Up! Current Level: 3]
[Level Up! Current Level: 4]
My stats had increased significantly, and I had 10 more stat points. I put them all into strength again.
[Strength: 16 -> 26]
“This is awesome. I’m getting stronger so easily.”
I was starting to get addicted to this system. I was curious about what would happen if I kept leveling up.
“I should try to level up as much as possible today.”
I decided to focus on leveling up for the rest of the day. I did all the daily quests and even started doing extra exercises.
The system was simple, but it was definitely effective. I was getting stronger, and it was fun.
“I wonder what kind of class I’ll get.”
I was looking forward to the future. I had a feeling that my ordinary life was about to change drastically.
The day I turned twenty, I received a strange letter.
[INSERT_IMAGE_HERE]
It was a thick, cream-colored envelope, sealed with a wax stamp of a bizarre, twisted tree. The sender was unknown. I turned the envelope over and over, but there was no return address. I carefully tore open the seal and pulled out the letter.
*To the one who will become the master of the ‘Garden of Thorns,’*
*Congratulations on your twentieth birthday.*
*We invite you to the ‘Garden of Thorns,’ a place where all your desires can be fulfilled.*
*We await your arrival.*
*From the Gardener*
The letter was short, but it left a deep impression. A place where all my desires could be fulfilled? It sounded like a fairy tale. I laughed, thinking it was a prank, but the wax seal and the thick paper felt too real to be a joke.
I had always lived a life without any particular desires. I had no dreams, no goals, and no ambitions. I was just drifting along, like a boat without a rudder. So, the idea of a place that could fulfill my desires was both intriguing and absurd.
I crumpled the letter and threw it into the trash. I decided to forget about it.
But the next day, another letter arrived. It was the same cream-colored envelope, with the same twisted tree wax seal.
*We are still waiting for you.*
*The Garden of Thorns is always open to you.*
*From the Gardener*
This time, I didn’t laugh. I felt a strange sense of unease. It was as if someone was watching me. I crumpled the letter again and threw it away, but the next day, another letter arrived. And the day after that, another.
Every day, a letter arrived, each one identical to the last. I started to feel suffocated by the constant arrival of these letters. I couldn’t ignore them anymore.
I decided to find out who was sending these letters. I went to the post office and asked if they could track the sender, but they said it was impossible. The letters had no return address, and the postmark was illegible.
I felt like I was caught in a trap. I couldn’t escape the letters, and I couldn’t find out who was sending them. I started to feel a strange sense of anticipation. What if this ‘Garden of Thorns’ was real? What if it could really fulfill my desires?
I decided to go. I didn’t know where it was, but I had a feeling that I would find it if I just followed the letters.
The next day, I received another letter. But this time, it was different.
*The path to the Garden of Thorns is now open.*
*Follow the path of thorns.*
*From the Gardener*
Inside the envelope, there was a small, black thorn. I looked at the thorn, and a strange feeling washed over me. It was as if the thorn was calling me.
I decided to follow the path of thorns. I didn’t know where it would lead, but I had to find out. I had to see if the ‘Garden of Thorns’ was real.
I picked up the thorn and walked out of my house.
“You’re like a baby. How can you be so cute?”
As a man, I’m being treated like a child, constantly being called cute.
In this situation, which could be humiliating, Siwoo felt a warmth that was the opposite of sexual desire.
It was a feeling of being embraced, something he had forgotten since being captured in this city.
“Should I make milk come out too?”
“????”
“Well, never mind. Try sucking once.”
Even if she’s a witch, is she really going to go that far?
With a half-believing heart, Siwoo sucked on her nipple and felt the thick taste of milk spreading throughout his mouth.
A sharp stream of breast milk hit the inside of his tongue.
Sophia had really started producing breast milk as if she had become a cow.
The lukewarm and sweet taste of breast milk, like milk that had been warmed in a double boiler, made Siwoo gulp it down without realizing it.
“Is it good?”
“Mmm…!”
“It’s a gift only for good boys.”
Sophia giggled and, with a hand that had paused for a moment, resumed her handjob.
In the case of twins, it’s like the innocent feeling of a young child mindlessly poking and prodding.
Hmm… that’s beside the point.
