Unable to restrain himself any longer, he unbuttoned his trousers, dropped them to the floor along with his shirt, and, trembling with excitement, carefully lowered himself into the bathtub. The water that remained at the bottom splashed as he parted her legs, pulling her towards him. His fingers slid between her thighs, finding the entrance, and without a second thought, he entered her.
And at that very moment… her eyes opened slightly.
At first, it was just a vague, half-asleep flicker in her gaze, but a second later, consciousness returned to her with terrifying clarity.
"A-a-a… what are you…" her voice was hoarse from sleep, but it already carried a chilling horror.
Ming You did not stop — he couldn't anymore. His movements became sharper, faster, as if he was trying to finish before she fully came to her senses.
But it was too late.
"AAH!!!"
Her scream, sharp and full of terror, seemed to strike his consciousness. But instead of stopping, Ming You felt something grind inside him, transforming shame and fear into blind rage. His fist, clenched until the knuckles turned white, shot forward and struck her in the throat with all his strength.
"Gr-k!.."
The sound of the impact was dull, wet. Her head jerked back, hitting the edge of the bathtub, and a hoarse, choked sound escaped her mouth — she was already running out of air. She instinctively grabbed her neck, her eyes widening in pain and confusion.
But Ming You didn't let her recover. His fingers dug into her throat, squeezing the trachea, cutting off the last gulps of air. Her legs thrashed convulsively against the bottom of the tub, splashing water in all directions, but he only pressed her down harder, continuing to move inside her — no longer with passion, but in some kind of animalistic, insane rhythm.
She tried to hit him with her hands, but the blows were weak, helpless. Her nails scratched his forearms, leaving red marks, but he only tightened his grip on her neck. Her mother's face began to turn blue, her eyes rolled back, and saliva trickled from the corner of her mouth.
Then he released one hand and struck another blow — to her stomach.
"U-gh!.."
Her body convulsed, but escape was impossible. Ming You grabbed her throat again and continued to choke her, his movements becoming harder, sharper. There were no more thoughts in his head — only white noise, only the need to finish.
Her consciousness wavered, as if she were being held underwater, released for a second only to be plunged back into darkness. Her throat constricted from coughing, her chest heaved in an attempt to draw a full breath, but each time her breathing faltered — whether from shock or the unbearable weight of what was happening.
Ming You was no longer holding back. His movements became sharp, almost mechanical, as if he was striving not for pleasure, but for something darker — for the assertion of power, for the destruction of boundaries, to leave a mark forever. His knees slid on the bottom of the tub, scraping against the rough ceramic, but he felt no pain — only a mounting, animalistic tension.
Suddenly, his hand gripped her breast, his fingers squeezing her nipple so hard the skin turned white from the strain. And then — his teeth.
A sharp, piercing pain shot through her body, and she instinctively jerked, trying to scream, but at that same moment his free hand struck her throat. Her air was cut off, the sound stuck somewhere inside, turning into a hoarse moan.
He unclenched his jaw, leaving a bloody mark on the tender skin. Drops of scarlet mixed with the water, spreading over her breast, and he froze for a moment, watching it as if mesmerized.
And then — the final thrust.
He lunged forward sharply, his fingers digging into her thighs, and with a hoarse exhalation, he finished, spilling onto her everything that had built up in this madness. The warm liquid splashed onto her stomach, her breasts, droplets even reached her neck, mixing with the bruises already forming from his grip.
Ming You rose sharply from the bathtub; water streamed from his body onto the tiles, mixing with the droplets already splattered on the floor. His face was empty — no rage, no remorse, only an icy detachment. His mother, still feebly moving, tried to push herself up on her elbows, her lips trembled, but before she could say anything or even draw a breath to scream — his leg jerked forward sharply.
A kick to the groin.
A dull, wet sound of impact, her body folded in half, her hands instinctively flew downward, but Ming You's next movement was already unstoppable.
A blow to the head.
His fist slammed into her temple with all his might, throwing her head back. The back of her head hit the edge of the bathtub with a dull "thud!", and her body went limp, like a severed rope. Her eyes rolled back, her eyelids twitched and then grew still.
Silence fell.
Only Ming You's heavy breathing disturbed it. He stood over her, dripping water, staring at her lifeless body, at the bruise already beginning to bloom on her temple. Then, without a trace of regret, he reached for the shower head.
With one hand, he grabbed his mother by the hair, lifting her so her back wasn't lying in the water, and with the other—he aimed the stream. Cold water gushed over her chest, stomach, thighs, washing away the traces of his semen, the blood from the bite, everything that could betray what had happened. He methodically cleaned every fold, every curve, as if washing not a person, but a contaminated tool.
Then—the bathtub.
He wiped the bottom, the walls, the faucet, even the plug—nothing could remain. Not a drop, not a hint.
When it was all done, he unclenched his fingers, and the mother's body flopped back into the empty bathtum with a dull splash. Her head fell limply to the side, and her wet hair stuck to her cheek.
Ming You pulled on his underwear, fastened his trousers, didn't even bother buttoning his shirt—just threw it over his shoulders. A final glance at the bathroom—clean, quiet, no traces.
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
…
The knife blade hovered over the shattered pelvic bone, trembling in bloodied fingers. Bony dust mixed with thick blood, turning into a pinkish paste, resembling low-grade mince.
"Y-you… why?" the voice inside sounded hoarse, as if through a constricted throat. Ming You ran his tongue over his parched lips, feeling the salty taste of dried blood:
"No, it's you. This is fun, besides, she didn't tell anyone."
His fingers slid downward, toward the remnants of the abdominal cavity, where among the shreds of flesh the last traces of life still smoldered. The intestine, cut in several places, oozed its foul contents—fecal matter mixed with dark bile. The stench was so strong that even the flies froze for a second, as if stunned.
"Is that all you care about?"
He gripped the knife tighter, feeling the handle stick to his palm.
"She's dead anyway, so it's pointless to worry about that now."
His gaze fell on the ripped-out uterus—shrivelled, bluish-purple, with torn vessels dangling like threads.
"Maybe… it wasn't suicide? Maybe… it was you, or… I killed her?"
"Unfortunately, no. Me, that is, us, weren't home all day."
"Fine… by the way, Sun Hee stayed with me at home for a couple of days then… maybe I was lucky."
The memory surfaced clearly, as if just a moment ago.
Her scent.
Her laughter.
Her…
"The main thing you were lucky in is that you weren't taken to an orphanage, since the police didn't know yet that our father had abandoned you."
"That's for sure… but Sun Hee… she stayed with me for a couple of days then…"
Silence again.
Only the dripping blood.
And the buzzing of flies gathering for a new feast.
…
Evening fell over the city, painting the room in soft twilight hues. On the sofa, sinking into the cushions, Ming You hugged Sun Hee, pressing against her as if trying to find solace in her warmth. His face was clouded by a shadow of sadness, and she, noticing it, gently ran her fingers over his cheek.
"Ming, are you okay? You look very sad, can I help you?"
He sighed, averting his gaze, as if performing a play for her, where every word was a carefully considered line.
"I'm just thinking about mother... She wouldn't have wanted me to feel like this."
Sun Hee squeezed his hand, her fingers trembling slightly.
"You're not alone," she whispered. "Let's distract ourselves."
She reached for the cupboard and took out a chessboard, an old one with worn edges, but so familiar. The board softly landed on the sofa between them, and Sun Hee began arranging the pieces. Ming You moved back, crossing his legs, watching her. His gaze slid over the pieces, but his thoughts were clearly elsewhere.
The game began.
Sun Hee, as always, acted quickly—her fingers barely touched the pieces before they moved to new positions. She was ahead of him, forcing Ming You to watch her moves intently. He played differently: slowly, deliberately, weighing every step. In planning, he was inferior to her, but in strategy he was strong.
And then—her queen entered the game, looming menacingly over his position. Ming You felt a tightness in his chest. He was losing.
For a moment, his fingers froze over the board, but then his lips stretched into a sharp grin.
"Let's spice up the game."
"How?" she asked, surprised.
"Will you sacrifice your queen?"
"Huh?" Sun Hee snorted, not believing her ears.
Ming You leaned closer, his eyes sparkling with a playful challenge.
"Or don't you want to continue?" he asked with a sly smile. "Maybe we should just play something else instead?"
"Are you crazy?" Sun Hee leaned back, her eyes wide. "You really want me to sacrifice my queen? That's not fair!"
He laughed, a light, almost carefree laugh, but there was a strange note in it.
"But it's for love," he winked. "You want me to win, right?"
She looked at him for a long time, as if trying to decipher the hidden meaning of his words. Then, with a resigned sigh, she took the queen and tossed it off the board.
"Okay, if it makes you happy..." her voice sounded with a slight reproach. "But you understand it's not fair, right?"
Ming You immediately seized the advantage. His pieces rushed into the attack, and after a few moves the game was over—his queen delivered checkmate.
Sun Hee didn't applaud, didn't smile. She just looked at him, and in her gaze was bewilderment mixed with a faint fear.
"Are you ready to even kill to win?" she asked quietly, not looking away.
Ming You froze.
"What? No, of course not," he laughed, but the sound was fake. "You are more important to me than any victories. I was just joking."
She gave a weak smile, but a shadow of doubt remained in her eyes.
"I hope you haven't forgotten that. Sometimes victory can cost too much."
He abruptly pulled her to him, holding her so tightly that it knocked the breath out of her.
"We will be together, no matter what," Ming You uttered, and in his voice there was not just confidence, but something more, almost an obsession. "I won't let anything separate us."
And before she could answer, his lips found hers, and his body pressed her into the sofa. The chess pieces left on the board clattered as they scattered across the floor, but neither he nor she paid them any attention anymore.