Martial Arts Masochist

Cheongwol felt her fingertips trembling.

Han Seojin’s gaze upon her held an inexplicable emotion.

Her heart raced for no reason, making it impossible to meet his eyes.

First off, the mere fact that she had come to find him was embarrassing.

No matter what actions Han Seojin forced upon her in their games, no matter what humiliating commands he issued… those could be brushed off by claiming he had demanded them unilaterally.

But the beginning required action from Cheongwol.

She had to come to him.

And by seeking him out like this, it felt as though she were affirming all those acts he had commanded, making it unbearably shameful.

It was like begging for more humiliation.

Like pleading for more shame.

Cheongwol could firmly declare she was no such pervert.

She was a nun of the Emei Sect.

Though she didn’t care for it… the people of the Central Plains exalted her as the Thousand-Year Flower.

If not for Han Seojin, no man’s touch had ever graced her body.

On her arm was deeply etched the Virgin Palace Mark, proving her purity.

Thus, she was the furthest from any perverse disposition… and yet, that very fact made this moment all the more excruciatingly embarrassing.

She wanted to crawl into a rat hole and hide.

…But she had known she would feel these emotions, and still come to find Han Seojin.

“…”

“…”

Her heart tickled uncomfortably.

She wished he would say something, but Han Seojin stood there blankly frozen.

A mere face cloth felt insufficient.

She wanted to cover her face with a blanket instead.

Finally, unable to endure the shame, Cheongwol whispered.

“…Qu-quickly… to an inn or… ah, no…”

She had blurted out “inn,” but only after the words left her mouth did she realize how bizarre they sounded.

A woman urging a man to go to an inn?

Her face flushed even deeper.

Regret already gnawed at her.

She should have just stayed with the other junior disciples.

Having forgotten for a while without their games, the overwhelming stimulation from starting up with Han Seojin again made it hard to keep her wits.

“…Back.”

Han Seojin whispered quietly.

It seemed like he meant to go deeper into the alley.

Han Seojin walked toward her silently.

Cheongwol instinctively began stepping backward.

And in doing so, it felt as though she were flinching under his pressure.

With each step Han Seojin took, his intimidating presence grew.

With each step Cheongwol took, she felt the illusion of herself shrinking smaller.

She knew it too.

That there was no need to feel intimidated by this man named Han Seojin.

Yet a hierarchy difficult to explain in words had formed at some point, and Cheongwol could not escape it.

Her lips were dry, but her mouth was moist.

Cheongwol swallowed hard.

As if aware of Cheongwol’s embarrassment behind the face cloth, Han Seojin teasingly asked.

“…Seems the junior disciples are having a gathering. Won’t you join them, little sister?”

She was already going mad with shame just from showing up here, and now he had to point it out.

Cheongwol looked down at the ground as she backed away.

“…I don’t drink alcohol.”

“You could have tea instead.”

She paused briefly, then retorted accusingly.

“…Wasn’t it you, Branch Master, who told me to come?”

Pak!

At that moment, Han Seojin grabbed Cheongwol’s shoulder as she backed away and shoved her into somewhere.

“Eek!”

Cheongwol gasped in surprise at his sudden action, holding her breath.

In the middle of the alley was a small gap.

A tiny space that could hide just one person.

Han Seojin had pushed her into that space.

He then stood right in front of Cheongwol.

Cheongwol bowed her head again.

Meeting his eyes was too arduous.

“…Let go.”

To assert her pride, Cheongwol brushed his hand off her shoulder.

Trapped by Han Seojin like that, she remained rigid for a long while.

“…Ar-are we staying here forever? We need to move-”

“-Wol-ah.”

A tight, suffocating form of address.

He began showering her with praise.

“…You’ve been good all this time, right? Reconciled with Mukryong… smiled at people.”

At those sweet words and acknowledgment, Cheongwol furrowed her brow.

“…Y-yes, not because of what you said… I wanted to-”

“-Good girl.”

Oso-so…

An inexplicable chill ran through her once more.

She hated her body for reacting like this to just his words.

“Good girl, Wol-ah.”

Teasing her further, Han Seojin continued.

“Everyone adores you. They praised your sweet temperament for making up with Mukryong so quickly. Ah, the Thousand-Year Flower truly is different. Noble and pure. A fairy stands right there, and so on.”

Cheongwol twisted her expression.

Then Han Seojin snorted lightly.

“Funny, isn’t it? The real Cheongwol… is a pervert who comes to me seeking humiliation.”

Her emotions swung wildly.

Whoosh, this time Cheongwol’s face burned hot.

Stammering, she retorted.

“I-I’m… how many times do I have to say I’m not that kind of pervert?”

“You’re not?”

“I-I’m here for Heart Demon treatment… I’ve told you so many times!”

To assert her pride, Cheongwol mustered her courage and looked up at Han Seojin.

“Be-besides. I haven’t forgiven you yet, Branch Master.”

It might make her seem petty, but Cheongwol raised the same grievance again.

“You didn’t care about my Heart Demon at all…! Only focused on Dang Soran… and going to the brothel… I haven’t forgiven that yet-”

“-I don’t need your forgiveness.”

Han Seojin spat coldly.

Cheongwol’s mouth clamped shut.

Words a overwhelming powerhouse might utter to the weak.

But even Cheongwol couldn’t counter him right then.

Han Seojin smiled faintly, lightening the mood.

“Still. You did really well, Wol-ah. I’m serious. You’re so pretty. I want to hug you.”

Ignoring the complex emotions his words stirred, Cheongwol busied herself with upholding her pride.

Any heroine of the Emei Sect must say this.

“A Branch Master’s hug…? Just try it. It’d make me vomit from disgust-”

Han Seojin paid it no mind.

As if he had no interest in her feigned words.

“-And for such a good Wol-i, I’ve prepared a reward. Here.”

A reward?

Han Seojin pulled something from his waist and handed it to Cheongwol.

With trembling hands, she accepted his ‘gift.’

“…It’s a dog collar.”

Cheongwol said, bewildered.

“No?”

Han Seojin countered.

“…This is your collar.”

****

My heart pounded as if it would burst.

A collar, of all things.

I could hardly believe my own actions.

One of the Demonic Cult’s Seven Heavens.

A monster who slaughtered countless martial artists and commoners.

To Cheongwol, the nun of the Emei Sect now called the Thousand-Year Flower, the Life-Pursuing Ghost…

…I had given a collar.

I wasn’t sure if I was in my right mind.

Perhaps being thrust into endless extreme situations had driven me mad.

They say soldiers hardened by long battlefields suddenly grow fearless— was it something like that?

Whatever the case, I had handed it over.

Collar play.

A symbol of SM as common as spanking.

Some might say it’s no big deal—just putting a leash around the neck, treating a person like a dog in some lowbrow game.

But I don’t think a collar is that simple.

It symbolizes the structure of a relationship, the hierarchy between people, ownership and submission in its purest form.

A collar is originally for animals.

For the necks of beasts humans own and control.

Thus, it clearly distinguishes the owner.

Who leads, who follows—it’s unmistakable.

The same principle applies to people.

The submissive realizes whose they are the moment the collar is fastened.

The dominant gains control over the other’s direction, distance—even their breath—the instant they grip the leash.

And I had given such a collar to Cheongwol.

No different from claiming ownership over her.

Even Cheongwol, ignorant of SM, would grasp the symbolism of a collar.

I’m scared.

Even as play, to collar Cheongwol?

To own that Cheongwol?

There could be no existence harder to handle.

Whether she’ll endure this proposal.

Or even go so far as to actually wear the collar— who knows.

She might kick me away and punish me.

She might unleash all the anger she’s built up toward me.

But alongside that fear rose another emotion.

The gambler’s tension at the end of a life-or-death bet.

And a faint thrill toward Cheongwol staring at the collar.

Though hidden by fear and not obvious… it was definitely somewhere in my chest.

My sadistic desire to dominate others writhed.

…That feeling of having even the overwhelming Cheongwol of the future beneath me, if only for a moment…

“Wh-what makes this my collar?”

As expected, Cheongwol protested.

By Central Plains common sense, unimaginable.

But the more she did, the more boldly I declared.

“Didn’t I tell you? You… are my responsibility.”