The Game

Late December

The contract sat on the coffee table, already signed.

LOOSSEMBLE’s logo at the top. And at the bottom, under “Management & Brand Partnerships”: your company name.

A few months ago, you’d just been ARTMS’s manager. Now you own a flourishing talent management agency with a small team and a growing client roster.

The shift had been deliberate. Calculated.

After that night with Choerry—after accepting you might actually want to see if you could create life with her—everything changed. You started thinking long-term. Financial security. Supporting not just yourself, but potentially… more.

You needed to build something that could sustain whatever this was becoming.

So you’d leveraged every connection from the legal battles. Partnered with the entertainment lawyers who’d helped win the injunctions. Pitched investors on the gap in the market: talented idols who needed professional management without predatory contracts. Asked financial advice from ARTMS’ CEO.

The business model was simple—connect artists with brands, negotiate fair deals, take a percentage. Management consulting for idols who wanted guidance without signing their lives away. Your network was your biggest asset, and you’d turned it into something sustainable.

ARTMS was your first client—while you were still building out your startup. The five of them trusted you with their brand deals, their image, their partnerships outside their company’s scope.

And now LOOSSEMBLE. The underdogs. Hyunjin, Yeojin, Vivi, Gowon, Hyeju.

They’d signed with their current company for production, but they wanted you for everything else.

“We trust you, Oppa,” Hyunjin had said when they’d approached you. “You fought for us before. We want you with us for this too.”

So here you were. In your apartment that Haseul had slowly transformed into something livable. Waiting for three of your new clients to arrive for what was supposed to be a casual celebration.

Gowon, Hyeju, and Yeojin were bringing snacks and drinks.

What you didn’t anticipate was the game of Mario Kart.

Or what would happen after.

Hyeju sprawled on the couch to your right, controller in hand, her body taking up far more space than necessary. She was wearing a thin black tank top—no bra underneath, you’d noticed immediately—and tiny shorts that rode up her thighs. She’d positioned herself so close that her breast was constantly pressed against your arm, the soft weight of it impossible to ignore.

“You’re going down this round,” she said, shifting slightly so her breast dragged across your bicep. “I can feel it.”

“You’ve said that the last five rounds,” you pointed out, trying to focus on the screen and failing.

“This time I mean it.” She leaned forward to grab her drink, and her breast practically smothered your arm, the thin fabric of her tank top doing nothing to hide how hard her nipple was.

Yeojin sat on your left, smaller and more energetic, but just as deliberate in her positioning. She wore an oversized t-shirt that kept slipping off one shoulder and sleep shorts that showed off her petite legs. She kept bouncing with excitement, using it as an excuse to press against you.

“Oh oh oh—I’m gonna win this one!” She leaned into you, her small body warm against your side. Her hand landed on your thigh, ostensibly for balance, but her fingers traced small circles against the fabric of your pants.

“Yeojin, you’re in eighth place,” Hyeju observed with a smirk.

“Not for long!” Yeojin’s hand slid higher on your thigh as she spoke, her touch feather-light but deliberate.

The race started. You tried to focus on the screen, on the turns and items, but it was nearly impossible with both of them pressed against you.

Hyeju hit a boost pad and threw her arms up in celebration. “Yes!” Her movement made her breast bounce against your arm, and she didn’t move back immediately, letting it rest there, soft and warm.

Yeojin’s hand had crept even higher now, her pinky finger brushing against your crotch during the straightaway. When you glanced down at her, she was staring at the screen with exaggerated concentration, as if she didn’t notice where her hand was.

The race continued. You were in second place, focused on catching up to Hyeju who was—annoyingly—in first.

During a loading screen between laps, Yeojin’s hand moved with more purpose. Her palm pressed directly against your crotch, feeling you through your pants. “Oops,” she said innocently, not moving her hand away. “Sorry, Oppa. Just adjusting.”

“Yeojin—”

“Shh, race is starting again.” But her hand stayed there, applying gentle pressure, feeling you start to harden beneath her palm.

Hyeju wasn’t being subtle either. During the same pause, her free hand had slipped down between you, fingers brushing against your thigh before moving inward. You felt her hand cup your cock through your pants, squeezing once before the next lap started.

“Hyeju,” you warned.

“What? I’m not doing anything.” Her hand withdrew but her breast pressed harder against your arm, and you could feel her nipple through the thin fabric.

You somehow managed to take first place on the next lap. Hyeju made an exaggerated sound of dismay and flopped against you, her breast practically hitting your face as she pretended to be devastated. The soft weight of it pressed against your cheek for a moment before she pulled back.

“That’s so unfair,” she pouted, repositioning herself even closer. Now her breast was basically resting on your shoulder, the underside of it warm against your skin where your sleeve had ridden up.

Yeojin was more focused now, actually trying to play, but her other hand—the one not holding the controller—had found its way to your lap. During every straight section where she didn’t need to use as many buttons, her fingers would trace the outline of your cock through your pants, feeling how hard you were getting.

“You’re doing really well, Oppa,” she said with false innocence. “Very… hard to beat.”

The double meaning wasn’t lost on anyone.

Another pause screen. Hyeju’s hand immediately slipped into your waistband, her fingers wrapping around your cock through your boxers. “Just checking something,” she murmured, giving you a slow stroke before the countdown started again.

You nearly crashed on the first turn.

Yeojin giggled beside you, her hand joining Hyeju’s during the next pause, both of them fondling you while waiting for the race to resume. Their hands worked in tandem—Hyeju stroking slowly, Yeojin’s smaller fingers playing with your balls through the fabric.

“This is cheating,” you managed.

“You’re still winning,” Hyeju pointed out, pulling her hand out just as the next lap started. “So clearly it’s not working.”

But she pressed her breast harder against your arm, rubbing it up and down as she played, the friction making your concentration completely shot.

Yeojin was more subtle during the actual racing, but during every pause, her hand would slip back to your crotch, squeezing, stroking, feeling how hard you’d gotten.

Gowon sat on the floor in front of the coffee table, controller gripped tight, eyes fixed on the screen with intense concentration. From your angle, you could see her jaw clenched, her shoulders tense. She hadn’t said anything about Hyeju and Yeojin’s obvious tactics, but you’d caught her eyes flicking back toward you multiple times, her gaze lingering on where Hyeju’s breast pressed against you, where Yeojin’s hand rested on your thigh.

Her knuckles were white around her controller.