Chapter 6 - Chapter 5

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Translator: penny

Chapter: 5

Chapter Title: The Neighbor's Secret Profile

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I pulled up the profile on the married woman next door.

'Heh heh, what an absolute madlad... This is straight out of a spy thriller.'

'Damn, and the update was just last night... Stayed up past midnight tweaking it, huh?'

Sure enough, that was me.

No way was I some upstanding guy.

On the surface, a clean-cut corporate drone who didn't even game.

Deep down, a sleazy hypocrite into upskirting and stalking.

Anyway, he was just like me—always fantasizing about banging women in an apocalypse.

- Ring ring ring! Ring ring ring! -

My phone rang. The screen read "Manager."

I ignored it, but it kept buzzing, so I just blocked the number.

Zombie apocalypse any minute now.

Quit blowing up my phone already.

I scrolled through the mountain of voyeur shots my other self had hoarded, marveling at the collection...

Then it hit me—my dick was rock-hard. Time to fuck the neighbor.

Glanced at the clock: 5:30 PM already.

Early dinner time.

'...Heh heh, other me. I'll make your dream come true. Kuh huh huh...'

Time to storm next door.

Balcony hop was tempting since we were neighbors... but too risky.

Save that as plan Z.

Just ring the bell and walk in like I owned the place.

'Say I ordered too much delivery and offer to share—get her to open up, then force my way in.'

Decision made, I moved.

- Ding dong! -

No answer.

Napping long?

Or out?

- Ding dong! -

- Ding dong! Ding dong! -

"Hey? Your neighbor here."

- Ding dong! Ding dong! -

- "...Who is it?" -

A sweet woman's voice crackled over the intercom.

Oh... The drone masturbation vid was silent, so no audio.

Damn, her voice is sexy too. Even hornier now.

"Your neighbor. You know me, right? The guy who just moved in..."

- "Yeees..." -

"No big deal, but I ordered delivery—way too much. Wanna split it? Haha."

- "..." -

No real response, but her breathing screamed suspicion.

Husband's overseas; no wonder she's on guard.

'Shit... Gonna have to balcony it? Sigh... What now?'

Racked my brain. Then it clicked.

Someone once said: When a lie's about to blow up, hit 'em with a bigger one.

"...Haha. Truth is, I hit the lottery. Got so excited I ordered a ton of everything... Overshot big time."

- "..." -

'Not working? Balcony it is? Come on... Come on... Come on...'

'Fuck. Should've just said delivery. I'm an idiot...'

"Ha... Haha..."

- "Oh... Congrats. First prize?" -

Finally, a bite.

"Yeah. Haha... Feels unreal..."

- "Congrats. That much food?" -

"Yep. Bulgogi, naengmyeon, sweet-and-sour pork, chicken, burgers, jokbal, tteokbokki... Tons of stuff. Anything sound good?"

- "...Sure, a bit of tteokbokki and jokbal... Oh, um... Sorry to ask, but... is there jjolmyeon and flying fish roe fried rice with the jokbal set...?" -

"Yeah, came as a service set."

After that, smooth sailing.

Pretended to grab the tteokbokki-jokbal set from my place and headed back.

#

- Ding dong! -

Kim Hye-jeong rubbed her eyes awake at the doorbell.

She lay on the master bed, bottoms nowhere in sight.

Just her husband's oversized white dress shirt on top.

Near her crotch: pink masturbation rotor and wads of tissues soaked with her juices.

Obvious what she'd been up to before crashing.

- Ding dong! -

'Who... Delivery? Just leave it at the door...'

Three months into marriage, she'd jerked off around 2 PM like usual and dozed off.

Day three since her husband left for a two-week U.S. trip.

Daily sex routine shattered; frustration peaked on day three.

Ovulation made the horniness brutal. She'd gone all out, then conked out for over three hours.

Hye-jeong sluggishly propped up, perching on the bed.

Post-masturbation lethargy made moving a chore.

Delivery could sit outside, but...

Registered mail needing a signature?

Or that dumb stalker faking it last time?

If registered, verify with post office—or cops.

- Ding dong! Ding dong! -

"Fuck... Shit. Who is it? So annoying..."

She tugged the shirt down over her crotch and shuffled from bedroom to living room intercom.

The screen showed a vaguely familiar guy.

- "Hey? Your neighbor here." -

- Ding dong! Ding dong! -

'Oh... The guy next door...'

The recent mover. Sleazy eyes, bad vibes.

And... maybe imagining it, but felt like she'd seen him before he moved in?

That nagging familiarity hit often thanks to her looks.

Her stalker radar blared.

Middle school, high school—stalkers galore.

Guys swarming like flies; nearly turned her misogynistic.

Even teachers back then.

That's why she dated her low-libido husband and married him.

Even he confessed post-cohabitation:

"Ugh... Hye-jeong... Normally one jerk-off ends my day... But with you, I could go four-plus..."

She knew her beauty was killer.

In her thirties now, she saw it as a weapon.

Youthful her loathed male approaches.

Now? She kinda savored the stares a little.

Experience, maybe.

Still hated the creeps, though.

Neighbor dude was prime example.

Hard to pin down, but...

That classic stalker creep-factor vibe? Yeah.

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