episode_0077

77

“Could you tell me what kinds of things boys like?”

Han Su-a’s message pops up on my screen. My eyes blink beneath my eyelids as I read it.

What does she mean by this question?

Maybe it’s just one of those convoluted, roundabout ways girls tend to express themselves. Or perhaps she’s genuinely, innocently asking about boys’ preferences.

Thinking back on Han Su-a’s personality, the latter seems far more likely.

A girl who acts easygoing but is subtly selfish. Unlike Yi Ha-yun, who forces herself to play the temptress despite not being one, Han Su-a is far from deceitful. She’s painfully, purely human.

If I align what I’ve heard from Yozora with Su-a’s current situation, she probably wants to make friends—not just with other girls, but with boys too.

…Who knows? Maybe she’s even expecting some “fateful encounter” like the ones so often depicted in romance comics.

“……”

So when Han Su-a approached me asking to be friends, and now, when she’s diligently messaging me during class—

It’s not because she’s interested in me as a man. It’s because I’m the only guy she remotely considers close enough to do this with.

Tap, tap. I lightly drag my fingertip along my lips before exhaling a lukewarm sigh.

Of course, I’m still in a uniquely advantageous position among men. Not only do I have her phone number, but I’m likely the only guy who’s even carried a conversation with her.

But that’s all it is.

As the saying goes, Childhood friends are doomed to lose. A position like “kind teacher” may have a high floor, but its ceiling is far too low for the kind of relationship I’m aiming for.

…Still, this is an opportunity.

I have to seize it.

That usually impassive face of hers makes her seem intense, but around close friends, she’ll flash a disarmingly sweet smile like it’s nothing. And in front of unfamiliar men, she freezes up so completely that her sharp eyes only grow colder.

At her core, though? She’s just a chaebol heiress who enjoys reading comics.

Zero resistance against men. No male friends whatsoever.

Yet starved for male companionship.

And despite her lack of interest in fashion, hairstyles, or personal grooming, she has no idea just how desirable she looks. On top of that, she’s never once masturbated in her life.

According to Yozora, she isn’t particularly into anything lewd either. And yet, her body’s sensitivity is annoyingly acute.

Meanwhile, her abilities as a hero rank among Korea’s absolute best.

She’s the kind of girl whose sloppily dressed candid photos circulate online under the “street fashion” label— wearing those kinds of clothes yet unable to hide her figure in the slightest.

There is no replacing someone like Han Su-a. At least not for the next decade.

So then—

This opportunity.

This lifeline.

I need to grab hold of it, whatever it takes.

Even if my hands turn raw from clutching it too tightly. Even if I have to sink my teeth in and refuse to let go.

No matter how ugly the method.

[Seo Woo-jin] “—Things they like? Could you be more specific?”

First, I ask her that, then rack my brain.

This rigid mind of mine has rarely proven useful, but charging in without a plan isn’t an option either.

Out of all the information Yozora gave me, the only vaguely useful bits were Han Su-a’s hobbies— and the fact that her relatives are hell-bent on burying her.

I wonder if, in the past, someone other than Yozora managed to halfway succeed in that, altering the future… But… even if I vaguely recall something like that, it’s not of any real help.

Forget the past before regression. Focus on the present.

Right now, the one holding the shovel to bury Han Su-a isn’t some stranger—it’s Yozora.

Predictable. Controllable.

Instead of digging the dirt with that shovel, I can order her to knock Han Su-a out with a light tap to the back of the head and drag her right to me.

Since Yozora has already shown interest in Han Su-a—even suggesting I lure her to a bookstore to engineer a “fateful encounter”— she’ll obey me diligently if it means securing a reward.

(Of course, she’ll act pissy and growl on the surface.)

So then, what exact “orders” should I give Yozora now to help make Han Su-a mine?

This one’s easy.

Isolation.

[Han Su-a] “—Anything’s fine.” “—Really, just whatever might interest guys.”

From the start, she’s never been the type to approach others easily—her cold, prickly mask is too thick.

(Assuming she isn’t giggling adorably like she does around Yozora, that is.)

So if Yozora has firm control over Han Su-a’s leash and keeps watch, even if some disgusting flies buzz around showing interest, none will actually cling to her.

…Now.

While Yozora sets the stage, what should I be doing?

This shouldn’t be too hard either.

A lie.

A pitch-black lie to deceive Han Su-a.

For example, teaching her that sex between friends is “normal”… That sort of thing.

But we’ve only exchanged a handful of conversations. It’s still too early. I need to wait for the right moment.

Rubbing charcoal over Han Su-a’s thin sheet of paper— that comes after her trust in me has thickened considerably.

For now, I must patiently build that trust, playing the role of “Kind Teacher No. 1.”

[Seo Woo-jin] “—Probably soccer or gaming? Baseball too, maybe.”

[Han Su-a] “—What about you? I think you mentioned watching sports stuff last time.”

Sports stuff, huh?

Back at the bookstore, I only said that because I had no other excuse. She remembered, though.

Better not drop that act.

Taking a brief breath, I type out another message.

[Seo Woo-jin] “—I like them too. Not that I know much, though.”

[Han Su-a] —”Then, um…” —”Could you help me practice a little later?”

[Seo Woo-jin] —”Practice?”

I already have an idea what she means, but I ask anyway.

Can you be my friend? What do boys like? Do you like that stuff too?

Then— Can you help me practice a little later?

Throw in everything I know about Han Su-a’s personal growth diary, and it couldn’t be more obvious.

[Han Su-a] —”Yes. Conversation practice. How to talk to guys… Stuff like that.”

Just then, sunlight spills through the gaps in the curtain behind me, glaring against my phone screen.

Even maxing out the brightness, the light is too vivid to ignore.

Irritated, I yank the curtain fully shut, blocking the sunlight entirely, then tap at the screen under the artificial fluorescent glow.

[Seo Woo-jin] —”Any time after school is fine.” —”Just message me whenever. I’ll help however much you need.”

“—Lately, Ji-yun’s been acting weird.” “—Has she?”

3:00 PM.

Before long, dismissal time would loom in the distance.

“—It’s just… Ji-yun’s gotten super nice lately…”

Disguised among the second-years as another patient, Yi Ha-yun breaks the silence with her words.

—”‘Gotten nice’?” —”Literally just that. She eats breakfast properly now, doesn’t sleep in…”

She’s not some elementary school kid. Isn’t “gotten nice” a weird standard to use?

Holding back that thought, I walk toward the window behind me.

The scent of students’ sweat. Faint traces of dust. And the fruity aroma of an air freshener.

Through the open window, those smells drift out—replaced by the sharp March wind.

Once satisfied, I close the window and hand Ha-yun a warm cup of mixed cocoa.

Her face still twists with bewilderment.

—”I mean… since middle school, she’s called me ‘Yi Ha-yun’ instead of ‘unnie’ like 43% of the time?! Who even keeps track?!” —”That’s bizarrely specific.” —”But lately, she only says ‘unnie.’ It just hit me, and now I’m creeped out…” —”Probably just maturing. She’s getting older.” —”And she doesn’t game as obsessively as before…” —”Oh, she logs off around midnight now.” —”Right?!” —”Isn’t that a good change?” —”Sudden changes mean you’re dying.” —”Dying… That’s ridiculous.” —”Don’t laugh!! I’m serious.” —”Okay. Okay.”

Yi Ha-yun crosses her arms under her chest, convinced she’s undeniably correct.

Less “delicate, cooking-savvy older sister” and more “angry hamster.”

“—……”

…Guess Yi Ji-yun must’ve always had certain desires tied to the word “unnie”…

Well, whatever.

The seed I planted in Yi Ji-yun seems to be growing well on its own.

Next time I’m free, I’ll make a few “gifts” with Ha-yun and send them over. I’m sure she’ll put them to good use.

Whether as a cheerful self-comfort tool— or fuel for wretched jealousy.

Either way suits me fine.

I just have to wait for Yi Ji-yun to crumble bit by bit.

—”What do I do? Nice Ji-yun isn’t Ji-yun… Give me back the bratty Ji-yun…” —”…Want me to stress her out? Maybe in-game?” —”Stress?” —”Yeah. That might bring back the old Ji-yun quickly.” —”…Never mind. I like nice Ji-yun too.” —”…? Then why the whole ‘dying’ thing…” —”Just a joke. Kidding.”

Bleh. She sticks her tongue out between her lips before plopping her arms onto the nurse’s office desk.

Lying sideways on one arm, her emerald-green eyes—identical to Ji-yun’s—settle on my face.

…Will there come a day when I can place those two pairs of green eyes side by side next to my cock?

For a moment, I imagine the sisters—drenched in sweat and stained with cum—giving me a sloppy double blowjob.

But knowing Ha-yun, she’d probably knock over the cocoa placed precariously near her elbow, so I move it farther away.

Just then, something occurs to me.

—”…Oh, unnie.” —”Mm?” —”Does Ji-yun hate clothes shopping?” —”Dunno… It’s not that she hates it, but she’d rather spend on games…”

Not that I’d judge gaming expenses, but shouldn’t basic necessities come first?

Shaking off my own bewilderment, I press on.

—”Let’s go shopping together sometime.” —”…Shopping? Can’t we just buy online— Wait, no! Yeah, let’s!” —”Let’s take Ji-yun too. All three of us.” —”…All three?”

Option one: Take Ha-yun alone, leaving Ji-yun behind. Option two: Sneak out with just Ji-yun, behind Ha-yun’s back.

Both choices sound enticing— but nothing beats this alternative.

—”Ji-yun always wears the same clothes. Drives me crazy.” —”……”

Tossing out a plausible excuse, I meet the same emerald-green eyes as Ji-yun’s.

Eyes. Cheeks. Lips. Back to eyes.

Finally, those green irises vanish beneath Ha-yun’s long lashes.

—”Fine. Whatever. I haven’t gone to the hospital much lately, so I could use a few outfits…”

Unlike her earlier excitement, her tone now is begrudgingly compliant.

—”Let’s see… Can’t go at night because of my part-time, and Ji-yun’d rather game… Weekend? Saturday?” —”Got it. Saturday’s tough for plans anyway…”

As Ha-yun mumbles while rolling her cheek against the desk, I stroke her hair gently—oblivious as she is—and smile.