The Mona Lisa Pounced On Me

Chapter 2 – A Tale of Two Women

“That’s enough. Go to bed.”

It’s her freedom to blurt out such embarrassing lines that leave me speechless,

but Leona never forces anything beyond touching my body.

Surprisingly, even in this neighborhood, there are laws against rape and sexual harassment, and there are courts.

The problem is that to enter those courts, you need city citizenship.

“Big sis likes you because you’re cute. You like it too, right?”

“I don’t like it, how many times do I have to say it? It’s really annoying.”

“Then why do you just sit there? Not reporting it?”

That’s because no one would listen to a black-haired apprentice living in someone else’s house.

Our master is someone who proudly holds a position in the city council that manipulates those courts.

Of course, I’m the one being manipulated now,

but to put it simply, in this world, even if Leona forcibly violated me

and then spread false rumors around the small neighborhood that I fell for her hip movements and declared myself a male slut the next day,

no one would believe my claim of being raped.

‘…Fuck.’

A small curse escaped my lips.

I was angry.

Not angry because no one would believe me,

but angry that I had become someone who could be raped by others.

Normally, how could I be violated by a girl who wouldn’t even be worth a punch?

It’s truly absurd.

Of course, our master seemed to think differently

as she stared at me with a blank face and said,

‘What did you just say?’

‘…I wasn’t talking to you, Master.’

Cursing where you sit isn’t the spirit of a real man.

If I can get away with a casual excuse, that would be a win.

Actually, the biggest issue now is requesting her to lift the curfew she’s imposed.

Among the people in this world, who aren’t much different from our master,

the only person I can actually talk to is my friend Michaela, whom I met at the restaurant opposite the cathedral.

…It might be a stretch to call someone I’ve only met a few times a friend, but that’s what I want to believe.

So somehow pleasing this woman is important. Not cursing at her.

Damn it, why prevent me from meeting just one person? And a little girl at that?

‘You call that an excuse? Where did you learn such manners? Not going to answer?’

Even from the perspective of this crazy woman who speaks as if it’s something to be proud of,

it would be easy for her to devour me raw.

But the fact that she doesn’t suggests it’s probably some kind of misplaced pride.

‘I’m so great, why won’t you give in to me?’ Something like that.

It’s a foolish notion, but I can’t think of any other explanation.

Although I criticized our master to death,

Surprisingly again, by the standards of this neighborhood, she’s an angelic person.

At least she doesn’t hit people.

In this workshop, beating people to a pulp is the norm.

When I could still freely come and go outside, I once ran an errand to the wool guild here,

and I was horrified to see a woman severely beating a kid with a poker.

So the state that the master is talking about

must be something I can endure.

“It seems like a few practice sessions these days aren’t showing results. You just need to do as you’re told, why do you always talk back, huh?”

“But, Master, yesterday’s head practice—”

“Now you’re talking back. Hey, are you better at sculpting than me?”

“…No.”

“Or what, are you better at drawing than me?”

“…”

Sorry. I take that back.

I can’t stand it.

I couldn’t bear how my head hung low.

“Well, now you won’t even answer? Hey, look at me. Won’t you look?”

If I answer, she goes crazy. If I don’t, she goes crazy.

Being with her is sexual harassment. Without her, it’s gossip.

She was a wise person, and a foolish person.

The best teacher, but the worst human being.

I could learn anything from this person, but at the same time, I could learn nothing.

True to its name as a city of art, everything was before me, yet there was nothing.

“How many times do I have to tell you this is all for your own good? Don’t just mindlessly work with clay; with your talent, you should be drawing.”

Even though I want to take the carving knife, chisel, or hammer in my hand and smash her head in,

as long as there’s something to learn from this goddamn woman, I can’t do that.

Either I become the best sculptor in this city,

or I really change my major and paint better pictures than the ones this woman left unfinished.

Until then, I can’t escape from here even if I die.

I’ll suck her dry to the bone and then laugh at her all I want when the time comes.

Thinking that way, my teeth clenched automatically.

“Wow, look at that expression?”

Feeling like I was about to explode, I turned my head sharply.

“Such bad manners… how did I end up taking in someone like this as a disciple and suffering so much? Do you want to leave home? Want to try being a male prostitute? A handsome man from the East, and a virgin at that. You could name your price. I know the best brothel in town, you know? Want me to write you a letter of introduction? It’s comfortable these days since I’m going easy on you, isn’t it?”

As she returned to her usual repertoire, I felt more at ease.

Not because I had transcended her outrageous remarks,

but because even though her words were that vicious,

I knew she had no real intention of kicking me out.

Yes, I am a homeless foreigner.

But what if I leave,

Who will cook, who will run errands, who will clean the workshop, and the sculptures—

Even if he does the sculptures himself, it’s obvious he’s too lazy to ever finish them.

At least I earn some pocket money by doing these things.

So I can push back this much. Probably.

It’s not like I’ll really be thrown out, and he just occasionally teases me, not trying to force himself on me.

By the way, I can’t understand the psychology of the people in this city who are obsessively fixated on virginity.

They believe having relations with a virgin brings longevity and even cures venereal diseases,

What pathetic medieval bastards.

Feeling utterly hopeless, I stared at the floor.

“Hey. No answer? Are all Chinese like this? Is this how your parents raised you?”

This time, rather than my insides bursting, I felt like my eyes would roll back in my head.

I barely resisted the urge to clutch my head and collapse.

First, I am not a damn Chinese.

Second, my parents are a thousand times better than yours who had you as a bastard.

I wanted to hurl these insults at him,

But people naturally get angry when confronted with facts,

And that wasn’t different in this neighborhood.

This so-called master of ours had as many complexes as he had talent.

Being born out of wedlock, not receiving proper education,

Having a bright red hair color that stands out—pointing out any of these would make him explode.

That last one about his hair color is actually quite pretty, but I don’t know why

He’s embarrassed by it, so I guess that’s how it is. I heard many people tease him about it.

Honestly, I don’t want to know more.

Someone who hates being criticized more than death

But obsessively judges others’ birth, education, or appearance—that’s typical boomer behavior.

Of course, as a Korean youth, there are things I can’t give up on.

“I’ve told you many times I’m not Chinese—”

“How much geography could you possibly know to keep saying such nonsense!”

Enough, enough.

A deep sigh escaped me, and I staggered as if about to collapse

Finally melting into the chair.

This woman, they say she’s good at making maps,

But she’s even more talented at driving people crazy.

A musty smell came from the old wooden workbench.

“Now you’re sprawling out to sleep? Good. Let’s talk.”

As my master approached, my back straightened reflexively.

Instead of pouncing on me, Leona provocatively stretched her long legs onto the workbench.

Something only someone with boundless self-love for their figure would do.

– What are you looking at? Yes, I’m pretty. Turned on? Are you turned on?

I remembered our first meeting.

I couldn’t help but find it regrettable that with such an elegant body, she lived with the most vulgar speech and behavior in the world.

Until then, I just thought she was a somewhat peculiar person.

While having a meal together, I thought she was quite unusual.

And I certainly didn’t expect that I would end up living with that crazy woman.

Leona, without removing her left hand from my buttocks,

raised her right index finger in front of her face and pointed at me.

A slender, extended artist’s finger.

Calluses had formed on various joints where she held brushes and pencils.

…Why are you pointing at someone’s face?

“You’re so handsome. My baby.”

To say that in this atmosphere. She’s really something.

She lightly tickled the area above her rounded breasts with her finger,

then tapped her left shoulder and slowly moved along her arm to her elbow, then to her palm and fingertips.

While I was staring blankly, wondering what she was doing,

her hand had already moved from my pelvis to my side, and was burrowing under my work apron.

It’s not like a man wearing a skirt is gay or something,

I mean the work aprons that chefs or painters wear.

The ones you wear to keep stone dust or paint from splashing—

“Aaack!”

“Hush. Stay still.”

Leona firmly kneaded my right thigh with her left hand.

This crazy woman. I thought she’d just let it go like always. Why is she like this today?

“What. Are you scared now? Did you think I was joking when I kept saying I wanted to fuck you?”

If I answered, ‘I did until just now,’

I’d probably get slapped five or six times, judging by the look in her eyes.

I once said Leona was a cat that scratched at my pride,

but she’s not a cat—she’s like a tiger resonating low frequencies from her throat that makes my knees weak.

Damn. What’s with this woman?

…Actually, I don’t dislike her being a bit aggressive, especially with her level of beauty. It’s just annoying.

Her long, well-maintained bright red hair.

Her full, rounded breasts.

Her well-proportioned figure without a single scar.

Her proud and elegant gait when she keeps her mouth shut.

Not just looks that would be praised here, but looks that would turn heads even back in Korea.

Fine. I admit it.

But even now, this woman is my servant, butler, housekeeper, paint assistant, schedule manager, and all sorts of odd-job helper,

and now she wants me to be her living dildo too?

Fuck that.

“Teacher, you’re not usually like this.”

“Uh.”

“What’s wrong with you today? Are you drunk?”

“Just… feeling lonely these days.”

“Go play with your daughter and sleep.”

As I spat out the words in a tone of contempt

Leona chuckled and responded.

“Yeah. That’s your charm. So prim and proper.”

Being called prim and proper. Real men are all dead.

Ah. I am dead, actually. Got hit by a car.

Of course, Leona, who had no way of knowing my past, moved her hand as she pleased

and the pressure on my right thigh intensified.

“Huh? Ah, ah! Really!”

“You’re going to be like this anyway. You like it too.”

What the hell is this?

What is she saying while pinching me since earlier?

“No. Let go of me first.”

She released her hand that was massaging my thigh and pulled it out from under my work skirt.

Wow. I guess it’s finally over today.

She usually doesn’t massage me, so I don’t understand why she’s suddenly acting this way.

I guess it’s because she came in drunk.

Or maybe she ate some opium-laced cookies on her way here.

‘Now that it’s over, I should just go to bed-‘

Just as I was wondering how those cookies they sell outside might taste

behind my work clothes covered in brown dust,

Leona began touching my buttocks, which were only covered by thin leather clothing, with her left hand.

“Haah….”

I sighed for what felt like the umpteenth time out of frustration.

I don’t understand why she’s doing this to someone sitting at a workbench.

“What is there to touch on a man’s buttocks…”

“What are you saying? I want to touch you because you’re a man. Actually, I want to touch the front, but I’m holding back. You should appreciate that.”

Good for you.

I’m tearfully grateful.

I shouted in anger.

“Seriously, why do you keep doing this to someone who has no interest in romance?”

Leona tilted her head

and answered as if it was obvious.

“Am I not pretty?”

This is driving me crazy.

Why is that relevant here?

A blunt way of speaking optimized for draining people’s energy.

It felt like the rationality in my head was draining away.

“What does that have to do with anything right now?”

“You don’t like me.”

How am I supposed to like someone who, from the crack of dawn, wakes me up, makes me make the bed, cook, do laundry, wash clothes, receive letters, and run all sorts of errands?

Am I playing The Sims or what?

“…Why should I like you, Master?”

I was so angry that I was beyond bewildered,

so it came out like a genuine question.

I should have spoken more forcefully.

If I shouted right in his ear, would he understand how angry I am?

“Because I don’t like your attitude.”

“What? Please explain what you don’t like about it. That’s the only way I’ll understand.”

“You have no initiative to figure things out yourself. Do I have to explain everything to you from A to Z?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake, really.

I felt like his nagging was making my temples cave in.

It’s driving me crazy that this person is the only one I can talk to.

Still, I need to keep talking if I want him to lift this curfew.

In my nearly insane state of mind, I barely managed to recall my purpose for sticking with this master.

I just want to go out and see my friends too.

“Yes. Please tell me.”

“Wow. Now you’re speaking nicely. So I’ll teach you about sex. Today.”

Screw this, fuck.

“Fuck! Forget about sex, just teach me sculpture!”

“A boy with such a foul mouth. Cursing. Talking obscenely. I guess that’s how they all are in China?”

“ARRRGGGHHHH!”