Eun Bin
Copyright© 2025 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 9: The Reckoning
Young Adult Sex Story: Chapter 9: The Reckoning - Sometimes, for unexplainable reasons, two misfit girls: one intersex the other permenantly denied puberty. are brought together and find happiness together that defies logic. This is a story about two such people.
Caution: This Young Adult Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including ft/ft Romantic Lesbian School White Female Oriental Female First Masturbation Oral Sex Petting Small Breasts
Part 1: Eun Bin’s Week
The next morning, Eun Bin woke up with swollen eyes and a headache. Simone was already awake, propped up on one elbow, watching her with a tender expression.
“Morning,” Simone said softly. “How do you feel?”
“Like I got hit by a truck.” Eun Bin’s voice was hoarse from crying. “But also ... lighter? Is that weird?”
“Not weird at all. You’ve been carrying that weight for a long time. Now it’s out there.” Simone brushed hair from Eun Bin’s face. “No regrets?”
“No regrets.” Eun Bin sat up slowly. “I meant every word I said. Even if they...” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Even if they choose wrong, you did the right thing. Remember that.”
They got ready for class in quiet solidarity. Eun Bin turned her phone back on briefly—forty-seven missed calls, sixty-three text messages. She scrolled through them without opening any.
Mom: “Please call us back”
Mom: “We need to talk about this calmly”
Dad: “This conversation isn’t over”
Mom: “Eun Bin, please. Don’t shut us out”
Dad: “Call me immediately”
Eun Bin turned the phone off again and put it in her desk drawer.
“Sunday,” she said firmly. “I said Sunday, and I meant it.”
The week crawled by with agonizing slowness. Eun Bin threw herself into schoolwork, spending hours in the library, attending every class with fierce concentration. Simone stayed close but gave her space when needed, understanding that Eun Bin was processing in her own way.
On Tuesday, Madame Rousseau pulled Eun Bin aside after History class.
“Miss Park, I wanted to tell you—your essay on the French Revolution was exceptional. Truly graduate-level analysis. You should be very proud.”
“Thank you,” Eun Bin said, surprised.
“You’ve grown tremendously this term. Your confidence, your participation—it’s remarkable to see. Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.”
After the teacher left, Eun Bin turned to Simone with tears in her eyes. “She noticed. People are noticing.”
“Of course they are. You’re amazing.”
On Wednesday, Eun Bin had a panic attack in the middle of the night. She woke up gasping, her heart racing, convinced she’d made a terrible mistake.
Simone held her through it, talking her down gently. “Breathe. In through your nose, out through your mouth. That’s it. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
“What if they never speak to me again?” Eun Bin sobbed. “What if I destroyed my family?”
“You didn’t destroy anything. You told the truth. If they can’t handle the truth, that’s on them, not you.”
“But they’re my parents—”
“And you’re their daughter. You deserve their love and acceptance. Unconditionally. Not just when you fit their perfect picture.”
Thursday passed in a blur of classes and homework. Eun Bin kept her phone off, refusing to check messages. She’d said Sunday, and she was sticking to it.
Friday evening, they were in their room when there was a knock on the door. Simone answered it to find the Headmistress, Madame Leclerc, standing in the hallway.
“Miss Park, Miss Devereaux. May I speak with you both for a moment?”
They exchanged nervous glances but invited her in. The Headmistress was a distinguished woman in her fifties, always impeccably dressed, with a reputation for being fair but firm.
“Please, sit down,” she said gently. “I wanted to speak with you both about a phone call I received.”
Eun Bin felt her stomach drop. “From my parents?”
“From your mother, yes. Yesterday evening—well, very early morning in Korea. She was quite distressed.”
“What did she say?” Eun Bin’s voice was barely a whisper.
“She wanted to know about your academic and social progress. Whether there were any concerns about your wellbeing.” Madame Leclerc smiled slightly. “I told her the truth—that you are one of our most improved students this term. Your grades are excellent, your teachers consistently praise your participation, and you appear to be thriving socially and emotionally.”
“Did she ... did she tell you about...?”
“About your relationship with Miss Devereaux? Yes, she mentioned it.” The Headmistress’s expression remained neutral. “I informed her that I was aware you two are close, and that as long as you both follow school rules, maintain your academic standards, and show no signs of distress, your personal relationship is your private matter. Swiss law and school policy both protect your right to privacy in this regard.”
Eun Bin felt tears prick her eyes. “You’re not going to separate us?”
“Why would I? You’re both model students. You’re discreet, respectful, and—from what I can observe—genuinely good for each other.” She leaned forward slightly. “Miss Park, when you arrived here in September, you were withdrawn, anxious, and clearly carrying significant trauma. In the past two months, I’ve watched you transform. You smile now. You participate in class. You walk with your head up instead of staring at the ground. Whatever support system you’ve found here is clearly working.”
“Thank you,” Eun Bin whispered.
“I told your mother the same thing. That her daughter is happy and successful, and that she should be proud.” Madame Leclerc stood. “I wanted you to know about the call so you wouldn’t be surprised. And to assure you that the school supports you both. If you need anything—counseling resources, mediation with family, anything—my door is always open.”
After she left, Eun Bin collapsed onto the bed. “Oh my god. My mother called the school.”
“And the Headmistress backed us up completely.” Simone sat beside her. “That’s huge, Eun Bin. She validated everything you said about being happier here.”
“Do you think it will matter? To my parents?”
“I don’t know. But at least now they’ve heard it from someone objective.”
Part 2: Mrs. Park’s Night
(Meanwhile, in Seoul... )
Park Min-Jung sat in her bedroom at 1:47 AM, unable to sleep. Her husband was snoring beside her, apparently unbothered by their daughter’s declaration the day before.
But Min-Jung couldn’t stop thinking about it.
She kept replaying Eun Bin’s words: “You did nothing. You shipped me away. You chose your image over my safety.”
Was that true? Had they really failed so completely?
She pulled up photos on her phone—Eun Bin as a baby, chubby and smiling. Eun Bin at five, showing off a drawing. Eun Bin at seven, already looking uncertain, her smile becoming forced.
By age eleven, there were barely any photos. Eun Bin had started refusing to be photographed, crying whenever they tried.
Min-Jung remembered the calls from the school. The reports of bullying. The day they’d found Eun Bin locked in a storage closet for three hours. The time she’d come home with her blouse torn, her training bra exposed to her entire class.
And what had they done?
They’d moved her to a different school. Then another. Then finally, when nothing worked, they’d sent her to Switzerland.
Out of sight, out of mind, Min-Jung thought bitterly. We threw money at the problem and hoped it would go away.
She looked at her husband, sleeping peacefully. He’d barely reacted to Eun Bin’s news. “She’ll get over it,” he’d said, returning to his tablet. “Teenage rebellion. She’ll grow out of it.”
But this wasn’t rebellion. Min-Jung had seen her daughter’s face on that video call. She’d seen determination, pain, and something else—strength. Confidence. Things Eun Bin had never had before.
Simone did that, Min-Jung realized. This girl we’ve never met gave our daughter something we couldn’t—the belief that she matters.
The thought made her feel sick with shame.
At 2:13 AM, unable to stand it anymore, Min-Jung got out of bed and went to her husband’s home office. She found the information for Surval Montreux and, before she could talk herself out of it, placed the call.
It rang several times before a professional voice answered in French, then English: “Surval Montreux, night service. How may I help you?”
“I need to speak with the Headmistress. It’s urgent. About my daughter.”
“The Headmistress isn’t available at this hour, but I can take a message and have her call you first thing in the morning.”
“No, please. I’m calling from Korea. My daughter is Eun Bin Park. I need ... I need to know if she’s alright.”
There was a pause. “One moment please.”
After five minutes, a different voice came on the line. “Mrs. Park? This is Headmistress Leclerc. I understand you’re concerned about Eun Bin. Is there an emergency?”
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