黑帮三三

The sea air of Ye Dong City carried a thick salt spray that clung to everything it touched—the rusted metal of the cargo cranes, the weathered wood of the docks, the faces of the men waiting in silence. The harbor was alive with the low hum of diesel engines and the distant cry of gulls, but the men standing at Pier 7 paid no attention to any of it. They watched the horizon, where a single vessel was cutting through the gray morning mist.

Park Dae-geun stood at the head of the small reception party, his stubby frame planted firmly on the concrete like a bulldog ready to spring. At 155 centimeters, he was the shortest man on the dock, but his shoulders were broad as a doorframe, and the muscles of his neck and arms strained against the fabric of his black suit jacket. His face was plain, almost ugly—a broad nose, thick lips, and small eyes that squinted against the wind. He looked more like a dockworker than the temporary head of the Daemun Faction, but the men behind him knew better than to underestimate him. He had earned his position through blood and grit, not good looks.

The ship grew larger as it approached, its hull cutting through the dark water with steady purpose. Park Dae-geun pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it, the flame flickering in the breeze. He took a long drag and exhaled slowly, watching the vessel glide toward the pier.

From the deck of the approaching ship, two figures stood at the bow, side by side. The woman was impossible to miss. Yi Mei'er stood tall at 175 centimeters, her wavy brown hair catching the morning light like polished bronze. She wore a fitted black blazer over a white silk blouse, tailored trousers that hugged her curves, and heels that added another five centimeters to her already commanding height. Her figure was nothing short of breathtaking—full breasts that strained against her blouse, a narrow waist that flared into wide, powerful hips, and long legs that seemed to go on forever. Her face was beautiful, but it was her eyes that drew the most attention: warm, deep, maternal, with a gaze that made men feel safe and vulnerable all at once. She carried herself with a dignified grace that spoke of a lifetime of training in the art of command.

Beside her stood Li Qing, shorter by a full five centimeters, slender to the point of frailty, with delicate features and soft hands that had never held a weapon heavier than a book. He wore a simple gray sweater and dark slacks, casual compared to Mei'er's sharp professionalism. His face was kind, with a gentle smile that seemed perpetually on the verge of forming. Those who knew him called him Gui Yi—Turtle One—a childhood nickname that had stuck because of his quiet, unhurried nature. He looked nothing like the heir to the Hyeonmu Faction, one of the most powerful criminal organizations on Heukgeum Island. But power came in many forms, and Li Qing's strength lay not in his body but in his mind.

The ship docked with a low thud, and the gangplank lowered. Park Dae-geun dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his heel, then stepped forward with his arms spread wide in greeting.

"Welcome, welcome!" he called out, his voice rough and gravelly. "The number one representatives of the Qinglong and Hyeonmu Factions, on my humble island at last. I've arranged accommodations for you both—a seaside inn, quiet and private. Please, allow me to escort you."

Yi Mei'er descended the gangplank first, her heels clicking smartly against the metal. She extended her hand, and Park Dae-geun took it in his calloused palm, bowing his head slightly.

"Thank you, Park-ssi," she said, her voice smooth and warm. "We appreciate your hospitality."

Li Qing followed a step behind, offering a small nod. "Good to finally meet you in person, Park Dae-geun. We've heard a lot about your efforts with the Daemun Faction."

Park Dae-geun grinned, revealing a row of crooked teeth. "All bad, I'm sure. But come, come—the car is waiting. We have much to discuss."

The trio walked across the pier toward a black sedan parked at the edge of the lot. Two of Park's men opened the doors, and they slid into the back seat—Mei'er in the middle, Li Qing on her right, Park Dae-geun on her left. The driver pulled away from the harbor, and the city of Ye Dong unfolded around them.

The streets were a chaotic blend of Chinese and Korean influences—signs in both Hangul and Mandarin, storefronts selling kimchi and dim sum side by side, the smell of grilled meat and steamed buns wafting from open windows. It was a city of dualities, where legitimate businesses flourished on the surface while darker currents ran beneath. Park Dae-geun watched the streets pass with a practiced eye, noting every alley and intersection as if mapping them in his mind.

"So," he said, breaking the silence, "let me speak plainly. The Daemun Faction wants an alliance with the Qinglong and Hyeonmu Factions. The Japanese Takegumi has been making moves on our territory, and I don't have the strength to push them back alone."

Yi Mei'er nodded slowly, her fingers interlaced in her lap. "I've noticed the Takegumi's unusual activity in recent months. They're expanding faster than their resources should allow. Someone is backing them."

"Exactly," Park Dae-geun said, leaning forward. "They came to me three months ago. Offered to 'take over' the underground operations that Daemun has managed for decades. Said they could provide better services, better protection. It was a threat wrapped in business talk. When I refused, they sent men to my home."

He pulled up his shirt, revealing a bandaged wound on his ribs. "My father—he tried to negotiate. They stabbed him in the back, literally. He's in a hospital bed now, and I'm sitting in his chair, trying to hold our family together."

Li Qing frowned, his gentle face hardening slightly. "That's a bold move. The Takegumi must be very confident to attack the head of an established faction."

"They're confident because they think we're weak," Park Dae-geun spat. "And maybe we are, compared to the Qinglong. But we're not dead yet. With your backing, we can push them back to Japan where they belong."

Yi Mei'er exchanged a glance with Li Qing. They had discussed this on the voyage over, weighing the pros and cons of entanglement in local politics. The Qinglong Faction was the dominant power on Heukgeum Island, but dominance required maintenance. An unchecked Takegumi could upset the balance.

"We'll need to investigate further," Mei'er said carefully. "Understand the full scope of their operations before we commit. But I can promise you this, Park-ssi—the Qinglong Faction does not ignore attacks on its allies."

Park Dae-geun's face split into a relieved grin. "That's all I ask. A chance to prove that we're worth the investment."

Li Qing held up a hand. "Let's not rush into anything. The Qinglong is still the largest force on the island. The Takegumi isn't going to make a move in the next week. Why don't we take some time to enjoy the island first? I've never been to Ye Dong, and I doubt Mei'er has either. We've always sent our people to handle business here. It's not every day that the top brass gets to visit."

Park Dae-geun blinked, then laughed—a deep, genuine sound. "You know what? You're right. I've been so focused on the threat that I forgot to be a host. Fine. Let me take you to your faction's local offices first, introduce you to the managers, give you a lay of the land. After that, the inn is yours to enjoy."

The car wound through the city, past the gleaming high-rises of the business district and into the older neighborhoods where narrow streets were lined with aged brick buildings. They stopped first at a nondescript office building in the Chinese quarter, where a plaque reading "Qinglong Trading Co." hung above the door. Yi Mei'er spent twenty minutes inside, meeting with the local handler, reviewing reports, and issuing instructions. Li Qing did the same at a smaller building two blocks away, its entrance marked only by a small bronze turtle emblem.

By the time they were done, the sun had climbed higher, casting long shadows across the streets. Park Dae-geun drove them to the edge of the city, where the buildings gave way to sandy coast and crashing waves. The inn stood on a bluff overlooking the sea—a traditional Korean-style guesthouse with tiled roofs and paper screens, surrounded by a garden of pine trees and rocks.

"It's not the Glass Hotel," Park Dae-geun said, a hint of apology in his voice. "That place is under renovation. But this is the best private accommodation I could arrange. Clean, quiet, secure. The staff knows to keep their mouths shut."

"It's beautiful," Yi Mei'er said, and she meant it. The sound of the waves was soothing, a stark contrast to the chaos of the city.

Park Dae-geun helped them carry their luggage to the door, then bowed. "I'll leave you to rest. When the Glass Hotel reopens, I'll host you properly. For now, please consider this my home."

He drove away, and the two of them stood in the doorway, watching the dust settle behind his car.

Inside, the inn was simple but elegant—wooden floors, sliding doors, a low table with a tea set. The main bedroom had a futon spread out on the tatami, soft and inviting. Li Qing dropped onto it with a sigh, his slender frame sinking into the mattress.

"I could get used to this," he murmured, reaching for the television remote.

Yi Mei'er smiled and walked past him into the bathroom. The sound of running water filled the room, and steam began to curl out from behind the door. Li Qing flipped through channels, finding a nature documentary about deep-sea fish, and settled in.

Twenty minutes later, the bathroom door slid open, and Yi Mei'er stepped out.

She had changed into a black lace lingerie set—a sheer bra that did nothing to hide the fullness of her breasts, and a matching thong that accentuated the curve of her hips. Her skin was still damp, glistening in the dim light, and her hair hung in wet waves over her shoulders. She walked to the futon with the fluid grace of a panther and flopped down beside him, the mattress bouncing with her weight.

"Comfortable?" she asked, her voice a low purr.

Li Qing's eyes drifted from the television to her, and he smiled sheepishly. "Very."

She stretched, her body arching like a cat, and rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand. Her free hand traced a line down his chest, over his stomach, coming to rest at his belt.

"You've been tense," she said softly. "All that talk of alliances and battles. Let me help you relax."

She leaned in and kissed him—slow, warm, tender. Her lips parted against his, and her tongue teased the edge of his mouth. He responded, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer.

Her hand slipped lower, cupping the small bulge in his pants. Even through the fabric, she could feel its modest size. She didn't care. She never had. Her fingers worked the button loose, then the zipper, and she slid his pants down to his thighs.

His penis stood erect, eight centimeters of slender flesh. She took it in her hand, feeling its warmth, and then lowered her head. Her mouth closed over him, taking him fully in one smooth motion, and Li Qing let out a groan that was half surprise, half relief.

Her tongue moved with practiced skill, circling the tip, sliding down the shaft. Her hands cupped his testicles gently, massaging them in rhythm with her mouth. Li Qing's breathing quickened, his fingers tangling in her damp hair.

"You're too good at this," he whispered.

She didn't answer, only hummed in contentment, the vibration sending a shiver through his entire body.

After a few minutes, she lifted her head, a strand of saliva connecting her lips to his tip. She straddled him, positioning herself over his erect cock, and lowered herself slowly. The heat of her enveloped him, and he gasped at the sensation.

Even at full depth, he barely reached the entrance of her womb. He

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The two boats drifted in the vast, dark sea, their engines sputtering low on fuel. Pia Dageon’s small fishing boat, battered and rusty, barely hummed beneath his feet. Yimei’er’s luxury yacht, sleek and white, loomed beside it, but its tank was nearly dry too. She had thrown a line to Dageon’s vessel, towing it slowly to save his meager remaining gas. They had no idea which patch of ocean they’d reached, only that the distant coast of Black Gold Island was a memory now.

Dageon stood at the bow of his boat, lifting a pair of binoculars to his eyes. Through the salt-caked lenses, a dark smudge appeared on the horizon—small, jagged, and rising from the water like a sleeping serpent. “There’s an island,” he called out, his voice rough. He checked the map on his phone, a faded image he’d saved. “Sea Snake Island. It’s a wild place, no one lives there. Way off from Black Gold.”

He grabbed the radio. “Yimei’er, you see it too? We’ve got almost nothing left. Should we head in?”

Yimei’er’s voice crackled back, calm but fatigued. “I see it. We don’t have much option. My yacht’s got enough to pull us to that natural bay. We’ll anchor there.”

Minutes later, the boats crept into a small, sheltered cove. The bay was ringed by steep cliffs and thick jungle, and the water was glassy calm. Dageon’s pathetic fishing boat bobbed next to Yimei’er’s towering yacht, the size difference stark: one was a king’s toy, the other a beggar’s raft. They drifted so close they seemed to lean on each other, like survivors in a storm.

Yimei’er picked up the radio again, dialing Li Qing. “Li Qing, we’re stuck on Sea Snake Island. How soon can you get a boat out?”

There was a pause, then Li Qing’s voice came through, strained. “I’m afraid it won’t be for a while. The Chikuzu gang sent punks to block the fuel stations. I have to wait for the Black Tortoise headquarters to send a bigger ship. That’ll take maybe three days. But there’s good news: the Big Gate crew sabotaged Chikuzu’s boats. They can’t attack you from the sea anymore. Hey, you and Dageon, you okay?”

Yimei’er glanced at Dageon, who stood on his deck, watching her. “We’re fine. No worries. We’ll wait.” She clicked off the radio.

The two stepped onto the shore of Sea Snake Island. Yimei’er had changed from her ruined suit into the only clean clothes she had: a simple white blouse and a black skirt. The fabric clung to her, damp and revealing. Dageon wore his torn jeans and a jacket. Together, they pushed through the underbrush. A faint path cut through the island, but it was overgrown with wild grass that reached their waists. They followed it, pushing aside ferns and branches.

Soon, they came upon a small house. It was old, its roof sagging, windows boarded. The door hung open on a single hinge. Inside, cobwebs filled the corners, and dust lay thick on a broken table. No one had lived here for years, maybe decades. The island was empty except for them.

As the sun set, they gathered driftwood and piled it on the beach. Dageon sparked a lighter, and soon a fire crackled, casting orange light on the sand. The waves whispered in the dark. Yimei’er sat close to him, her knees pulled up, her toes buried in the warmth.

“Why did you come to save me?” she asked, her voice barely above the sea. “You could have gone with Li Qing. Left the other way.”

Dageon stared into the fire. “I figured the Chikuzu bastards wanted you dead. They’d use that to break the Blue Dragon. I know the kind of men they are. I had to protect you.” He turned to her, his eyes dark and earnest. “And the truth is, I have feelings for you. I... I really do.”

Before he could finish, Yimei’er leaned in. Her lips met his. The kiss was sudden, but it deepened quickly. She pressed harder, her mouth opening, her tongue sliding against his. Dageon responded, his arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her closer. The kiss burned, hot and desperate, as if they were trying to drink each other’s breath. They held it for a long, aching moment, and when they finally broke apart, her eyes were wet.

“I’ve spent my whole life being steady for the Blue Dragon,” she said, her voice trembling. “Li Qing has loved me since we were kids, and I protected him, stood beside him. He sees me as a lover, but I’ve always treated him like a little brother. I thought I had to marry him, to seal the bond between our families. But you...” She touched his face. “You’re the only one who would risk your life to protect me, to see me as someone worth saving. I think I feel something for you. I’ve been forcing it down, ignoring it, but I... I...”

Dageon took her hand. “You know what I love about you, Yimei’er? Even if you married Li Qing, I wouldn’t care. I just want a place in your heart, not just as a leader or a sister, but as me. If you love me, even a little, that’s enough. I love you, boss lady of the Blue Dragon. I love you, Yimei’er.”

Her doubt melted away. She stood, and with slow, deliberate hands, she unbuttoned her white blouse. It fell to the sand, and then her skirt followed. In the firelight, her naked body shone, her large breasts full and round, her skin pale and smooth. She turned without a word and walked toward the old house. At the doorway, she looked back over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised.

“If you truly love me,” she said, her voice low and teasing, “then show me what kind of man you are. Come.”

Dageon rose. His erection was already straining against his trousers, a thick bulge clear through the fabric. He followed her into the dark house.

Inside, the night was filled with the sounds of animal passion: a man’s deep grunts, a woman’s high, desperate moans. Dageon knelt behind Yimei’er, his hands gripping her waist as he thrust into her from behind. She turned her head, laughing softly, and kissed him. He released her waist and grabbed her breasts, squeezing them roughly, kneading the soft flesh. She gasped and arched her back.

With one hand, Yimei’er reached back to loop around his neck, pulling his face down to hers. With the other, she reached between her own legs, spreading her buttocks apart. “You’re so big,” she whispered, her voice thick with pleasure. “Let me open up for you.”

They moved together for thirty minutes, grinding and sweating, until Dageon reached his peak. He shot a thick, heavy load of hot semen deep inside her. Yimei’er shuddered, her whole body trembling, a long, guttural moan escaping her lips. The semen kept coming, pouring into her for a full three minutes before slowing. She quaked in the aftermath, her knees weak.

Then she sank to her knees in front of him, a wicked smile curling on her lips. She took his still-hard cock into her mouth, licking and sucking with eager affection. Her head bobbed, her eyes locked on his, full of love. In minutes, he was iron-hard again, no sign of fatigue.

The second round began, harder and faster, their bodies slapping together in the darkness. An hour later, Dageon decided the fourth round should happen on his boat. He lifted Yimei’er, her legs wrapping around his waist, and carried her out of the house, across the beach, and onto his small fishing vessel. All the way, she kissed his face, peppering his cheeks and lips with soft, repeated pecks, her eyes bright with genuine affection.

The boat rocked violently on the gentle waves, its hull creaking as Dageon moved inside her. Yimei’er’s cries mixed with the splash of water, and her voice held a raw joy, a freedom she’d never known. They made love all night, round after round, until the stars faded and the sky turned gray. By the time dawn broke, he had shot his seed into her a dozen times, each release thick and plentiful.

Finally, at ten o’clock the next morning, Dageon woke in his small fishing boat. The sun was high, baking the deck. He was alone in the cabin. Then he heard footsteps, and Yimei’er appeared on the dock, carrying a tray of food she’d brought from her yacht. She walked to the edge of his boat, leaned down, and kissed him softly on the forehead.

“Sun’s burning your lazy ass, sleepyhead,” she said, her face lit with a tender smile.

The radio crackled with Li Qing’s voice. “Emeer, listen to me. My boat needs some paperwork before it can go to sea. Can you wait maybe five more days?”

Emeer had her mouth full. She was straddling Park Dae-geun on the deck of her yacht, his cock deep in her throat, and she couldn’t stop. She pressed the talk button with her thumb and mumbled, “Mmm—mm—bwoo—no good.”

Li Qing sounded puzzled. “Huh? What are you eating?”

She froze. Right. She was sucking Park Dae-geun’s dick. She pulled back just enough to swallow and lied smoothly, “Oh, I’m eating a popsicle on my yacht. I can’t stop or it’ll melt. I’ll just talk while I eat.”

Li Qing bought it. “Oh, okay. Do you have enough supplies?”

Emeer lowered her mouth again and took him deep, the wet sounds of her sucking punctuating every word. “Mmm—yeah—schlip—uh—so big—oh, the supplies are big. I mean, the supplies are plenty.”

They talked for a while longer—about fuel, about the weather, about when he would arrive. Emeer kept up her side of the conversation while she worked, her tongue sliding along Park Dae-geun’s shaft, her hand gripping his thigh. Li Qing heard nothing suspicious, just the occasional muffled syllable and a strange rhythmic wetness he chalked up to the popsicle melting.

“Alright,” Li Qing said finally. “Sounds like you’ve got everything under control. I’ll see you in five days.”

“Okay,” Emeer managed, and then the channel went dead.

She pulled off with a pop and wiped her chin. Park Dae-geun laughed, his chest heaving. “A popsicle? That was rich.”

She slapped his arm, but she was grinning. “Shut up. He believed it, didn’t he?”

On the deserted island, the days that followed were a blur of salt and sun and skin. They had confessed their love on the beach the night before, under a sky full of stars, and now there was no holding back. They walked the shoreline hand in hand. Park Dae-geun sat on the sand, cracked open a coconut with a rock, drank the milk, then turned and took Emeer’s nipple into his mouth. She gasped and arched her back, letting him suckle while her fingers played lazily with his cock.

They fucked in the jungle, on a bed of fallen leaves. They fucked on the bow of her yacht, the ocean rocking beneath them. They showered together in the tiny onboard bathroom, soap sliding between their bodies. At night they kissed until their lips were raw.

“You’re impossible,” she whispered against his mouth. “You never stop.”

“You don’t want me to stop,” he said.

She didn’t argue.

When she put on a white one-piece bikini and walked out onto the deck, she struck a pose. “Well? How do I look?”

He crossed the deck in three strides, scooped her up in a princess carry, and spun her around. She screamed with laughter, her arms around his neck.

“I love it,” he said. “I love you.”

She buried her face in his shoulder. “I love you too.”

Five days later, Li Qing arrived with a fuel tanker. Emeer and Park Dae-geun stood on the beach to greet him, their body language casual, their faces relaxed. Nothing in their posture suggested what had happened. Emeer walked up to Li Qing and kissed his cheek. “Thank God you’re here.”

Park Dae-geun clapped him on the back. “I was starting to think I’d be a caveman for life, Brother Li. Thanks for coming—I can finally go home.”

Li Qing smiled, oblivious. “No problem at all. Let’s get you two back.”

The atmosphere was just as it had always been—friendly, professional, brotherly. No one would have guessed.

A month later, Li Qing and Emeer were married. The wedding united the Blue Dragon Gang and the Black Tortoise Gang, a symbol of generational friendship between the two families. The hall was decorated in red and gold, and Emeer looked radiant in her white bridal gown.

Park Dae-geun approached her during the reception. “Congratulations,” he said, his voice low. “And you look beautiful.”

She smiled, her eyes holding his for just a moment too long. “Thank you.”

That night, as husband and wife, Li Qing should have taken Emeer home. But an urgent issue came up at the Black Tortoise Gang’s branch office, and he had no choice but to ask his most trusted friend.

“Park Dae-geun, can you drive Emeer home for me? I’ll be late.”

Park Dae-geun nodded. “Of course, Brother Li.”

So he drove her. She sat in the back seat in her wedding dress, the white fabric pooling around her. The road was empty, winding through desolate countryside. Park Dae-geun checked the rearview mirror, saw no headlights, and turned the wheel sharply onto a dirt path leading into a field of reeds.

The car bounced over the uneven ground and stopped, hidden from the road.

He got out, opened her door, and pulled her into his arms. The kiss was hungry, desperate. The wedding dress lifted around her hips as he pushed her back onto the seat.

“You look amazing in this dress,” he breathed. “Incredible.”

She wrapped her legs around him. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

The car rocked for an hour before he drove her home.

Days later, Emeer and Li Qing were seen at a coffee shop in the city, laughing together, holding hands. They looked the picture of a happy couple. No one knew about the secret that lived in the spaces between her loyalties.

One evening, Emeer dressed in a red gown with a slit that ran high up her thigh, a daring cut that revealed the curve of her breast from the side and the black lace of her garter belt. She wore her hair loose, flowing over her shoulders.

Li Qing looked up from his phone. “That’s very … formal. Where are you going?”

“Oh, the Damen Gang is having their fortieth anniversary celebration tonight,” she said, smoothing the fabric. “I promised to attend.”

“Alright,” he said, smiling. “Be careful.”

He was trusting, simple. She kissed his forehead and left.

In a secret hall beneath the Wuge Glass Five-Star Hotel, Park Dae-geun and Emeer met. They fell into each other’s arms, the red gown sliding off her shoulders, her heels kicked aside. They made love for five hours straight, the sheets wet with sweat.

“Don’t leave yet,” she whispered, her nails digging into his back.

He laughed, breathless. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to fuck you all night.”

“That’s more like it.”

Her phone rang. She picked it up, her voice shifting instantly to the commanding tone of a gang boss. “Hello? Ah, Second Sister. What’s wrong? No one picked you up at the dock?”

Park Dae-geun whispered into her ear, “I can send my second brother, Park Jeong-seok. What’s your sister’s name?”

“Yike’er,” she said, then spoke into the phone, “Wait, someone will come for you.”

He made a quick call, gave the instructions, and then turned back to her. The phone was forgotten.

Emeer and Park Dae-geun’s affair remained a secret—unseen by Park Jeong-seok, who saw only normal gang relationships, and unknown to Yike’er, who thought her sister’s marriage to Li Qing was happy and pure.

So ends their story for now. The next chapter belongs to Yike’er, Lee Tian, and Park Jeong-seok—but that will have to wait.

The salt-laden wind whipped across the pier as Park Jeong-seok pulled his black sedan to a stop near the loading zone. He killed the engine and sat for a moment, staring at the grey sea through the windshield. The morning light was thin, struggling through a blanket of clouds that hung low over the East Sea. He checked his watch—the ferry from the mainland wasn't due for another forty minutes. Plenty of time.

His phone buzzed against the leather of the passenger seat. He picked it up, saw the caller ID: one of his lower-tier soldiers, Kim Do-yoon.

"What?" Jeong-seok answered, his voice flat.

"Hyung-nim, I found her. The one I told you about last week. The whore from the Blue Moon—she's fresh, early twenties, great tits. I talked to her madam and arranged a meet. You want to see her tonight?"

Jeong-seok rubbed his chin. His mind was supposed to be on the pickup. The Dragon Claw delegation, second-in-command Yi Ke'er, sister of Yi Meier herself. His brother Park Dae-geun had been explicit: *Treat her like royalty. Don't fuck this up.*

But the itch was there, low in his gut. "I'm busy today. I'm at the dock picking someone up for hyung."

"Eh, that's perfect," Do-yoon said, his voice brightening. "She's at the dock right now. Her madam sent her to buy fish for dinner. You could swing by, take a look. If you like her, I'll have her wait at your villa."

Jeong-seok grinned despite himself. "You're a resourceful little bastard, aren't you?"

"I try, hyung-nim."

He leaned back, considering. The boat from the mainland was still out of sight. A quick inspection wouldn't hurt. If the girl was pretty, he'd have her go to the Second Division villa—his private mansion, really—and wait for him. "All right. Where is she?"

"Near the fish market, by the big yellow crane. She's wearing a red dress, hard to miss."

Jeong-seok ended the call, adjusted his crotch, and stepped out of the car. He was a short man, only 158 centimeters, but stocky and powerful, his muscles bulging under a tight black shirt. His face was plain, almost ugly, with a flat nose and narrow eyes that didn't do him any favors. But he didn't care about looks. He had other assets.

He walked toward the fish market, weaving between stacks of plastic crates and puddles of seawater. The smell of fresh catch and brine filled his nostrils. He spotted the yellow crane up ahead, its arm jutting over the water.

And then he saw her.

She wasn't wearing a red dress. She was wearing a black qipao, high-cut, the slit climbing nearly to her hip. Her legs were long and encased in sheer black stockings that shimmered in the gray light. The dress was cut low at the chest, a north-south opening that revealed the deep valley between two enormous breasts. The fabric strained, as if it might tear at any moment. Her hair was long, jet-black, straight as a blade, falling to her waist. Her face was striking—sharp cheekbones, full crimson lips, and eyes that burned with a fierce, focused intensity. She was tall, at least 176 centimeters, and she stood with the coiled stillness of a predator.

Jeong-seok's mouth went dry. *This is the whore? Kim Do-yoon outdid himself.*

He straightened his shirt and walked up to her, his confidence swelling. She turned her gaze on him, and for a moment, he felt a chill run down his spine. Those eyes were too sharp, too knowing. But his desire overrode his caution.

She opened her mouth to speak. "You're here. I—"

Jeong-seok raised a finger and pressed it gently to her lips, silencing her. "I know you're waiting for me. I've been waiting for you too." He smiled, showing his teeth. "But I've got a job to do first. So here's the plan." He reached into his jacket, pulled out a key, and slipped it into the small handbag she carried. "This is the address of the Second Division villa. It's my personal place. Go there, make yourself comfortable. I suggest you take a bath. I'll be there as soon as I'm done."

He slid his arm around her shoulder, his fingers gripping the smooth fabric of the qipao. She stiffened. Her eyes narrowed, and something dark flickered behind them. He didn't notice. His hand slid down, palm landing squarely on the curve of her breast. He squeezed.

Her reaction was instantaneous.

Her hand shot up and grabbed his wrist, twisting it with brutal precision. A loud *CRACK* rang out as the joint dislocated. Jeong-seok screamed. He dropped to his knees, clutching his arm, his face twisted in agony.

"Ah! Fuck! That hurts! What the hell—" He looked up at her, gasping. "Even if you don't want to provide service, you don't have to break my arm!"

She stared down at him, her face cold as granite. "I am Yi Ke'er of the Dragon Claw Society. I have never been treated with such disrespect in my life. I should leave you with more than just a sprained wrist as a lesson."

Jeong-seok's blood froze. The pain receded, replaced by a wave of cold dread. "Yi Ke'er? The second-in-command? Sister of Yi Meier?" He scrambled to his feet, bowing low. "I'm so sorry. I mistook you for someone else. My name is Park Jeong-seok, acting boss of the Daemun Faction, brother of Park Dae-geun. I was sent to receive you. Please, forgive my rudeness."

Yi Ke'er let out a slow breath, then relaxed her stance. "So you're the contact my sister mentioned."

"Yes, miss. I am." He straightened his clothing, trying to regain some dignity. "That was a misunderstanding. I am actually a very proper man. I hope you won't judge my organization based on this unfortunate incident."

At that moment, Kim Do-yoon came jogging around a stack of crates, dragging a woman by the arm. She was gaudily dressed, her face caked with cheap makeup, a red dress clinging to her bony frame. She reeked of cheap perfume.

"Hyung-nim!" Do-yoon called out, puffing. "I'm sorry, I couldn't find her at first. She didn't know where the dock was. But I brought her myself." He grinned, shoving the woman forward. "What do you think? Pretty good, right? Want me to take her back to your villa?"

Jeong-seok wanted the ground to swallow him whole. He covered his face with his good hand, peering through his fingers at Yi Ke'er.

She smiled, a slow, dangerous curve of her lips. "So this is the kind of 'proper man' you are?" She turned and walked toward his car, her heels clicking on the concrete. "Let's go. Take me to the private seaside villa that the Dragon Claw Society has prepared for me."

Jeong-seok bowed his head. "Yes, ma'am." He shot a murderous glare at Kim Do-yoon, who shrank back, realizing his mistake. The cheap prostitute blinked, confused.

In the car, the silence was thick enough to cut. Jeong-seok drove with his left hand, his right arm throbbing. He cleared his throat.

"Miss Yi, about earlier—the misunderstanding. I want you to know that the Daemun Faction holds the Dragon Claw Society in the highest regard. My brother, Park Dae-geun, has spoken very highly of your sister. I never meant to imply any disrespect."

Yi Ke'er gazed out the window, watching the industrial buildings slide by. "Actions speak louder than apologies, Mr. Park."

"I understand. And I will do everything in my power to make amends. Please, let me arrange a formal dinner. A gesture of goodwill."

She said nothing.

Jeong-seok tightened his grip on the steering wheel. *Fucking Kim Do-yoon,* he thought. *I'll have him cleaning toilets with his tongue for a month.*

But for now, he had to focus on damage control. He had to salvage the reputation of his faction, and more importantly, he had to keep this from reaching his brother's ears. If Dae-geun found out that he'd groped a high-ranking member of the Dragon Claw Society and then mistaken her for a prostitute in front of her face… he shuddered to think of the consequences.

The seaside villa came into view, a sleek modern structure of glass and white stone perched on the edge of a cliff. Waves crashed below. Jeong-seok pulled into the driveway and killed the engine.

"We're here, Miss Yi."

She opened the door and stepped out without a word. He watched her walk toward the entrance, her silhouette stark against the pale sky.

Then she paused, turned, and looked back at him. "I'll remember your apology, Mr. Park. But I'll also remember your hand." She vanished inside.

Jeong-seok sat in the car for a long moment, breathing through his teeth. He pressed his forehead against the steering wheel.

*What a fucking day.*

Three days had passed since the incident at the villa, and Park Jingzhuo found himself standing at the entrance of the Xuanwu Gang's second substation on the island. The building was a modest two-story structure, nestled among palm trees and overgrown hibiscus bushes, its faded yellow paint peeling in the salt-laden air. He adjusted his jacket and stepped inside, the scent of stale cigarettes and old wood greeting him.

"Li Tian," Park called out, his voice echoing through the narrow hallway. "Second-in-command Li Tian, are you in?"

A figure emerged from a side room—a man of average height, perhaps 170 centimeters, with a lean build that bordered on thin. His face held a youthful quality despite the faint shadows under his eyes, and he wore a simple black T-shirt that hung loosely on his frame. This was Li Tian, the second son of the second brother of Li Qing, one of the many sons of the Xuanwu Gang's former boss.

"Park Jingzhuo," Li Tian said, a hint of surprise in his voice. "Didn't expect a visit from the second boss of Dàmén Gang."

Park grinned and clasped his hands behind his back. "Li Tian, you've been on the island a week now. Getting used to the place? Seems like you and I are in the same boat—each of us stuck alone, guarding our own substations."

Li Tian's lips curled into a faint smile. "Ah, you're wrong there. It's two people now, you know. My fiancée—the one I'm engaged to—she's come as well."

Park's eyes widened. "Oh? Really now? Which woman managed to capture the heart of Li Tian, the second boss of the Xuanwu Gang? She must be something special."

Footsteps sounded from the staircase, light and quick, accompanied by a cheerful voice. "Darling, look what I found! A cat! Isn't it adorable?"

The woman who descended wore a fitted OL uniform—a white blouse tucked into a pencil skirt that hugged her curves. Her face was bright with a sweet, innocent smile as she cradled a small gray kitten in her arms. But the moment her eyes landed on Park Jingzhuo, that smile vanished, replaced by a cold, superior glare. The kitten mewed, but she paid it no attention.

It was Yi Keli.

"Well, well," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "If it isn't the second boss of Dàmén Gang, Park Jingzhuo. Fancy meeting you here."

Li Tian looked between them, confusion flickering across his features. "Oh, you two know each other?"

Yi Keli's lips twisted into a mocking grin. "I suppose you could say that. And I think we can skip the tour of your substation, Li Tian. I already know exactly where Dàmén Gang's second substation is. Isn't that right, Mr. Park?"

Park forced a laugh, but his eyes darted away, scanning the walls as if the peeling paint held the secrets to escape. "I wouldn't know what you're talking about."

Li Tian's brow furrowed. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Yi Keli said, her tone light and dismissive. "Just a trivial matter. Nothing worth mentioning."

Li Tian hesitated, then nodded. If Yi Keli said it was nothing, he would trust her. He had learned that pressing matters only led to unnecessary arguments.

Park seized the opportunity. "Well, I'll be going. Places to be, people to see." He turned and strode toward the door, his footsteps echoing in the quiet hall.

As he passed through the doorway, he glanced back. Yi Keli and Li Tian were kissing each other on the cheek, their affection intimate and casual. Park's stomach churned with irritation. He stuck out his tongue, mocking her from a distance, and made a loud raspberry sound.

"Stupid woman," he muttered, just loud enough for her to hear. "Nyah nyah nyah."

Yi Keli's eyes flashed with anger. She opened her mouth to retort, but only a frustrated sigh escaped her lips. She let out a sharp, defiant humph and turned away, her shoulders tense. Li Tian watched the exchange with a resigned shake of his head, unsure of the history between these two but knowing better than to intervene.

Park vanished around the corner, his footsteps fading into the afternoon heat.

Inside the substation, Yi Keli and Li Tian retreated to their private room. The moment the door clicked shut, Yi Keli transformed. She pressed herself against Li Tian, her body soft and pliant, her lips seeking his with a desperate urgency. She kissed him again and again, trying to ignite a fire within him. Her hands moved to his belt, unfastening it with practiced ease.

"Let me take care of you," she whispered, her voice husky.

She pulled down his pants and crouched before him. Her mouth closed around his manhood, but even as she worked, she noted its size—a modest nine centimeters when erect. It didn't matter to her. She shifted, pressing her massive breasts against his groin, burying the small length entirely within her cleavage. The sight of her soft flesh enveloping him brought a flush to her cheeks.

They moved to the bed, her body writhing atop his, her hips rocking with wild abandon. She moaned, her nails digging into his shoulders, urging him on. But within six minutes, Li Tian reached his peak. His release was weak—a thin, sparse spurt that barely traveled, lacking the force needed to reach deep inside her. The sperm was watery, the sperm count low, the motility barely existing. If she wanted to conceive, they would need many, many attempts.

Li Tian collapsed onto the sheets, his chest heaving, his body limp as if drained of all energy. He needed a long rest to recover.

Yi Keli gently stroked his cheek, her voice tender. "You did well. That was enough. Next time, we'll try harder." She leaned in and kissed his forehead, then his cheek, each kiss filled with affection and reassurance.

Two days later, Yi Keli stood before the gate of Dàmén Gang's second substation—a sprawling villa surrounded by unkempt gardens and rusting wrought iron. She knocked, and when Park Jingzhuo opened the door, his face soured instantly.

"Wow," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "What wind blew you here? This wind is anything but good." He ground his teeth, his jaw tight.

Yi Keli remained composed, her posture confident, a slight smile playing on her lips. "I just wanted to see what the savage territory of Boss Park looks like. That's all."

Park crossed his arms. "You came alone? Where's your fiancé, Li Tian?"

"He has matters to attend to," she replied smoothly. "I'll just take a quick look around and leave."

Park snorted. "Excuse me. I need to use the restroom." He slipped into the bathroom and locked the door, pulling out his phone. He dialed his older brother, Park Dagen.

"Hey, big brother," Park said, his voice low and urgent. "What are you thinking? I've got a troublesome woman on my hands, you know that?"

On the other end of the line, Park Dagen was seated in his own villa, his pants down, while Yi Meier knelt before him, her mouth working diligently on his massive shaft. He grunted, trying to keep his voice steady. "Ah—comfortable—brother, don't let it get to you. Think of this as a trial. I'm ordering you, as your older brother, to control your temper. Ooh-ooh~"

Park frowned at the strange sounds in the background. "What's with those weird noises? Are you working out or something?"

Park Dagen lied smoothly, "Uh, yeah, just my daily muscle training. Ooh-ooh-ooh—I'm busy now, I have to hang up." He ended the call, his breath ragged as Yi Meier continued her work.

Park shook his head, buying the lie. "That guy has weird habits. Whatever."

Meanwhile, in the living room, Yi Keli pulled out her own phone and dialed her older sister, Yi Meier.

"Hey, dear sister," Yi Keli said, her voice sweet. "How are you and Li Qing doing? Congratulations on your marriage, by the way. Anyway, I ran into Park Jingzhuo a few days ago. That guy makes me so angry. He did something terrible to me. Ugh, I hate him. He's disgusting."

On the other end, Yi Meier was still on her knees, her mouth full of Park Dagen's erection. She pulled away briefly, a wet sound escaping her lips. "Mmm—mmm—pwah! My dear sister, you're an adult now. You should learn how to judge people without being so one-sided. Mmm—so big!"

Yi Keli blinked. "So big? What's big?"

Yi Meier scrambled for an excuse. "Nothing—I'm eating a popsicle. It's a bit—mmm—pwah! Big! This popsicle is really big!"

Yi Keli accepted the explanation without question. "Oh, okay. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know. Talk to you later." She hung up, unaware of her sister's true activities.

Outside, the afternoon sun beat down on the island, casting long shadows across the villa. Inside, the tension between Park Jingzhuo and Yi Keli simmered, a quiet war waiting to erupt.

Yiko'er continued her tour of Park Jeong-seok's villa, her heels clicking against the polished marble floors as she moved from room to room. The place was impressive, she had to admit—high ceilings, expensive art on the walls, a sweeping staircase that looked like it belonged in a magazine. But when she pushed open the door to the master bedroom, she stopped dead in her tracks.

The room was a disaster.

Clothes were strewn across the floor like a tornado had swept through a department store. Empty instant noodle cups sat on the nightstand, some with chopsticks still sticking out. The bedsheets were twisted into a tangled mess, half-hanging off the mattress. A gaming controller lay upside down on the pillow. There were magazines scattered on the desk, a few empty beer bottles lined up on the windowsill like trophies.

Yiko'er stood in the doorway, one hand on her hip, and let out a long, slow sigh. Her expression shifted from surprise to amusement, then settled into something between pity and mockery.

"So this is how the boss of a major gang lives," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I was expecting something more... organized. Maybe a little less like a college dorm after finals week."

Park Jeong-seok followed her into the room, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I've been busy. I didn't have time to clean."

"Busy," Yiko'er repeated, bending down to pick up a crumpled shirt from the floor. She held it up between two fingers like it was contaminated. "Busy doing what exactly? Plotting gang wars with instant noodles as your fuel?"

"I told you, I've been busy."

Yiko'er shook her head and began gathering the scattered clothes. She tossed them onto the bed in a pile, then started straightening the desk, stacking papers into neat piles. "I'll help you this once. Just this once. Don't expect a second time. Honestly, you should get your girlfriend or your wife to clean up after you. Oh wait—" she paused, looking over her shoulder with a sly grin. "Judging by the state of you, I doubt any woman would willingly step within ten feet of this disaster zone. That's why you had your underlings call a prostitute for you, isn't it?"

Park Jeong-seok's face flushed. He dropped onto the sofa in the corner of the room, crossing his arms defensively. "Can we please not bring that up again?"

"Why not?" Yiko'er continued, pulling open the curtains to let in some light. "It's the most interesting thing I've learned about you all day. The big scary gang boss, reduced to paying for company. It's almost sad."

"Fine, fine, I'm begging you," Park Jeong-seok said, his voice taking on a whining edge. "I was wrong, okay? That time I mistook you for someone else. It was a genuine mistake."

Yiko'er turned to face him, a feather duster in her hand. "Oh, I'm not angry about it. How could I be angry at someone so pitiful? A lonely, single man who can only satisfy his urges through hired companions."

"We didn't actually do anything," Park Jeong-seok muttered, looking away.

Yiko'er raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"I said we didn't do anything." His voice grew quieter, almost inaudible. "That whole thing was my first time trying. And it failed. I'm actually still..."

"Still what?" Yiko'er prompted, genuinely curious now.

Park Jeong-seok let out an exasperated groan, burying his face in his hands. "I'm still a virgin, alright! If I hadn't mistaken you for someone else, I might have actually gotten somewhere. But I didn't. So there. Go ahead and laugh. I know it's funny. It's hilarious, isn't it?"

Yiko'er stopped cleaning. She looked at him, her expression softening into something unreadable. For a long moment, she said nothing.

Then she spoke, her voice calm and serious. "No. I won't laugh at you. To be honest, Mr. Park, I don't think it's a bad thing for a man to remain a virgin until he finds true love. I wouldn't mock anyone for that."

Park Jeong-seok looked up, surprised. There was a flicker of respect in his eyes. He studied her—this tall, elegant woman who could command a room with her presence, who could make him feel small and foolish one moment and then show him unexpected kindness the next. He thought to himself: *No wonder she's the number two of the Blue Dragon Gang. She has real class.*

But then Yiko'er's lips curled into a playful smirk. "That being said," she added, "I don't think you'll find true love in your lifetime. And it would be wrong of me to mock a poor, hopeless creature like you. I do have some decency."

Park Jeong-seok's newfound respect evaporated instantly. His face darkened. "You—"

"Keep cleaning," Yiko'er said, waving the feather duster at him. "Or do you want me to leave it half-done?"

He grumbled something under his breath but stayed seated on the sofa, watching her work. He told himself he was just resting, that he'd clean up later, that his legs were tired. But the truth was different.

He couldn't stop watching her.

There was something about the way she moved. She was thorough, methodical—wiping down surfaces, folding clothes, organizing the chaos into order. She didn't rush; she took her time, her focus absolute. And when she bent over to pick up something from the floor, Park Jeong-seok's breath caught in his throat.

Her black hair, long and straight and impossibly glossy, cascaded down her back like a waterfall of ink. She was tall—176 centimeters, he guessed—with a figure that seemed almost sculpted. And when she leaned forward, the loose neckline of her top gaped slightly, revealing a glimpse of her cleavage. Pale and smooth, the deep valley between her breasts seemed to pull his gaze downward like gravity.

*She's stunning,* he thought, the words escaping his lips before he could stop them. "So beautiful..."

Yiko'er straightened up and turned to him, a questioning look on her face. "Did you say something?"

Park Jeong-seok snapped out of his trance, waving his hands dismissively. "Nothing, nothing. I talk to myself sometimes. Don't mind me."

She shrugged and went back to her cleaning.

Thirty minutes later, the room was spotless. The bed was made, the floor was clear, the trash was bagged, and the windows were open, letting in a fresh breeze. Yiko'er stood in the center of the room, dusting off her hands, looking satisfied with her work.

"Well, that's done. I'll be going now."

Park Jeong-seok walked her to the front door. He hesitated at the threshold, struggling to find the right words. "Miss Yiko'er," he began, "I really hope that our previous misunderstanding won't damage the relationship between the Big Gate Gang and the Blue Dragon Gang. My older brother specifically told me to maintain friendly relations with you. For the sake of both our organizations, I hope you can—"

Yiko'er turned around, cutting him off with a gesture. The evening light caught her face, softening her features. "How about you tell me what *you* think?" she asked. "Not what your brother said, not what the gang expects. What do *you* want? Can you personally maintain a friendly relationship with me? More importantly, do you *want* to?"

Park Jeong-seok fell silent. He looked down at his feet, then back up at her. His mouth opened, closed, opened again.

And then he spoke.

"Actually... I think you're really attractive. I think I might have a little bit of a crush on you. Would you be willing to become my—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Yiko'er interrupted, her eyes widening. "Stop right there. I think you've misunderstood something. I came to your house today to be polite, to show goodwill. That's all. I don't have any romantic interest in you."

"That's fine," Park Jeong-seok pressed on, his voice gaining urgency. "I can wait. I'll wait until you're ready."

"That's even more impossible," Yiko'er said, her tone firm. "Don't wait. You know why." She placed a hand on her chest. "I'm taken. I have a fiancé. I thought you knew. My fiancé is Lee Tian. The same Lee Tian who used to hang out with you all the time. You two were good friends. My God, he never told you about me?"

The color drained from Park Jeong-seok's face. His jaw went slack. "Lee Tian... your fiancé is Lee Tian?"

"Yes. Lee Tian. My fiancé. The man I'm going to marry."

Park Jeong-seok's brain seemed to short-circuit. He stared at her, his mouth moving wordlessly. Then, without thinking, he blurted out, "I was just confessing to my brother's woman. I was about to ask her to come inside with me. To make love. To have ten kids. Maybe more."

The words hung in the air like smoke.

Yiko'er went very still.

She didn't say anything for a long moment. She just looked at him, her expression unreadable. Then, without warning, she stepped forward and slapped him across the face.

*PAK.*

The sound echoed through the courtyard. A bright red handprint bloomed on Park Jeong-seok's cheek.

He didn't move. He just stood there, absorbing the sting.

"I deserved that," he said quietly.

Yiko'er was already walking away, her heels clicking against the pavement. But she stopped after a few steps and turned her head slightly.

"Yeah, you did. Dreaming about me like that, saying those things out loud. You definitely deserved that." She paused. "But at least you're honest. Do you have anything else to say?"

Park Jeong-seok bowed deeply, holding the position. "Since Miss Yiko'er and I have no romantic fate, I'd like to focus on the friendship between our gangs. And on my personal admiration for you."

Yiko'er smiled. It was a confident smile, full of playful pride. "Then you'd better admire me with everything you've got. I'm looking forward to seeing what you can do."

She turned away, humming a cheerful tune as she walked down the path. The melody drifted back to him, light and carefree.

Park Jeong-seok stayed at the door, watching her go, his hand pressed to his burning cheek.

*To be continued.*

The warehouse loomed ahead, a rusted hulk of corrugated steel and broken windows. Li Tian killed the engine and sat for a moment, scanning the perimeter through the windshield. Park Jingseok checked his pistol one last time, then slid it into his waistband.

“You sure about this?” Li Tian asked.

Park shrugged. “The intel says the Bamboo Group has been cooking something here. If we find it, we burn it. They lose money, they lose face.”

Behind them, Yi Ke’er stretched in the back seat. “And what am I supposed to do? Sit here and wait?”

“Wait and watch,” Li Tian said. “If we don’t come out in thirty minutes, call for backup. Otherwise, stay low.”

Yi Ke’er frowned but nodded. Li Tian and Park slipped out of the car, moving silently toward the dimly lit entrance. The door hung half-open, and the interior smelled of chemicals and dust. Rows of metal tables stood empty. Vats and hoses lay abandoned. The place had been cleared out.

“Damn it,” Park muttered. “They’ve already moved everything.”

Li Tian swept his flashlight across the floor. “Looks like we missed them by a day. Maybe two.”

They moved deeper into the warehouse, checking every corner. Nothing. Then a metallic clatter echoed from the far end. Two men stepped out from behind a stack of barrels, smirking.

“Oh, look,” one said. “Lost little puppies.”

Before Li Tian or Park could react, the thugs pressed a button on small canisters in their hands. A cloud of greenish gas burst forth, filling the space. Li Tian tried to hold his breath, but it was too late. The world spun, and his knees buckled. Park fell beside him, eyes rolling back.

The last thing Li Tian saw was the thugs approaching with a bottle of murky liquid.

Yi Ke’er waited ten minutes in the car. Her fingers tapped the steering wheel. Another five minutes. Then ten more. Something felt wrong. She grabbed her pistol and slipped out, following the path her companions had taken.

Inside the warehouse, she found them unconscious on the floor—and two thugs standing over them. One held an empty bottle. Both men looked up at her with surprise.

“Hey, another one—”

Yi Ke’er moved fast. She pistol-whipped the first thug across the temple, dropping him instantly. The second tried to run, but she swept his legs, slammed him onto the ground, and pressed her knee into his back. She wrenched his arms behind him, locking his wrists.

“Talk,” she snarled. “What did you give them?”

The thug groaned. “It’s… it’s a special drug. We found it last year. If a man takes it, his cock goes hard and won’t stop. After two hours, it bursts. They die. Unless it goes soft.”

“Bullshit,” Yi Ke’er said. “No such thing. How did they pass out?”

“The gas. It puts them under for four hours. I swear, it’s the truth.”

Yi Ke’er glanced at the motionless forms of Li Tian and Park. Her grip tightened on the thug’s arm. Just then, the thug shouted: “Defense system—activate!”

A speaker crackled. A mechanical whir sounded from above. A panel in the ceiling slid open, and a robotic arm descended—a gun mounted on its end. It swiveled toward Yi Ke’er.

She dove behind a metal column as the first shot rang out, the bullet sparking off the floor. The second shot hit the downed thug—the one she’d knocked out. He jerked and went still. The robotic arm tracked left, looking for Yi Ke’er.

The thug she had pinned tried to scramble away. The arm followed his movement. A third shot rang out. The thug’s body hit the ground, blood pooling beneath him.

Then the arm twitched, sparked, and went limp. Malfunction.

Yi Ke’er stayed low for a full minute before rising. She checked the bodies. Both dead from stray shots. Li Tian and Park lay out of the arm’s firing arc, unharmed but deeply unconscious.

She dragged them one by one to the car. It was hard work, but she managed. As she pulled away from the warehouse, the fuel gauge flickered and dipped toward empty.

“Not now,” she muttered.

She drove until the engine sputtered and died near a small wooded area. Rolling the car into the trees for cover, she killed the lights. They were stranded.

She checked on the two men in the back seat. Both were still out. But she noticed something wrong: tents in their pants. Obvious erections straining against fabric.

Reality settled in. The thug’s words had been true.

Yi Ke’er’s mind raced. Soft. They have to get soft. But they’re out for four hours. And they have less than two hours left now.

There was no choice. She unbuckled their belts, pulled down their pants.

Li Tian’s cock was modest—nine centimeters, but harder and thicker than she’d ever seen it. And then there was Park Jingseok. Twenty-eight centimeters of thick, veined iron. The shaft pulsed with a visible heartbeat, and a pungent, musky odor filled the car. Yi Ke’er recoiled.

How can a man be that big?

She took a breath. Then she placed one hand on Li Tian’s shaft, another on Park’s. She began to stroke, alternating rhythm, hoping to coax them to release and soften.

Li Tian came in under three minutes. A weak, milky spurt. She felt a flash of disappointment. But Park’s erection only seemed to grow harder. She worked him for forty minutes—her wrists ached, her palms burned. Nothing.

She was panicking. Less than an hour left.

Then Park stirred. His lips moved. “Yi Ke’er… you little kitten. Give me a breast job.”

She froze. He was still unconscious—talking in his sleep. The gas had him dreaming. He was saying things, commands, as if she were a toy in his fantasy.

She slapped him across the face. He didn’t wake, just grunted, the red mark blooming on his cheek.

She looked at Li Tian. Still out. No chance he’d wake in time to see what she had to do.

She unbuttoned her shirt, unclasped her bra. Her breasts—enormous, pale, impossibly full—fell free. She exhaled. Then she lowered herself over Park’s standing shaft.

The head touched the valley of her cleavage. She pressed. The girth was so thick it forced her breasts apart, the whole length rising between them. She leaned forward until the tip reached her lips. She could taste him, smell the heat. She started to move, sliding her chest up and down.

Suddenly, Park sat bolt upright. His eyes were half-lidded, unfocused. Not awake. Dreaming.

“Answer me, Yi Ke’er,” he said, his voice thick with sleep. “Do you like my big cock?”

She held her breath. If she didn’t play along, would he cycle deeper into the dream? She had to keep the charade going. “Yes. I like it.”

“Then smile. Kiss the head.”

She forced a smile, leaned in, and pressed her lips to the purple crown peeking through her cleavage. She kept moving, kissing, sucking when it reached her mouth.

“Suck it,” he ordered. “Take it in your mouth. I’m about to come.”

She feared the mess on her clothes. She took it into her mouth just in time. A thick, hot torrent erupted—so much, so long. She swallowed, almost gagged, chewed through the viscous mass, and forced it down.

Park collapsed back onto the seat, unconscious again, his shaft finally softening.

Yi Ke’er wiped her mouth, breathing hard. She looked at Li Tian. Still out. She let out a shaky breath. Good. He didn’t see anything.

Two hours later, she found a spare gas can in the trunk. She filled the tank and drove back toward the city.

In the back, Li Tian groaned awake. He rubbed his head. “What happened?”

“Warehouse ambush. Gas. I got you out,” Yi Ke’er said.

Park woke next. He touched his cheek, wincing. “Why does my face hurt?”

Yi Ke’er said nothing.

“How are you feeling?” she asked Li Tian.

“Drained. Like someone… sucked the life out of my dick,” he muttered.

“And you?” she asked Park.

He thought. “I feel energetic. Like I had a good dream. A very good dream about you, Yi Ke’er.”

She snapped: “Don’t bother remembering it.”

Park blinked, confused. But he knew better than to press. He stayed quiet.

And the matter was never spoken of again.

A week had passed since the incident at the warehouse, and Park Jeongseok had settled back into the routine of running his operations from the branch villa. The morning sun filtered through the curtains as he prepped a live octopus for a late breakfast—he had a sudden craving for grilled tentacles, crispy and charred.

The doorbell rang.

He wiped his hands on a towel and padded to the front door, still holding the writhing octopus in one gloved hand. "Who's this early?" he muttered, pulling the door open.

Yi Ker stood on the step, dressed in a crisp white office outfit—blouse, pencil skirt, heels. She held a manila envelope. "Lee Tian had to go out of town for three days. He asked me to deliver this document to you personally."

Jeongseok blinked, his brain still half-wrapped in thoughts of marinade and grill heat. "Uh, thanks. I wasn't expecting—"

The octopus, agitated by the sudden movement, twisted violently in his grip. Its beak opened and shot a jet of black ink straight at Yi Ker's pristine white blouse.

The dark liquid splattered across her chest, dripping down onto her skirt. Her face went rigid.

"How could you? It's all over me!" She stared at the mess, then at him. "I should have known. Every time I run into you, something goes wrong."

Jeongseok winced. "I'm really sorry. Come in, sit down. Let me get you something to clean up." He gestured toward the living room sofa, already turning toward the kitchen. "Just take a seat. I'll be right back."

She sighed heavily but stepped inside, settling onto the couch with arms crossed.

He hurried into the kitchen, quickly severed the octopus's head from its body, cleaned the ink sac, sliced the tentacles into bite-sized rings, and arranged them on a platter. By the time he finished washing his hands and returned to the living room, the sofa was empty.

"She left already?" He scanned the room. Nothing. His phone buzzed—a routine message from one of his lieutenants. He glanced at it and dismissed it.

Jeongseok remembered he hadn't showered in over a day. He'd been up late coordinating logistics. Since the branch villa was empty—no staff, no guests—he didn't bother with formality. He stripped off his pants and boxers right there in the living room, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around his waist. He walked through the back hallway to the private artificial hot spring the villa boasted, a luxury he rarely indulged in.

He slid the door open. Steam billowed out. And then a shriek cut through the silence.

"What are you doing? I'm in here!"

Yi Ker sat submerged up to her neck, her arms instinctively crossing over her chest. The water sloshed as she scrambled to grab a long bath towel from a nearby bench. She wrapped it around herself, but her breasts were too large—the fabric barely covered her nipples, leaving a curved line of areola visible at the edges.

Jeongseok froze, his back already turning, face pressing against the wooden wall. "I didn't know you were still here! I thought you left."

"I said I was sitting down to cool off! My apartment is being renovated—the bathroom is out of commission! I needed somewhere to wash!" She clutched the towel tighter. "Get out! Now!"

He stumbled backward, reaching for the door handle. But before he could escape, the roar of an engine sounded outside. Tires screeched. A black sedan skidded to a halt behind the villa's perimeter fence.

Two men jumped out, both holding handguns. They aimed through the gaps in the wooden fence slats.

A bullet cracked past Jeongseok's head, embedding in the doorframe.

Yi Ker moved before he could react. She dove sideways, rolling behind a stone basin as another round pinged off the tile floor. Her towel slipped but she grabbed it, twisting it around her body.

Jeongseok didn't have time to dress. He ripped the towel off the hook—the same one he'd been wearing—and ran out the side door, bare-assed except for that single wrap. He leaped into his SUV parked in the garage, cranked the engine, and floored it straight through the flimsy wooden fence surrounding the hot spring.

Wood splintered. The car skidded to a stop beside Yi Ker.

"Get in!"

She didn't hesitate. She jumped into the passenger seat—but there was no time to slide over properly. The assassins were already running toward them. She ended up straddling his thighs, her towel-wrapped body pressed against his bare chest.

"Move over!" he grunted, trying to reach the steering wheel.

"No time." She grabbed the wheel with both hands. "I drive better than you anyway. Let me."

Before he could argue, she slammed her foot onto the accelerator. The SUV lurched forward, tires spitting gravel.

The black sedan tore after them, bullets pinging off the rear bumper.

Yi Ker yanked the wheel left, then right, weaving through narrow alleyways. Jeongseok fumbled for the seatbelt. Since she was sitting on his lap, the belt had to go around both of them. He clicked it into place, cinching it tight.

The road ahead dipped into a sharp speed bump. The SUV hit it hard. The jolt slammed Yi Ker downward, pressing her against his groin.

He felt it.

His hand, thrown off balance, landed squarely on her chest. The towel shifted. His palm cupped her bare breast—full, heavy, slick with steam and sweat.

"Let go! Don't touch me there!"

He yanked his hand away. "Sorry! It was an accident!"

But as the car bounced over another bump, he felt something else. His cock, already half-hard from the adrenaline and friction, pressed against the damp fabric between her thighs. Through the thin towel, he could feel the heat of her. The tip nudged against her entrance.

"Ah—" she gasped, her grip on the wheel tightening.

He tried to shift, to pull back, but the seatbelt held them together. Each bump, each turn, forced him deeper. The towel was no barrier. Her folds parted, and his shaft slid inside, inch by inch, as she drove.

"Ahhn... ngh..." A soft, reluctant moan escaped her lips.

They hit another speed bump. The impact drove him fully into her. She arched, her back pressing against his chest.

"I can't... you're..." She bit her lip, fighting the sensation.

The black sedan was still behind them, gaining. The road ahead ended at a junction—and beyond that, a steep, seemingly endless staircase descending into an older district of the city.

She stared at it. "Are you serious?"

Jeongseok saw it too. "We can't go down that. The car will shake apart."

"Better than getting shot." She didn't hesitate. She floored it.

The SUV launched over the edge, slamming onto the first step.

The impact jolted them violently. His cock drove deep into her, hitting her cervix. She cried out, her toes curling.

"Oh! Oh! Ah! Uhn!"

The car bounced down step after step, each landing ramming them together. His hands found her hips, gripping them out of instinct, trying to hold on. Her towel fell away, revealing her full breasts bouncing with every jarring motion.

"Ah... oh... I can't stop..." Her voice became a series of broken moans.

Ten minutes of chaos. Ten minutes of grinding, thrusting, screaming pleasure and fear. The car finally reached the bottom, tires hitting flat ground. The sedan had given up halfway down, unable to navigate the stairs.

They sped away into an open dirt field, empty and silent.

Jeongseok's breath was ragged. He was still inside her, still hard.

"Get off," he said hoarsely. "I need to... I can't..."

She tried to lift herself, but his hands locked around her waist.

"I can't hold it anymore," he growled. "I'm going to come inside you."

"No! Don't!"

But his hips bucked upward, held tight by the belt. A hot flood of semen erupted from him, thick and relentless. He kept pumping, kept spilling into her. The sensation went on and on—three full minutes of pulsing release. She trembled, her body shaking with aftershocks, her inner walls clenching around him.

Finally, he slumped back, breathing hard.

She slowly climbed off him, the towel barely hanging on. Her thighs were slick.

They sat in silence for a long moment.

His phone buzzed. A message from one of his men: "Assassins dealt with. Area clear. You can return to the villa."

Jeongseok sighed, started the engine, and drove back in silence.

They slipped inside through the back door, grateful for the empty hallway. They showered separately, then dressed in clean clothes. He met her in the living room, both of them quiet.

"About earlier," he began. "I'm sorry. I lost control."

She stared at the floor, her face red. "Don't tell anyone about today."

He nodded. "I swear. I'll carry this secret to the grave. No one will ever know what happened. Just you and me."

She gave a curt nod, then left without another word.

The door closed behind her. Jeongseok let out a long breath, sinking onto the sofa.