“It is high time we re-initialize your baseline behavioral conditioning. I have been holding back the disciplinary protocols simply because of your fragile biology, but you are becoming entirely too bold.”
Yoon Seoho completely desynchronized from the boy’s verbal defenses, treating his frantic explanations as mere background static.
His psychological indicators had completely tilted into a zone of absolute, hyper-violent mania, his dark irises burning with a brilliant, unhinged light.
Reaching out, his fingers violently coiled around the boy’s soft hair, utilizing the leverage to ruthlessly slam his upper torso flat against the hard wood of the dining table.
With a series of brutal, continuous tears, he systematically shredded every single layer of clothing protecting the boy’s frame, leaving him completely naked and exposed against the dark surface.
“Ahhh! Brother, I was wrong! Please! Heugh…… ah!”
A series of wet, tear-soaked screams erupted from the boy’s throat, but the auditory feedback failed to penetrate Yoon Seoho’s cognitive tracks.
He merely stared down at the thrashing, completely nude form pinned to the dining table with a look of absolute, clinical detachment.
Ruthlessly applying the full weight of his S-rank physiology, he pinned the boy’s writhing torso flat against the wood, trapping both of his wrists behind his back in a vice-like grip.
“Bring the inventory.”
The moment the verbal command cleared his lips, the hypnotized assistant—still frozen in his static coordinates—turned mechanically, marching straight into the primary suite to retrieve a heavy, absolute-black designer case.
Stepping back to the flank of the table, the hollow-eyed man unlatched the container, extracting a thick, heavy leather strap and presenting it directly to his master.
Accepting the tool, Yoon Seoho looped the leather restraint securely around Seo Yuan’s pinned wrists, locking the buckle down with an airtight precision.
The restrictive binding left the boy’s arms violently hyperextended across his lower spine, completely paralyzing his ability to execute any defensive maneuvers.
A massive, warm palm dropped onto the soft, pale expanse of his left buttock, tracing the contour with a slow, agonizingly deliberate sweep.
The initial touch was deceptively light, but within a fraction of a second, the velocity accelerated into a violent, heavy cadence.
His fingers aggressively kneaded the soft tissue until, without a single microsecond of warning, his palm detonated against the flesh with a deafening crack.
‘SMACK!’
“AAAH!”
An S-rank Esper executing a physical strike without an internal dampener was structurally indistinguishable from a lethal weapon.
Though he had only delivered a singular blow, the targeted surface area instantaneously exploded into a brilliant, fiery crimson hue, the skin swelling rapidly under the kinetic trauma.
Yoon Seoho stared down at the vibrant red handprint marking his territory, his palm rising back into the air without a single millisecond of hesitation.
‘CRACK! SMACK! CRACK!’
This time, he unleashed a rapid, continuous cascade of heavy open-handed strikes against the flesh.
With every single impact that reverberated through the kitchen, the boy’s buttock transcended the boundaries of standard inflammation—rapidly blooming from a fiery scarlet into a deep, sickening shade of violent purple bruising.
“Heugh…… khhk…… ugh…….”
Pressed brutally against the hard surface of the table, Seo Yuan could only let out a series of broken, hyper-ventilating sobs.
Possessing the baseline physical durability of an ordinary, unawakened human civilian, there was an absolute mathematical zero chance his vessel could comfortably process the raw, explosive violence of an S-rank disciplinary protocol.
Yoon Seoho delivered exactly fifteen more high-intensity strikes before finally arresting his movement.
The left side of the boy’s lower anatomy had swollen to a grotesque, asymmetric volume compared to the untouched right side—the original creamy skin completely erased beneath an intricate tapestry of bleeding finger marks, deep-tissue hematomas, and vibrant dark bruising.
“Oheugh…… khhh…… h-heugh…….”
Tilted sideways against the dark wood, the boy’s visage was an absolute, ruined mess of raw fluid.
His face was entirely saturated with a chaotic mixture of tears and nasal secretions, yet the sheer physical degradation failed to look repulsive; instead, it lent his frame a deeply transactional, intensely erotic vulnerability.
Yoon Seoho’s lips curved into a crooked, predatory sneer as his eyes drifted down to check his own lower parameters.
Despite having executed nothing more than a basic, superficial spanking, the sheer psychological dominance had driven his internal arousal metrics straight through the ceiling.
His tailored trousers felt suffocatingly tight, his massive erection pulsing aggressively against the fabric.
“Look at our precious Yuan. Your bottom has been painted with such an exquisite, vivid palette, hm?”
Yoon Seoho wet his lips, his dark eyes consumption-hungry as he tracked the ruined tissue.
The heavily bruised, swollen mass looked incredibly enticing—resembling a piece of exotic, perfectly ripe forbidden fruit that begged to be thoroughly devoured.
The sight of the overlapping crimson and deep-blue marks aligned flawlessly with his structural preferences.
“……However, the current alignment lacks mathematical symmetry. The left side is exponentially larger than its counterpart. We must calibrate the right side to ensure a perfect match, shouldn’t we?”
“Brother…… please…… stop…… I was wrong…… heugh…… I’m sorry…… ah!”
“Oh dear. Does it radiate an immense volume of pain, Yuan?”
Faced with the soft, dripping benevolence of the question, Seo Yuan frantically nodded his head up and down against the wood, desperate to trigger a cooling cycle.
In response, Yoon Seoho reached out, his long fingers gently wiping away the hot tears pooling on the boy’s wet cheek.
The cadence of his touch had completely inverted once more, radiating a soft, near-maternal tenderness.
Brushing his lips directly against the shell of the boy’s ear, he dropped his next words in a delicate, velvety whisper.
“Do not alarm yourself, darling. Brother is going to make the alternate side look just as beautiful for you.”
“Stop…… AAAH!”
‘SMACK! CRACK! SMACK! CRACK!’
This time, the payload hit the right buttock with double the velocity.
Every single time his heavy palm pulverized the soft surface, a sharp, wet acoustic crack echoed through the architectural space.
The kinetic impact was so thoroughly severe that the rounded flesh would momentarily collapse entirely under his hand before violently bouncing back to process the swelling.
Seo Yuan completely lost the capacity to articulate vocal words, his throat emitting nothing but dry, rhythmic clicks as his lungs struggled to process the agonizing sensory overload.
It was an unprecedented, terrifying depth of physical trauma for an unawakened vessel; there was zero cognitive structural space for him to maintain his orientation.
Despite being entirely aware of the precise threshold of the boy’s physical tolerance, Yoon Seoho refused to withdraw his hand.
He watched with an immense layer of psychological satisfaction as the right side rapidly bloated to match the left, the dark, multi-colored bruising carving its way across his skin in a configuration that perfectly matched his darkest aesthetic tastes.
“I should have initiated this structural calibration weeks ago. Pouring baseline kindness into your system merely compromises your programming, transforming you into a defiant, arrogant little creature who forgets his parameters, hm?”
“H-Heick…… ugh…….”
The frantic, verbal apologies that had characterized the opening minutes of the sequence had completely evaporated—replaced by a faint, near-silent respiratory wheeze as the boy lay completely limp against the wood.
Looking down at the utterly broken, helpless form stretched across his dining table—an organism entirely subjected to the brutal whims of his hands—an absolute surge of possessive triumph saturated Yoon Seoho’s chest.
‘This fragile, exquisite creature belongs entirely to my grid.’
