ARTMS | Stress Relief Toy

The midday sun cast long shadows across the pavement as you checked your phone again, the GPS marker hovering just ahead. The streets were moderately busy, filled with people going about their days, while you followed the path your navigation dictated. It had been weeks—maybe months—since you’d been in such dire need of a job. Every application had either ghosted you or come back with a rejection, and your savings were dwindling at an alarming rate. Then, out of nowhere, your friend had called you with an offer.

"I found something. Pays really well. Like, really well."

When you asked what it was, he had been frustratingly vague.

"Trust me, man. You’ll regret it if you pass this up."

It sounded shady. Who wouldn’t tell you what the actual job was? But desperation had a way of making even the most questionable decisions seem reasonable. After all, what did you have to lose?

Now, standing in front of an upscale apartment complex, you hesitated. This wasn’t an office building, not some corporate front—just… a residence. You sent your friend another text, half-expecting him to finally admit this was all some elaborate joke.

Just buzz 506 and say you’re here for the new job.

Grimacing, you punched in the number and muttered the words into the intercom. The static silence lasted just long enough for doubt to creep back in—then the door unlocked with a soft click.

Inside, the air was subtly scented—something floral, expensive. The hallway was sleek, the kind of place professionals lived in. You took the elevator up, heart hammering against your ribs. What the hell was this?

At the door, you raised your hand to knock—then froze. What if this was a cult? What if they wanted your kidneys? But, before you could back out completely, you knocked.

Silence.

You waited.

Was this a prank?

Just as you turned to leave, the door swung open.

"Oh! You’re here!"

The voice was warm, bright, familiar. Your brain short-circuited before your eyes even registered the face attached to it. Because standing in the doorway, in an oversized hoodie and loose pajama pants, hair slightly messy like she’d just rolled out of bed, was Jinsoul.

ARTMS’ Jinsoul.

Your mouth went dry.

She grinned, tilting her head when you didn’t respond immediately. "You are here for the job, right?"

You managed a stiff nod.

"Great! Come in, make yourself comfortable." She stepped aside, ushering you into the apartment. The air was lightly scented—something floral, something sweet, something undeniably feminine. The apartment was spacious, modern, but lived-in—cluttered with the kind of comfortable chaos that came with four women sharing a space. A pair of sneakers by the door, a jacket slung over the couch, a half-empty water bottle on the coffee table. It was so normal. So domestic.

And yet your pulse was racing like you’d just sprinted up the stairs.

Jinsoul gestured to the couch. "Sit! I’ll go grab the others."

The others?

Before you could process that, she was already disappearing down the hall, knocking on doors, calling out in a sing-song voice. A few moments later, footsteps padded toward the living room.

Heejin emerged first, her dark hair tied up in a messy bun, her toned arms crossed over her chest. She grinned when she saw you, extending a hand. "Hey! You must be the new guy." Her grip was strong—like she could probably break your fingers if she wanted to.

Choerry followed, bouncing on her toes, her long brown hair swaying as she gave you a playful little bow. "Hi~! Hope you’re ready for this!"

Kim Lip was last, her sharp eyes scanning you up and down before she offered a small, polite nod. "Welcome."

You swallowed.

Jinsoul clapped her hands together. "Okay! So, you’re probably wondering what the job is."

You nodded again, still too shell-shocked to speak.

Kim Lip tilted her head. "You don’t actually know what the job is, do you?"

You shook your head.

She smirked. "Funny."

Heejin snorted. Choerry giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Oh, you’re in for a treat," Choerry said, wiggling her eyebrows.

Your confusion must have been obvious, because Jinsoul sighed, stepping forward. Then Heejin. Then Choerry. Then Kim Lip.

Suddenly, they were surrounding you, a semicircle of beautiful, terrifying women boxing you in against the couch.

Then Jinsoul leaned down, resting her hands on her knees as she met your eyes. "The job," she said slowly, "is that whenever one of us calls… you come over. And you help us relieve stress."

Your stomach dropped. Relieve stress? What did that mean?

Kim Lip rolled her eyes. "You’re our on-call fucktoy," she clarified, blunt as a hammer. "We call, you come. Literally."

Your brain short-circuited.

Heejin’s grin turned wolfish. "And we pay really well."

Choerry clapped her hands. "200,000 won per session! And—" she wiggled her fingers, "—we were thinking… maybe a free trial today? You know, to see if you’re… compatible."

Jinsoul’s thumb brushed your jaw, her smile all teeth. "So. You in?"

The couch creaked as you sank deeper into it. What the hell had your friend signed you up for?

You were halfway through a convenience store sandwich when your phone buzzed—Jinsoul’s name flashing across the screen. The text was short, to the point:

Get here in 15 minutes and I’ll double the payment.

Your feet were moving before you’d even fully processed the words.

400,000 won. That was about half of your month's rent. All in one payment.

You wove through the crowded sidewalk, sidestepping slow-walking couples and groups of tourists, your pulse hammering in time with your hurried steps. The job itself—being ARTMS’ on-call "stress relief"—wasn’t exactly something you’d ever imagined putting on a résumé. But the money? The money was impossible to ignore.

By the time you reached the apartment building, you’d made it in under ten minutes. Your lungs burned as you jabbed the intercom button, barely waiting for Jinsoul’s muffled "Yeah, come up" before the lock disengaged. The elevator was too slow; you took the stairs two at a time, skidding to a stop outside unit 506.

Chest heaving, you rapped your knuckles against the door.

It swung open almost immediately.

Jinsoul stood there—hoodie drowning her frame, sweatpants riding low on her hips, and—wait, was that pizza in her mouth?

Not exactly the sultry, "ready to use you" vibe you’d been expecting.

She didn’t say a word. Just grabbed your wrist and yanked you inside, kicking the door shut behind you as you scrambled to toe off your shoes. The dorm smelled like melted cheese and something faintly sweet. A pizza box sat open on the coffee table, grease stains on the cardboard, next to a laptop that had gone to sleep.

Jinsoul plopped onto the couch, finally swallowing her bite. "Have some," she said, nudging the box toward you.

You blinked.

Wasn’t this supposed to be… work?

She caught your expression and rolled her eyes. "Relax, we’ll get to that later. Right now, I need a second opinion on some stuff." She reached over, tapping the laptop’s trackpad. The screen flickered back to life—an online boutique, rows of dresses and jackets and shoes staring back at you.

Before you could ask what the hell was happening, Jinsoul was already heading to the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, "The girls all have the same taste. Need a dude’s perspective for once."

She returned with two water bottles, dropping onto the couch so close her knee bumped yours. The laptop was now fully in your shared space, her fingers scrolling absently through a page of oversized sweaters.

"Okay," she said, clicking on a particularly hideous neon windbreaker. "Be honest. Is this ugly, or is it so ugly it’s kind of cool?"

You opened your mouth—then closed it.

Jinsoul smirked, elbow nudging your ribs. "Don’t overthink it. Just tell me if I’d look stupid."

She clicked to another tab—high-waisted jeans, a cropped blazer, a pair of boots that looked like they belonged on a runway, not in anyone’s actual closet.

You stared at the screen, then at her, then back at the screen.

So… online shopping was part of the job now too?

"Alright," she said, cracking her knuckles. "You ready? This could get intense."

You stood outside the sleek glass exterior of MODHAUS’s building, rereading Kim Lip’s text for the third time.

Come to the company. Now.

No pleasantries, no explanation—just a demand.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. Of all the places she could’ve called you to, here was the worst. The dorm was one thing—private, controlled, discreet. But the company building? Where staff, managers, and other idols could walk in at any moment? This was pushing your luck.

Still, saying no wasn’t an option. Not when the pay was this good.

Steeling yourself, you walked inside—only to freeze just past the entrance, suddenly hyper-aware of how out of place you looked. The lobby was all polished floors and hushed professionalism, interns and employees moving with purpose. You were about to text Kim Lip that you’d arrived when the elevator doors slid open—and there she was.

Dressed in black slacks and a fitted turtleneck, her short blonde hair perfectly styled even off-stage, Kim Lip looked every bit the untouchable idol.

"You’re earlier than I expected," she said, voice low and even. Then, without waiting for a response, she grabbed your wrist and pulled you toward the elevators.

Your pulse spiked.

This was insane.

She flashed a small, polite smile at the receptionist as you passed. "He’s with me. Don’t worry about it."

The receptionist barely glanced up.

Kim Lip didn’t let go of your wrist as she led you deeper into the building, past meeting rooms and practice studios, the muffled sound of music bleeding through some of the doors. Your mind raced.

There was no way she was serious about doing this here. Right?

The thought of getting caught—of some staff member walking in, of the scandal, of your face plastered across tabloids as "ARTMS’ secret stress relief toy"—made your stomach twist.

But Kim Lip didn’t slow down until you reached a nondescript door at the end of a quieter hallway. She pushed it open, tugging you inside before shutting it behind you.

The room was tiny—just two office chairs, a cluttered desk, a desktop monitor, and a small speaker. The walls had thin soundproofing panels, the kind meant to muffle voices during meetings, not… other noises.

You opened your mouth to protest, to ask if she’d lost her mind, to beg her to reconsider, but Kim Lip was already letting go of your hand, dropping into one of the chairs.

"Sit down," she said, gesturing to the other seat. "I’ve got a few demos I made that I need you to listen to."

You stared.

Demos?

When you didn’t move immediately, she arched a brow. "Are you gonna sit, or stand there the whole time?"

Swallowing your confusion, you took the other chair, scooting closer to the desk but leaving a careful gap between you. Kim Lip was already clicking through files on the desktop, pulling up audio tracks and pausing them before they could play.

She exhaled sharply, rolling her shoulders like she was shaking off tension. "Look, we’ll get to fucking later. Probably at the dorm. But right now, I need you to listen to these demos and tell me which ones don’t suck."

Your brain short-circuited.

This was why she dragged you here?

She smirked at your expression. "Yeah. Not part of the job description. Deal with it."

You were not getting paid enough for this.

The text from Heejin had thrown you for a loop.

Come to the gym. Now. I’ll throw in an extra 50,000 won.

A gym.

Of all the places she could’ve called you to—her dorm, a hotel, hell, even a shady love motel would’ve made more sense—she’d chosen a public gym. The mental image alone was enough to make your face burn. Were you seriously about to have sex in a locker room? Between the sweat, the echoes, the very real chance of getting walked in on by some random bodybuilder mid-thrust—this was a disaster waiting to happen.

But then your stomach growled, a sharp reminder of why you couldn’t afford to say no. Your fridge had been near empty for days, and that "extra 50,000 won" was the difference between eating instant noodles or actual food this week.

So you went.

The gym was nicer than you expected—sleek, modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows letting in light. The second you stepped inside, the blast of overactive air conditioning hit you, carrying with it the unmistakable musk of sweat and disinfectant. Machines hummed, weights clanked, and somewhere in the distance, a treadmill whirred at an unsustainable pace.

You hesitated just inside the entrance, suddenly hyper-aware of how out of place you looked. The girl at the front desk glanced up, eyebrows lifting when you didn’t immediately walk over to scan a membership card.

Just as you were about to panic, Heejin appeared—bouncing over in skintight leggings and a cropped sports bra, her dark hair pulled into a high ponytail. A thin sheen of sweat already glistened on her collarbones.

"You actually came!" she beamed, grabbing your arm before you could protest. "Don’t worry about the membership—I’ve got it."

The desk girl blinked, glancing between the two of you, but Heejin just smiled—bright, effortless, the kind of smile that made it impossible to argue.

Ten minutes later, you were the proud (and very confused) owner of a gym pass you’d never use again, all charged to Heejin’s account.

As she dragged you deeper into the facility, weaving between benches and squat racks, she chatted like this was completely normal.

"Okay, so, I know your official job is, like, stress relief and whatever," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "But I was thinking—you could be useful in other ways too! Like a personal assistant. Or a butler. But, like, a sexy one."

You choked on air.

Heejin just grinned, steering you toward an ab crunch machine near the back.

"So today, your job is: one, watch me work out—" She winked. "—I might wanna show off a little. And two, spot me if I need it. Sound good?"

Before you could even process the question, she’d already hopped onto the machine, situating herself with practiced ease. The muscles in her core flexed as she leaned back, the thin material of her sports bra straining just slightly.

"Oh, and don’t worry," she added between reps, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "If you’re really good, maybe we’ll sneak into the restrooms after. But first—you gotta earn it."

She flashed you a grin, nodding toward the empty bench beside her.

"You can join in too, if you feel like it. Just stick close to me."

The text from Choerry had been simple enough at first:

Hey~ it’s time for you to get paid! Come see me!

You’d assumed, naturally, that this meant heading to the dorm—do what you were hired to do, be a "stress relief toy", collect your 200,000 won, and leave. A straightforward transaction.

Then the second message came.

Meet me at the CGV in Gangnam. 7:30!

You stared at your phone.

A movie theater?

Surely she didn’t mean—no. There was no way. That was pushing it. But then another text followed:

Don’t worry, it’s fine! Just come!

So, against your better judgment, you went.

The theater was bustling when you arrived, neon lights reflecting off the polished floors, the scent of buttered popcorn thick in the air. And there she was—Choerry, standing near the entrance in an oversized hoodie and leggings, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders in loose waves. The second she spotted you, her face lit up, and she bounded over like an excited puppy.

"You made it!" she chirped, already shoving a ticket into your hand before you could ask questions. "I already got yours. No backing out now!"

You blinked down at the slip of paper.

Your mouth opened. Weren’t you here to "relieve her stress"?

"Stress relief? Yeah, exactly!" Choerry nodded, as if this made perfect sense. "My unnies are all busy today, and I hate watching movies alone. So you’re my date!"

Before you could process that, she’d looped her arm through yours and was dragging you toward the concession stand.

"Popcorn, drinks, and candy," she declared, already pointing at the menu. "We’re sharing. Makes it more romantic."

Romantic.

Right.

You barely had time to protest before she was piling snacks into your arms—a large bucket of popcorn, two sodas, a pack of gummy worms—and then tugging you toward the ticket taker. The employee barely glanced at your stubs before waving you through, and soon you were following Choerry down the dimly lit hallway, the posters for upcoming films flashing by in a blur.

Then you saw the title on your ticket.

Godzilla Minus Zero.

Choerry giggled at your expression. "I heard it’s really loud," she said, squeezing your arm a little tighter. "That’s why I didn’t wanna watch it by myself."

You had so many questions. None of them got answered.

The theater was already half-full when you stepped inside, the previews just starting to roll. Choerry led you to the very back row—to the couple seats, wide and plush, with way too much space for just sitting.

You didn’t even question it at this point.

Settling in, you set the popcorn between you, the scent of butter thick in the air. Choerry immediately dug in, humming happily as the another trailer flickered across the screen.

What was supposed to be a quick, transactional visit had somehow turned into a three-hour commitment. And you weren’t even getting paid yet.

A soft nudge against your shoulder made you glance over. Choerry was looking at you, her big eyes reflecting the flickering light of the screen.

"Thanks for coming with me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Then, with a sly little smile, she added, "Don’t worry—I’ll make it worth your while after… promise."

The lights dimmed completely.

You had a feeling this was going to be a long night.

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