Martial Arts Masochist

Han Seojin walked without mercy.

Dang Soran had no choice but to be dragged along by her hair, tightly gripped in his hand, following his lead.

“Ugh! Y-Young Master!”

Even if she tried to stand, her hair was held fast, making it impossible.

In the end, Dang Soran had to place her knees and palms on the floor, crawling on all fours.

“Come here.”

“Ah… Eek!”

The eldest daughter of the Tang Clan of Sichuan, reduced to this unsightly display.

Like a single dog, captured and led by him.

It was a shock.

This was her first experience of being controlled in such a direct, physical manner.

This kind of violence was something she’d never encountered since birth.

Yet she couldn’t blame anyone.

It was a situation she herself had induced and drawn out.

She had provoked him, made him angry, deliberately steering things toward this scene.

Was that why?

She didn’t know why her heart was pounding like this in this moment.

It should feel infuriating, repulsive… but it didn’t.

A faint sense of resistance and an unknown thrill gripped her.

It was strange, but perhaps because she vaguely sensed that Han Seojin was holding back for her sake.

The moment she had unwittingly let slip “It hurts.”

She felt his grip loosen ever so slightly.

It made her think she was enduring controlled violence.

And realizing that, the situation didn’t feel dangerous.

If she truly wanted to stop, it seemed like she could. Just like in that basement last time.

Perhaps Han Seojin had started acting for the sake of his own heart demon, after all.

Han Seojin glanced around.

As if searching for a place to discipline her.

Then, he began ascending the stairs to the second floor.

“Eek!”

Her hair was tugged again as she was pulled along.

Dang Soran had no choice but to crawl on all fours in sync.

Humiliating. Shameful.

Yet she was overwhelmed.

Her heartbeat grew louder.

The chaotic clattering from crawling on all fours echoed just like the sound of her heart.

“…”

Upon reaching the exposed second floor, Han Seojin froze for a moment.

From his reaction, she instantly knew everything had been discovered.

Of course.

She had deceived him, but this room was hers.

Not a neat bed for guests.

…A wide, luxurious bed meant for the Tang Clan’s forbidden treasure was laid out before him.

Only then did Han Seojin seem to realize everything, yanking her hair as he asked.

“This your room?”

She couldn’t fathom where the kind, timid man had gone.

Only an overbearing man who didn’t even care that she was Dang Soran of the Tang Clan stood before her.

His speech, his demeanor—nothing was the same as before.

Even his previously hunched shoulders were now squared broadly.

There was a heroic air emanating from that confident posture.

Only now did his physical superiority become apparent.

Dang Soran finally realized just how vast the difference was between their bodies.

‘…If I had no internal energy.’

Dang Soran thought unwittingly.

…Then, she truly wouldn’t have been able to resist Han Seojin even once.

No matter how roughly he handled her as he wished, she could have done nothing.

That fact sent a chill through her.

“I’m asking. Is this your room?”

“…Yes.”

Even her tone had changed.

Before, her polite speech was merely a sign of respect.

Now, the deference in her voice felt like a mark of submission.

A voice lowered in caution, wary of irritating him further or stoking his anger more.

Squeeze.

More strength entered Han Seojin’s grip.

“Eek!”

Dang Soran knelt, clinging to his wrist.

It didn’t hurt, but it felt like she had to.

She could hardly believe it herself.

Poison Phoenix Dang Soran, hanging from the hand of the Leather Room owner she’d dismissed as beggar stock.

It wasn’t truly unbearable pain.

Just enough to endure.

Just enough payback for all her past wrongs.

That exquisite control of force was astonishing.

No room for grievance. Even she felt she deserved this much.

Swish!

Han Seojin gently pushed her back, tossing her onto the bed.

Thud!

On the wide, soft bed, Dang Soran collapsed defenselessly.

She hurriedly looked up at Han Seojin.

“If you meant to anger me, you succeeded.”

Herself, sprawled on the bed.

The large man standing before her.

The twilight dusk cast shadows over his face.

His expression was invisible.

That fact heightened her tension even more.

She couldn’t tell what emotion he felt now.

Was he truly enraged?

Or… was this some kind of act?

This was the moment she had wanted. Thus, she couldn’t turn back now.

She had guided this flow, and he had responded.

She had to pay the price.

…But if he truly unleashed violence in this gap?

How should she react then?

Internal energy depth or martial prowess no longer mattered.

An indescribable hierarchy difference revealed itself in an instant.

Han Seojin slowly rolled up his sleeves.

Veins bulged sharply on his forearms.

Dang Soran found his forearms strangely alluring.

“I knew it already.”

Her breathing quickened.

“That you’re such a naughty girl. I was going to pretend not to know despite everything… but you threw my consideration aside. Don’t regret it.”

His true feelings came through.

Dang Soran’s heart trembled at his words.

Naughty girl.

To her, it was the word that described her best.

But hearing it from someone else felt odd.

She had wanted someone to see through her, yet hated it when they truly did.

The truth was uncomfortable, but accepting it brought relief.

Contradictory emotions swirled within her.

****

…What do I do??

I had thrown Dang Soran onto the bed.

But what play do I do now?

With Cheongwol, every moment except the first play was under plan.

What to do. How to do it.

But this situation was completely unexpected.

Playing with Dang Soran was something I hadn’t anticipated at all.

No plan, no tools for play.

The switch was left downstairs.

Shuffling back to fetch it would ruin the mood.

I couldn’t douse the atmosphere I’d built by forcibly dragging her up by the hair.

Dang Soran, too—even now, she was immersing herself in the play.

That look in her eyes, her trembling breaths, the subtle hesitation and thrill.

…I can’t mess this up.

I swallowed hard without her noticing.

Think! Think, Han Seojin!!

Alcohol hardens thoughts.

I continued the verbal abuse to buy time.

“If I showed your true self to the lowly folk of the sacred city you’ve scorned so much… how would they react?”

“…Haa… Haa…”

“To deceive people and lure a man like me into your room because you want to submit… You’d be called not the Poison Phoenix of the Tang Clan of Sichuan, but the Tang Clan’s whore.”

Dang Soran cautiously bit the corner of her lip at those words.

So what do I do! Hit her soles again? With what?

Stall for more time first!

“But you must hate this side of yourself? Wanting to be punished. You’re not right in the head.”

“…Hah… Haa…”

Dang Soran, exhaling deeply, soon mustered courage and changed her expression.

Forcing an air of leisure.

She spoke.

“Y-Young Master… A-Are you just going to scold me with words?”

…Wow.

“Try punishing me, if you dare?”

I felt a quiet shock.

…I don’t know much about this.

…But is Dang Soran a brat type?

Is she a true masochist too?

Brat literally translates to spoiled child.

A masochist who craves submission yet mixes in defiance.

The type that provokes to draw attention.

They seek control as proof of being loved through teasing and mischief.

Masochists who provoke a sadist’s anger to submit more deeply.

A huge difference from the Dang Soran I knew.

Did this naughty side lurk in that straightforward woman’s depths?

Until now, I’d seen her as the perfect product of a noble house.

Now, she started to look like the spoiled, playful girl raised pampered in a prestigious clan.

I shook my head.

No. Probably not.

Just her pride making her act this way.

Dang Soran hadn’t fully submitted to evil, had she?

Maybe she just didn’t want to yield to me.

Or perhaps the alcohol had gotten to her too.

Whatever it was, I couldn’t yield to her.

Yielding to her would end it all.

I had to break her. That’s the sadist’s role.

Think! Think…

For now, Dang Soran wants to be punished.

She even asked me to hit her soles.

Whatever the reason, she’s craving violence.

Then I must match her.

What to hit her with? No tools…

…Ah!

I unbuckled the leather belt from my pants.

The only tool available now.

I gripped both ends of the belt and pulled it taut.

Snap!

An intimidating sound echoed through the room.

Dang Soran flinched.

Wiggle, wiggle.

I beckoned her with my fingers.

Dang Soran hesitated a moment before inching closer.

Smack!

“Eek!”

As she entered range, I roughly seized her arm again.

Then twisted it behind her back.

Her knees slipped off the bed,

leaving her kneeling with her upper body prone on the bed.

Her soles were exposed once more.

The Tang Clan of Sichuan typically wore long-sleeved garments to conceal daggers.

I yanked the long sleeves and tied them together.

Dang Soran was trapped in her own clothes.

“W-Wait…! Y-Young Master!”

“You’re the one who asked for punishment. Stay still, right?”

“B-But this…!”

The moment of choice arrived.

I looked down at Dang Soran.

Arms bound behind her.

Prone on the bed.

Kneeling to her knees.

My heart pounded wildly.

Did I ever think the moment would come where I’d treat her like this?

What right did I have to handle a woman like this so roughly?

I had to swallow hard too.

Beyond fear, the situation was too stimulating.

I squeezed my eyes shut before moving.

“Hah!”

Then I made my decision.

The alcohol lent me courage.

****

Her heart felt like it would burst.

Dang Soran had wanted punishment, but never imagined such humiliation.

She thought it’d be like last time at most.

Expected the switch, not the belt—did she ever think that?

Scary. It’ll hurt.

…Yet, she felt she deserved this.

Only then could she soothe the guilt in her heart.

It was strange.

If she just wanted punishment, she’d only feel tension.

Why was her face flushing, her body heating up?

Han Seojin’s presence rang out intensely within her.

A trembling stimulation, hard to bear, entering her colorless, odorless world.

…Making her feel alive again.

Unwittingly, she wiggled her soles.

The spot soon to be struck already ached in anticipation.

How many times had she struck herself there alone, yearning for this?

Now, Han Seojin’s punishment would finally come.

Yet, feeling this situation wasn’t quite right, Dang Soran continued her faint struggles.

It was what she wanted, but still odd.

Swish…

As she slowly tried to raise her upper body…

Thud!

“Ah!”

Han Seojin roughly smashed her head into the bed.

His large hand enveloped her small face.

Her heart trembled even more.

Excited breaths leaked through his fingers.

Why… why does it keep exciting me?

Why isn’t this situation unpleasant?

It made no sense.

Burned by fire, yet no heat.

“…Seven strikes.”

Han Seojin whispered.

At his declaration, Dang Soran steeled herself.

…Since she’s being punished anyway.

…She wanted to take it cleanly.

Only then would her self-loathing fly away freely.

Even now, hadn’t she sort of stolen Cheongwol’s man?

To shake off that guilt, she craved painful punishment.

…Nod.

Dang Soran abandoned her defiant attitude, submitting.

He said he’d strike, and she agreed to take it.

Consensus reached in this bizarre situation.

Perhaps due to the alcohol.

Dang Soran quietly regulated her breath under his hand.

Then squeezed her eyes shut tight and curled her toes firmly.

Bracing for the coming pain, she huddled quietly.

Swish!

In that instant, a large whoosh came from behind her head.

Smack!

“…!!! U, Huuaang!”

Dang Soran cried out in shock at the unfamiliar pain.

The burning agony wasn’t on her foot… but her buttocks.