Taehyung, an orphan and mischievous young boy, fell in love at first sight with Jeon Jeongguk, promising that one day he would marry him.
Years later, Taehyung enrolls at Seoul National University, where his life intertwines with Jeongguk, a literat...
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╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ- │ ✧
Jimin stepped into the room, dressed in a sheer, flowing garment that clung to his body like a second skin, accentuating every curve and contour. The fabric was semi-transparent, teasingly revealing his chest and adding an enticing allure to his appearance. A thin, white ribbon hung down the center of his chest, drawing the eye to the bold pendant that adorned it, glimmering under the soft light.
His skin radiated a soft, luminous glow, highlighting the smoothness and inviting warmth of his physique. His lips were plump and painted in a vibrant red, glistening with a glossy sheen that demanded attention. Each movement he made drew the gaze back to those enticing lips, creating a magnetic pull that was hard to resist.
His eyes were a masterpiece of seduction, subtly highlighted with dramatic eyeliner and smoky eyeshadow that enhanced their depth. Long, voluminous lashes framed his gaze, making it sultry and captivating. The confidence in his expression was undeniable, as his well-groomed eyebrows arched perfectly, complementing the overall polished look he exuded.
His styled hair fell effortlessly around his face, enhancing the dramatic effect of his makeup and attire. The shimmering details of his outfit caught the light with each movement, adding an almost ethereal quality to his presence. In this moment, he embodied allure and confidence, effortlessly commanding attention in the room.
"You'll get your first client. Make sure not to mess up," the head lady said, her voice laced with a chilling edge. Jimin gulped, a lump forming in his throat as dread pooled in his stomach.
"Remember one thing, Jimin," she continued, her eyes narrowing into slits. "I'll kill you with my own hands if you mess up. Every tantrum you threw at us meant nothing, but now that the customer is in the picture, I won’t care who brought you here." Her words hung in the air like a death sentence, and Jimin swallowed hard. No matter how bleak his life had become, he didn't want to die.
With a heavy heart, Jimin moved through the dimly lit corridors, each step a reminder of his new reality. The sharp click of his high heels echoed against the cold floor, a sound that felt foreign and unnerving. He had been trained to walk with confidence, to sway his hips enticingly, but all he could feel was the weight of his fear pressing down on him.
Each corridor seemed to stretch endlessly before him, illuminated by the harsh glow of neon lights that flickered like distant stars in a suffocating sky. Jimin tried to steady his breathing, focusing on the rhythm of his steps, but the anticipation of what awaited him only amplified his anxiety.
The cruel irony was that he was just a fourteen-year-old boy, barely old enough to understand the weight of the world, yet burdened with its darkest secrets. The heavy makeup and sultry dress clung to him, a feeble attempt to mask the innocence that still radiated beneath—the purity, the youth that no amount of pretense could fully erase. He was only fourteen, but no one spared him mercy. Not here, not in Celestial Heaven. In this place, compassion was a foreign concept, and his youth was nothing more than a thing to use.
