Martial Arts Masochist

“Eut...!”

Dang Soran couldn’t regain her senses amid the maddening excitement and depravity.

With Han Seojin’s movements, her body was gradually being restrained.

Both arms were pulled behind her back, and her legs were bound so she couldn’t stand.

She was slowly losing her freedom.

No, not losing it... she was slowly surrendering it.

The more she was bound, the stiffer her body grew, but her heartbeat only intensified.

Even though it felt rough, as long as she didn’t resist, it didn’t hurt much—she could sense Han Seojin’s consideration.

Dang Soran looked at Han Seojin.

He met her eyes sporadically with a cold gaze, acting without further hesitation. Her heart pounded at his merciless actions.

‘Young Master?’

Above all, Jegal Yong downstairs.

His voice made her trembling grow even stronger.

This was about getting caught by someone in this state.

So pathetic, so wretched, so perverse.

Not her usual Tang Clan attire, but the cheapest, most vulgar courtesan outfit.

A sight she’d never show if she were in her right mind.

But it would only be this once.

What sane man could accept his betrothed like this?

Dang Soran knew full well that the moment he saw her like this, the engagement would shatter.

The process was utterly humiliating.

Degrading.

...And yet, exhilarating.

All the more because she knew she shouldn’t.

Wasn’t this like branding her?

At the very least, in Jegal Yong’s eyes, it would be a brand.

This Dang Soran belonged to no one else but Han Seojin.

You dare not covet her.

Thud! “Hueuk...!”

Another knot tightened. That restraint felt just like Han Seojin’s embrace.

Why was this act so thrilling?

Why did she hate it so much, yet love it just as intensely?

How did Han Seojin even know about this?

Above all, Han Seojin looked so incredibly handsome.

Neatly and impeccably composed, dominating her in that form—her heart wouldn’t obey.

She wanted him to take pleasure through her.

She didn’t care if she suffered in the process.

As long as he was pleased, she could gladly accept even that pain.

‘Young Master, are you upstairs?’

Jegal Yong’s question.

Dang Soran and Han Seojin both froze.

Their deep eye contact continued.

In this precarious space, what bound them was trust—Dang Soran and Han Seojin.

Betraying each other would make the other a fool.

They could only navigate this moment without betraying one another.

Dang Soran would trust Han Seojin.

He would surely protect her in this moment.

He wouldn’t suddenly step out pathetically before Jegal Yong, claiming it was her doing and he had nothing to do with it.

So Dang Soran waited for Han Seojin’s choice.

He spoke.

“Tell him to wait a bit longer. I haven’t finished tying you up yet.”

At those words, an indecent emotion she couldn’t hide burst forth in Dang Soran.

And with it, a playful mischief she couldn’t conceal.

“Think I’ll do what you say just because you told me to?”

“...”

Han Seojin’s eyes flickered dangerously.

Dang Soran loved that fiery, playful glint.

Provoking him more here would bring even greater punishment.

And Han Seojin’s punishment... could be seen as his affection.

The delicate violence continuing for the sake of resolving her heart demon.

Knowing the consideration beneath it, Dang Soran felt it as love.

Grip! His large hand seized Dang Soran’s chin.

“...Say to wait. That’s what I told you to say, Soran.”

Only after his tone returned did Dang Soran obediently nod.

“Yes.”

She called toward the stairs.

“Young Master Jegal. Please wait just a moment... Eut! I-it’ll be, be ready soon?”

“Young Master?”

“I-I’m preparing something...”

Jegal Yong fell silent for a moment.

She could feel his tension.

Unintentionally, they had raised his expectations sky-high.

Dang Soran and Han Seojin both knew it.

“...You really are a naughty girl.”

Han Seojin whispered into Dang Soran’s ear.

Every time he scolded her like this, her lower abdomen grew hot.

Dang Soran nodded.

“For you, Young Master... I can be as naughty as it takes.”

“How is this for me?”

She forced a smile through her flushed face.

“Then... shall I go to Jegal Yong?”

Tap. Without a hint of pain, like a gentle scolding, Han Seojin lightly tapped and caressed Dang Soran’s cheek.

“Eut...!”

But that small contact sent pleasure through her.

‘Young Master?’

Hearing the sound, Jegal Yong called from below, but.

“N-no, it’s nothing.”

Dang Soran suppressed it.

She knew she was doing something wicked.

But wasn’t it Jegal Yong who had driven her to this?

She’d told him no so many times, yet he kept following her.

If he’d backed off when she told him to, this wouldn’t have happened.

That cowardly gigolo dared to overreach.

She would show him.

The kind of man she wanted to submit to.

From the start, she’d never asked him to like her.

The one who fell first was in the wrong.

Han Seojin seemed to have finished tying the ropes, pulling them taut.

“Hoo.”

He let out a long sigh.

He took another rope from the bag and made a small knot.

Then slowly tried to loop it around Dang Soran’s neck.

Dang Soran slightly turned her head away and said.

“Huh...? A-aren’t you putting that dog collar on me?”

“...Stay still.”

She’d thought it was for her neck, but apparently not?

She didn’t dwell on it much.

Dang Soran stayed still as ordered.

Soon, the rope was around her neck, and Han Seojin held the end.

Only then did Dang Soran realize that offering her neck was truly baring her vulnerability.

It felt so good to surrender everything to Han Seojin.

“...Call him.”

Han Seojin said, back turned to the stairs.

While gripping her leash taut.

Dang Soran knelt, arms bound behind her, offering her leash to Han Seojin.

What a sight this was, but she was thrilled.

She wanted to chase Jegal Yong off quickly and submit to this wonderful man.

“Young Master Jegal...?”

Dang Soran said in a trembling voice.

“Yes?”

“Please... come up.”

****

Jegal Yong ascended the stairs, suppressing his ragged breath.

This had to be it, right?

An implicit signal to share their fates tonight.

Liquor bottles were scattered messily downstairs.

Hadn’t even Dang Soran borrowed the power of alcohol to steel her resolve?

It didn’t matter if it was the alcohol’s doing.

She must have finally realized it—an engagement was an inevitable bond.

Wi Cheonsang was dead, Namgung Yeon had given up.

As long as he didn’t give up, Dang Soran would be his.

His long-suppressed desire writhed suddenly.

How long had he yearned for her?

How many nights had he replayed the fantasy of laying that radiant woman on his cold bed?

A woman from an illustrious clan, peerlessly beautiful, with unmatched martial prowess—flawless.

This must be the greatest privilege for a scion of a noble house.

For an ordinary person... yes, especially that beggar who’d humiliated him before, it was an opportunity forever out of reach.

“Soran...”

Halt. But Jegal Yong’s face hardened as he climbed.

Dang Soran wasn’t alone.

Beside her stood a massive man, half-swallowed by the shadows.

Even his turned back exuded overwhelming pressure—an eerie presence.

And in his hand was a rope.

“...Huh?”

The end of that rope was looped around Dang Soran’s slender neck.

Composing himself, he saw her entire body bound tightly.

And why was her outfit so flimsy...? Looking closer, it was courtesan garb.

Jegal Yong couldn’t even swallow at the sight.

The reality before him was incomprehensible.

“Ah...ahaha, you caught us.”

His ever-beautiful first love whispered that.

Even in this desperate, neck-bound situation, Dang Soran smiled innocently like a girl.

“...Young Master?”

After a long silence, Jegal Yong gripped his fan, barely regaining his wits and gathering his qi—but

“-Stop.”

Dang Soran spoke first.

Jegal Yong’s eyes trembled as they turned to her.

“W-what demon is this, Young Master? Who is he, to make you appear like...!”

“Young Master Jegal.”

Dang Soran was calm.

That composure was utterly baffling to Jegal Yong.

No, not composure—it was that lascivious expression.

She’d never worn a face like that before.

Did that mean she’d been showing it to that man all this time?

“You said you knew me best.”

“...”

“If I say I chose this appearance myself... would you believe me?”

...Chose it?

Jegal Yong felt as if his whole body had frozen in shock.

Dang Soran?

The Poison Phoenix?

That refined, soothing, noble woman?

...Sought this humiliation herself?

“No...!”

Jegal Yong denied it loudly.

It couldn’t be.

His Dang Soran wouldn’t.

Dang Soran was his. There was no room for the plan to go awry.

“Get a grip, Young Master...! Y-you must have been drugged or something—”

“-Me, the eldest daughter of the Tang Clan of Sichuan, drugged?”

“...Ah...”

Of course poisons and drugs barely affected Dang Soran. She couldn’t have been drugged.

“I refuse to believe it... H-how could someone like you submit to a man like that—!”

“-Submit...”

Dang Soran’s head slowly lowered.

A gesture as if overcome by shame.

But the low whisper that followed like an echo sliced through Jegal Yong’s heart.

‘...I love submitting.’

In that instant, Jegal Yong’s vision shook.

Dang Soran looked up at the man holding her leash and said.

“...Young Master. Show him us.”

The man’s head turned slightly toward Dang Soran.

...Young Master?

The man who held Jegal Yong’s dream seemed utterly disinterested in Dang Soran, amusingly enough.

How could he treat her so roughly if he cared?

But what tore Jegal Yong’s heart apart was something else.