Chapter 1 — Sister-in-Law... I Love You... And I'm Sorry

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination. All characters are adults aged 18 or over.

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I married my wife because of an introduction from my sister-in-law.

Since my mother ran a dressmaking shop in Gangnam, I'd been surrounded by clothes and women's accessories since I was little. I'd even attended an art academy since elementary school, so I was pretty good at drawing.

Thirteen years ago, I got into the fashion design department at a university in Seoul. The major was mostly female students—aside from me, there were only three other guys. Maybe because I had a delicate, gentle face, I was quite popular among the female seniors and classmates.

Ah, let me introduce my sister-in-law.

She was a second-year senior in my department—tall, stunningly beautiful. But she had one flaw: her personality. While I was introverted and quiet, she was bold, straightforward, and loud—more like a guy than a girl. (My wife is the third of four daughters, and she's the eldest.) Maybe that's why she had more female friends than male ones.

Back then, I couldn't hold my liquor at all. These days I can down two bottles of soju without blinking, but back then, half a bottle was enough to make me pass out on the street. ^^:

Whether it was misfortune or luck, I still don't know—but in my second year, I went to the freshman welcome party with my heart pounding, excited at the thought of meeting cute new juniors.

New students and returning ones took turns stepping onto the café stage for self-introductions.

I was drinking beer with my female classmates when a girl stepped up with a husky, almost masculine voice—nothing like a typical girl's.

I looked up, curious—and instantly, my heart started racing. My face flushed for no reason. She was tall and slender, beautiful like the models I used to see at my mom's shop.

As the night wore on, I started feeling overwhelmed. Alcohol never agreed with me, and these social gatherings made me anxious.

I stepped outside for a smoke, hoping the night air would clear my head.

A moment later, that same girl walked up beside me.

"Got a cigarette?" she asked.

I was stunned. (Nowadays, it's common for girls to smoke, but back then, it was rare to see one light up so openly.)

I'd had a few drinks, and my timid self finally spoke up.

"Hey. Don't you have any seniors? Can't you see this senior right here? Who the hell do you think you are, asking me for a cigarette? And a girl, at that?"

She turned on me instantly, shouting.

"What? Girl? Senior? Hey, what year are you?"

"Why? I'm '93."

"You're not even a year below me, you little brat—how dare you yell at your senior like that?"

And then she punched me. Several times. It hurt like hell.

I hadn't been hit since elementary school—not even by my mom. I was furious, humiliated.

For a second, I felt tears welling up.

But what could I do? She was my senior. And I'd been too busy staring at her face during her introduction to notice her student number.

This violent, terrifying woman would later become my sister-in-law.

She'd taken a year off for a language program in the U.S. and had just returned—her student number was '91.

In our female-dominated department, senior girls were especially feared.

I lowered my head, voice trembling.

"I'm sorry. I didn't recognize you. It was my mistake."

She paused.

"Well… I guess that happens. Hey, let's go grab another round of soju somewhere."

I had no choice but to follow. If I refused, she'd probably beat me again.

We ended up at a nearby soju bar. I had to report on everything—school life, family, my past—like I was giving a formal presentation.

She kept pushing drinks on me. I'd just touch the rim to my lips and set it down.

She narrowed her eyes.

"What's wrong with kids these days? You won't even drink what your senior offers?"

She was intimidating.

I gritted my teeth, closed my eyes, and downed three shots in a row.

I'd already had four beers earlier, so the alcohol hit me fast.

My tongue felt heavy. She started looking like two, then three people.

She was talking, but I couldn't make out a word.

Then—thud.

My stomach churned. Dizzy, nauseous, I stood up, desperate for water.

But when I opened my eyes…

I was naked.

I looked around, confused. This wasn't my room.

And beside me—lying facedown, wearing nothing but panties—was that same barbie-doll-bodied senior, fast asleep.

What should I do? Pretend I didn't remember and sneak out?

No. I shook her awake.

"Senior… wake up. Senior… please…"

"Ugh… what the hell? Let me sleep. It's morning already."

"Senior, why am I here?"

"You don't remember? Damn, how weak can a guy be? I practically dragged you here. You passed out like a rock. And why the hell did you fake it?"

Damn it. So embarrassing.

Back then, the only time I'd ever touched a girl's hand was during a freshman orientation game—grabbing a classmate's wrist. The only woman I'd seen in underwear was my own mother.

Now, there are endless ways to see women, but back then? I was completely innocent.

From that moment on, we grew incredibly close.

We studied together in the library, drank coffee at cafés, ate meals at her studio apartment.

But there was a problem—she drank well, and she was athletic.

She represented our department in the women's relay at the sports festival.

She even won first place in the women's arm-wrestling tournament.

She was so energetic, so dominant, that I just followed her around like a shadow.

She's the reason I learned to drink, the reason I became a little more social.

And—there's one more thing. She's the reason I lost my virginity… and learned what sex was really like.

One day, after finishing our first-semester finals, summer break began.

She said she hadn't been home in a while and wanted to do a deep clean.

I agreed.

We went to her place and started cleaning.

I took the balcony and bathroom. She cleaned the bedroom.

Then we decided to wash the bed sheets and comforter I'd soaked earlier.

We were both wearing only shorts, standing in the tub, stomping on the laundry, laughing and playing around.

Suddenly, she smeared soap bubbles on my face.

So I retaliated—smearing bubbles on hers.

Then she grabbed the showerhead and sprayed me.

I ran, turned on the faucet at the sink, and sprayed back.

In the cramped bathroom, we couldn't dodge each other. Soon, we were both drenched—like drowned rats.

And then… my eyes drifted to her upper body.

Her shirt clung to her, soaked. Her figure—her breasts, every curve—was completely visible.

Instantly, I got hard. My erection strained against my shorts, threatening to burst through.

Did she see it?

She did.

"Hey! Daniel! What the hell is that? You turned on by my amazing body? Huh? Is that it?"

I blushed furiously.

"What are you talking about? Like I'd look at something like that."

To escape the embarrassment, I sprayed her again.

We wrestled, slipped—and fell onto the wet bathroom floor.

As I fell, my hand landed on something soft.

I looked up—shocked.

She was staring at me, wide-eyed, frozen.

Then… her face started moving closer.

I closed my eyes.

The moment her cherry-like lips touched mine, it felt like my heart stopped.

My first kiss.

We stayed like that for about a minute—just lips pressed together—when her tongue slipped into my mouth.

It was sweet.

I had no experience, but I instinctively pushed my tongue in, sucking her saliva, tasting her.

I was losing my mind.

My cock was already rock hard.

Her lips felt like biting into a marshmallow—soft, sweet, addictive.

When our lips finally parted, I opened my eyes, dazed.

She was looking down at me with a gentle smile.

Then, in a shy voice:

"Hey, Daniel. You're lucky, you know. I don't kiss just anyone…"

That snapped me back to reality. Flustered, I said the dumbest thing possible:

"Claire… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"Idiot. You don't say sorry in a moment like this. You say—was it good? I love you. And… was this your first kiss?"

"Was it that obvious? Sorry, Claire…"

"Again with the sorry?"

And just like that… I shared my first kiss with her.