Martial Arts Masochist

Three steps forward, then lunge.

Three more steps, then lunge.

“Oh dear, exercising now, of all things. Were you that mad about getting hit?”

The uncle rode comfortably on the donkey, mocking me.

“What, gonna build up some strength and hit me back?”

My face was a total mess.

The uncle’s rare full-force blows had left it bruised, swollen, and battered everywhere.

“…That’s not it.”

Honestly, getting beaten at my age stung a bit, but I understood where he was coming from.

He probably figured he’d straighten me out himself before I became a public enemy of the martial world.

But I’m aggrieved too!

Who wants to get targeted? The world is out to get me—what can I do?

I’d just have to endure it. No matter what, the uncle must be frustrated too.

Since he wasn’t doing this out of malice, I could bear it.

“Then why start exercising out of nowhere?”

“I’ve been feeling kinda frail lately! You used to nag me nonstop about training until my ears blistered, and now that I am, you’re complaining.”

“That’s because you said you weren’t cut out for the Beggars’ Sect, so I gave up!”

“What, only martial artists exercise?!”

We both clicked our tongues and looked ahead again.

There was one reason I was exercising.

I’d accepted that I couldn’t avoid SM play.

Cheongwol and I already did it every ten days. And even with Dang Soran.

I recalled Dang Soran provoking me even after getting her soles spanked.

I probably wouldn’t see her again anytime soon… but if we met someday.

Would she taunt me to do it again like last time? That brat… whether she was one or not, she acted like one.

…But I still couldn’t believe it. Dang Soran, a brat?

…Above all, Cheongwol was the problem.

Cheongwol would definitely keep doing SM with me.

What could I do? She was a lunatic who believed it resolved her heart demon.

I’d thought it before, but it was pitiful.

To think she’d stoop to this just to escape her heart demon.

Of course, Cheongwol… surprisingly was a masochist, but I’d never heard of a heart demon being resolved by catering to sexual tastes.

So, I should run before her delusion wore off.

*’Branch Leader. It doesn’t seem like the heart demon is resolving. What’s going on? You said it’d make me the Branch Leader. Why make me do those shameful, humiliating things? Did you enjoy deceiving an Emei Sect nun?’*

“…Ugh.”

Just thinking about it was horrifying.

Whatever the case, until I could escape, I had to buy time with SM play.

In other words, keep up the sadist act.

Me, who used to fiddle with leather in my room and fantasize, suddenly managing real masochists as a sadist… I felt so inadequate in every way.

First off… stamina.

My stamina drained way too fast.

Was it because they were martial artists?

Both Cheongwol and Dang Soran were women, but parts of them felt solidly heavy.

Maybe because firm muscles backed their soft skin.

Humans aren’t lightweight creatures to begin with.

Or maybe their dantian energy added weight somehow. High-level experts do thousand-catty drops and ten-thousand-catty drops, controlling weight at will.

Or perhaps because I had to overpower their resistance. Like light grappling.

If not, maybe I was just weak… Either way, getting stronger would solve it.

SM was profound, yet straightforward.

Sadists want to dominate; masochists want to be dominated.

For it to work, the sadist needed charisma.

It relied on fear and admiration.

Fear and admiration are opposites, but when facing overwhelming power or the unknown, they often mix.

The emotion when gazing at the sea.

The emotion under a vast night sky.

The emotion toward a divine being.

Wanting to flee yet unable to look away. Wanting to approach yet afraid.

That’s what a sadist must be to a masochist.

They had to evoke fear and admiration through violence.

The sadist must appear transcendent to the masochist.

One command, and they couldn’t defy it carelessly.

One praise, and joy from recognition blooms.

Well… not essential, but the more, the better.

…Sit.

Said coldly, and they should want to sit.

But for someone like me.

…Hey, huff, huff… Ah, sit.

Who would want to sit then?

No fear, no admiration.

Just, what the hell is this guy? Why am I even doing this?

No one wants to be dominated by someone inferior.

Even masochists aren’t like that.

Masochists don’t just like being dominated.

They want to be dominated by someone superior.

So far, I’d managed.

Probably thanks to the mysterious aura I’d forcibly created, physical differences, gender gap, personality clash, and my SM knowledge edge, letting me dominate them.

It was all a bluff, making me seem greater.

…When really, a poke to the gut would kill me.

But as intensity rose, I felt the need to reinforce that aura.

The need for power.

I needed to fling their bodies around effortlessly, but I couldn’t now.

Things felt shaky lately.

…Of course, if they awakened their dantians, I’d be helpless regardless, but by the standard of no inner energy, I had to get stronger.

Plus, it bruised my sadist pride.

A sadist panting and begging to stop from stamina loss while handling a masochist?

Worst case.

And the moment that illusion shattered and reality hit Cheongwol, I’d be dead.

With SM play unavoidable right now, I had to respond.

“…Want me to teach you some incantations?”

“You think I’d understand them? And wouldn’t I have to join the Beggars’ Sect if I learned?”

“You’re quick on the uptake. How the hell does a guy like you get targeted even by the Poison King?”

“…You’ll get hurt if you know, Uncle.”

“Sigh.”

The uncle looked like he was dying of curiosity, but I kept my mouth shut.

What good would spilling it do besides worry him?

I’d already stepped on a landmine. Couldn’t drag the uncle into the minefield.

He couldn’t do anything anyway.

“…But Uncle.”

“Yeah?”

“Incantations are iffy, but… can you help me train external arts or something?”

“Why you?”

“…I told you, I’m targeted.”

“If it were some street thug, sure, but the people targeting you are all big shots. What good’s external arts? Forget the Poison King—even Dang Soran or Cheongwol miss, you’d need to rise from the dead to beat them, kid. And you get thrashed by me.”

“I’m being serious!”

“So am I, kid!”

“Then why bring up incantations?!”

“To drag you into the Beggars’ Sect, why!”

We clicked our tongues again and looked ahead.

What a foul-tempered uncle.

Pocket money confiscated when I get home, for real.

Helping out a bit wouldn’t hurt.

…Whatever, I needed to find a way to get stronger.

Not for swinging swords, but for SM.

.

.

.

Days later, we arrived at Emei Mountain.

Returning home should’ve relaxed me, but I kept swallowing nervously for no reason.

Home felt this uncomfortable. Damn that crazy woman.

How long since I parted with Cheongwol?

About fifteen days?

Five days overdue.

Five days sounded minor, but I should’ve been back at Emei Mountain at least ten days ago.

The delay piled up from searching for Joo Hweol—no, Wi Chang—the time tangled with Dang Soran, and then meeting the Hao Gate to plan things out.

…Not like I had to hang myself over it… but I had to watch my step.

Unfair, but unavoidable. The weak always mind the strong.

…She wouldn’t be mad, right?

It’d be fine. I had my own life?

Yeah? Where does a masochist get off with a sadist…

“…Seojin, your face is pale.”

“No, I’m fine. Let’s go, Uncle.”

I let out a deep sigh and entered Emei Mountain.

“Oh? The Leather Room’s boss is back!”

“We were worried you’d kicked the bucket somewhere since you hadn’t shown up forever! Though with Elder Gwak Du’s branch leader, we figured not.”

“What? Got yourself a donkey? Wow… moving up in the world?”

People gathered, buzzing.

Probably because I’d been away from the village so long, and especially now with the donkey.

…Money’s power, huh. One donkey, and the subtle shift in treatment.

No intent behind it, but subconsciously, I seemed worth a bit more respect.

Didn’t feel bad.

Still, my heart raced with tension.

Sneak back to the Leather Room unseen.

…But also hoping Cheongwol somehow knew I was back.

Not because I missed her—just that.

Like coming home past curfew.

Awkward to notify her, but not notifying felt problematic.

A taut tension squeezed me.

.

.

.

“Huh?”

But four hours passed, and Cheongwol didn’t come.

She always knew my location like a ghost.

Life-Pursuing Ghost, right? If she was obsessed with heart demon relief, she’d know I was back.

Was she shadowboxing alone?

Maybe I wasn’t that important after all.

“Sigh.”

Wasted my time exercising from Chengdu? Legs aching for nothing.

But… not bad.

Actually, good.

Maybe Cheongwol had lost interest in SM over the fifteen days?

Or thought her heart demon was resolved?

Or wouldn’t come at all?

“…Too good to be true?”

I muttered unwittingly.

Felt like an unknown shackle falling from my ankle.

Sitting in my shabby home, savoring long-lost quiet—

—knock knock.

“Shit, you scared me.”

I jolted, losing balance on the chair.

Then let out a long sigh.

…No, of course.

Knew she’d come.

Just took a bit longer.

…What excuse for being late?

Act tough and deny? Would it work?

Steadying my rollercoaster emotions, I mustered courage.

Slowly opened the door.

“Ta-da!”

“……………?”

I was speechless at the figure before me.

Dang Soran slowly lowered her raised hand and looked up at me.

Her expression was complex too.

“You’re late.”

“…M-Miss, why are you here?”

“Right? Why do you think?”

…Were we still in Chengdu? Was this a dream?

Nah, my leg soreness was too real.

Dang Soran was really at Emei Mountain.

I quickly accepted reality and scanned around her.

For Cheongwol, maybe.

“Looking for someone?”

Dang Soran drew my gaze back.

“Y-Yeah, no…”

“Anyway, Young Master. Don’t you owe me an apology?”

Apology?

…Plenty. But you wanted it.

But with her waiting expectantly, I had to speak.

“Uh… about spanking your butt—”

“—Not that.”

“…Then grabbing your hair—”

“—Not that!”

“…Calling you a naughty bitch—”

“No!”

Dang Soran scrunched her face.

Kinda scary.

She sighed, then whispered stiffly.

“…Didn’t you say you didn’t want to get involved with me?”

“…Pardon?”

…How do you know that?

I only told… Uncle and Cheo…

…Fuck.

A chilling sensation melted me.

I asked.

“…Who told you?”

“Does it matter?”

Dang Soran’s lips twitched.

Already teasing me, barely after reuniting.

Slam!

Overwhelmed by dread, I grabbed her arm and yanked her into the Leather Room.

“Eek!”

Dang Soran offered no resistance, dragged in limply.

Bang!

I slammed the door shut, faced her, and swallowed again.

“…Hah…”

Dang Soran, pulled in, let out an odd moan.

“Who told you?”

Ignoring her sound, I asked again.

Dang Soran showed that impish expression once more.

“…Hehe, Young Master.”

She whispered in my ear.

“…Who do you think?”

Chills ran down my spine.

Cheongwol’s absence suddenly felt even creepier.

Like skipping cram school and coming home to no mom.

Then your sibling sidles up: ‘Bro, I snitched to Mom about you ditching last time.’

Imagine what Mom and sib talked about after.

Clueless, I gripped Dang Soran’s arms and demanded.

“…What did you do?”

You brat. What’d you pull?

Dang Soran lightly clutched my sleeve and smiled.

“…I like this pressure.”

“Pardon?”

“Young Master.”

Then, in a clearly provocative tone—mixed with annoyance, like a spoiled kid’s—she asked.

“…Will you punish naughty Soran today too?”