Jinhae
I laughed as the door slammed behind Ahyun. Her footsteps hammered down the corridor.
Her scent stayed behind.
It hung thick in the air. The unmistakable tang of a soaked cunt that had been leaking down. I dragged a slow breath through my nose and let it settle on my tongue. Fresh pussy. Already marked by my hands and my voice and one hard slap across that fat ass.
I looked down.
My cock strained against the loose white trousers. The thin fabric tented hard, the outline long and thick, the head already pushing a dark spot of pre-cum through the cloth. I hooked my thumbs in the drawstring and shoved the trousers down.
It sprang free.
Heavy. Veined. The shaft was a deep flushed color, thicker than my wrist at the base, curving up toward my stomach. The head was fat and flared, shiny with pre-cum that kept beading and sliding down the underside.
I wrapped my fingers around it once. The weight of it made me grin like a bastard.
Another gift from this body. Kang Jinhae might have been born with a shattered leg and zero martial potential, but the developers had compensated him where it counted. This cock was built to ruin women. To stretch shy little servant girls until they sobbed. To punch into wombs and flood them until their bellies rounded.
I gave it one slow stroke, smearing the pre-cum down the length, then forced my hand away.
Later.
I stepped into the dark blue formal robes she had laid out. The sash cinched at my waist. The jade belt ornament hung perfectly.
I checked myself in the bronze mirror one last time. The cane waited in my right hand. My left knee already throbbed in dull warning, but the pain was background noise now.
I adjusted the fall of the outer robe once more, smoothed a crease at the shoulder, and left the chambers.
The main corridor stretched ahead. Servants flattened themselves against the walls as I passed. A few bowed. Most just stared. The crippled Young Master never walked these halls in formal silk. Never headed toward the main pavilion on banquet night. Whispers started before I even reached the end of the hall.
Good. Let them talk.
Ahyun would come later. After she changed her ruined undergarments. After she scrubbed the slick from between her thighs and tried—and failed—to pretend she wasn't still dripping.
The main pavilion doors stood open. The low tables were already set. Steam rose from covered dishes. The scent of braised meats, mountain herbs, and expensive rice wine filled the air.
They were already seated.
Kang Daewon occupied the head of the table like a throne. Broad-shouldered for a scholar-family patriarch, hair streaked with iron gray, face carved into permanent disapproval. He didn't look up when I entered.
To his right sat Lady Seo Yunhee.
My stepmother was gorgeous. Jet-black hair pinned in an elaborate style that exposed the long pale column of her throat. Her hanfu was deep crimson silk, the collar high, the cut severe enough to look almost martial. But the body underneath was anything but severe. Full breasts pressed against the fabric with every breath. A narrow waist. Hips that the rigid posture could not quite hide. She was not an SSS-Rank heroine. But she was one of the two hundred fourteen available. Waiting for the right approach and the right leverage.
She was the mother of my middle brother and my younger sister. She had stepped into the matriarch's seat the moment my real mother died, and she had never once pretended to love the broken eldest son she inherited.
Her eyes flicked to me once. Then they returned to her wine cup.
I limped to my place.
Farthest from my father. The seat of the disappointment. The cane tapped twice against the wood before I lowered myself onto the cushion, left leg stretched carefully to the side. The pain flared bright and then settled into its usual grind.
Across from me sat Kang Seojun.
Seventeen. Already taller and broader than me. His shoulders filled out his formal robes the way mine couldn't. Qi cultivation had started reshaping him early, denser muscle under the silk, the faint pressure of Qi that rolled off him like heat.
None of them spoke.
Chopsticks clicked. Wine was poured. The servants along the walls kept their eyes down.
Then a bright voice cut through it.
"Hyung!"
Kang Minji leaned forward from her place farther down the table, fifteen years old and grinning. Her hair was tied with simple ribbons. Her formal robes were a soft spring green that made her look even younger. She bounced once on her cushion, completely ignoring the stiff atmosphere.
"Hyung, you're really here! And look at you—those robes! You look so proper tonight. Happy birthday! You're eighteen today. I made you something later, okay? Don't leave before I give it to you."
I inclined my head. The smile I gave her was small and real enough.
"Thank you, Minji. I'll stay."
Seojun snorted into his cup. Daewon still did not look at me. Lady Seo Yunhee's expression never changed.
The meal continued in that same quiet. Dishes were uncovered. Meat was served. I ate sparingly, more focused on the room than the food. Every detail matched the game.
Daewon set his chopsticks down with a click.
Every eye turned to him.
"I received a letter this morning," he said. "From the Murim Alliance. The Royal Academy is opening a new intake cycle. They have extended an invitation to House Kang. One son. Full sponsorship."
The air changed.
Seojun's back straightened instantly. Minji's eyes went wide. Even Lady Seo Yunhee's fingers paused on her wine cup for half a heartbeat.
Seojun did not waste time.
"I will go."
The words of a boy who had never been told no in his life. He looked at our father like the matter was already settled.
Normally I would have stayed silent. In the original route, Jinhae swallowed it. He watched his younger brother take everything and said nothing because a cripple had no right to want more.
Not this time.
I needed the event flag.
I set my own chopsticks down.
"No, I'll go."
Seojun stared at me. Then he laughed. A short, ugly bark of sound that echoed off the pavilion beams.
"You?" He leaned forward, elbows on the table, grinning like I had just told the best joke of the year. "Hyung, you can't even walk without that stick. The Royal Academy has a physical entrance trial. You would die on the first test."
He gestured at my leg with his chin.
"You need Qi just to survive the first week. You have none. The meridians are ash. Everyone knows it."
Minji's smile had faded. She looked between us, worried now.
"Oppa, maybe—"
Lady Seo Yunhee said nothing. Her face remained a perfect cold mask. But I caught the faintest tightening at the corner of her mouth.
Daewon lifted a hand. The room stilled again.
"The decision is made," he said. "Seojun will represent House Kang at the Academy. The letter requires an answer by the next full moon. Preparations begin tomorrow."
Dismissed in a breath. The broken son pushed back into his corner while the healthy one took the only door out of this stagnant little estate.
I let the words hang for three full seconds.
Then I spoke.
"I don't accept."
Daewon's eyes finally locked onto mine. The disapproval deepened.
"What did you say?"
"I said I don't accept." I kept my voice level. The eloquence stat doing its work without effort. "If only one son may go, then the choice should be decided properly. Not handed out like a leftover scrap."
Seojun's grin widened.
"Oh? And how do you propose we decide it, hyung? A poetry contest? Calligraphy? Maybe we can see who limps faster across the courtyard."
I met his eyes.
"A fight."
The word dropped into the pavilion like a blade.
Minji gasped. Lady Seo Yunhee's gaze sharpened by a fraction. Daewon's jaw tightened.
Seojun threw his head back and laughed again, louder this time. He slapped the table hard enough to rattle the wine cups.
"A fight? You want to fight me?" He wiped at one eye, still chuckling. "Fine. Sure. Why not. It will be funny. You can even set the terms, hyung. You're the useless one. Might as well let you choose how you embarrass yourself."
I didn't smile.
"One week from tonight. Same pavilion courtyard. The winner takes the Academy slot—with full family support, full funding, and complete autonomy."
Seojun's laughter died down into a smirk.
"Autonomy. Look at you, already dreaming about freedom." He leaned in across the table. The Qi pressure around him thickened, a deliberate flex. "I accept. One week. And hyung—" His voice dropped, almost gentle. "I will not be held responsible if you die. Father, you heard him. He asked for this."
Daewon looked at me for a long time.
For a moment I thought he might refuse. Might shut it down and send me back to my rooms like the shame he had always treated me as.
Then he gave a single nod.
"One week. The courtyard. Seojun, you will not kill him. Everything else is permitted. Jinhae—" His gaze was iron. "You have made your choice. Don't expect mercy when you lose."
I inclined my head.
"I would not dream of it."
Seojun raised his wine cup in a mock toast, eyes bright with cruel anticipation.
"One week, hyung. Try not to break the other leg before then."
I picked up my own cup. The wine was warm. I drank without looking away from him.
Inside, the clock had started.
Seven days to find the first ingredient. Seven days to unlock the initial stage of Mind Evolution.
I set the cup down and smiled with all my teeth.
"I am counting on it."