Chapter 44

No matter how much I struggled, it seemed that the two of them weren’t the type to continue their power struggle while I was vomiting. Ham Yejin quickly checked my condition and helped me clear my stomach by patting my back.

Once the vomiting subsided, Ham Yejin immediately supported me and headed inside the house. Since she hadn’t changed the password after telling it to me previously, she could easily unlock the door and get in. At that moment, I felt a strong gaze from behind, but neither Ham Yejin nor I could process it due to our disorientation.

As soon as we entered the house, Ham Yejin poured me some water and made me lie down on the sofa. My stomach was still uncomfortable, but it didn’t seem too bad, probably just a result of overeating.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Senior?”

Both Ham Yejin and Muk Ha-neul asked at the same time. I nodded and replied.

“…Yes. I’m okay.”

However, the two of them still looked at me with worried expressions.

“Just in case, let’s monitor your condition. It could be the norovirus or food poisoning. If your condition worsens, we should go to the hospital right away.”

“I don’t think that’s the case… My stomach is already feeling better. It just seems like I overate.”

“It’s better to be cautious.”

“That’s right, we should be careful.”

It was hard to believe that the two of them had just been in a power struggle not too long ago, yet they agreed on this matter. The scene seemed a bit ridiculous, but I didn’t have the strength to laugh and simply breathed in and out.

Fortunately, as time passed, I soon began to feel better. After taking some digestive medicine from the house, I recovered quickly. Though the two were still worried, it was already late, and they had no choice but to head home.

“If your condition gets worse during the night, go to the hospital immediately. No, it might be better to just call 119. I’d love to stay with you if I could, but I do have work in the morning.”

“Thank you, at least in spirit.”

“…I, I have classes free tomorrow!”

“Weren’t you at school with me on Tuesday?”

“…Actually, it’s not really free.”

“Go to school.”

Muk Ha-neul seemed to want to stay at my house even if it meant lying, but it didn’t work on me. I appreciated the sentiment of caring for me, but I didn’t want to show my weakness to others, and with Ham Yejin’s words in mind, it felt right to refuse.

Only after the two of them had left was I finally able to calm down.

Of course, writing was out of the question, but with no one around to interrupt me, I could think freely.

I lay on the sofa, slowly organizing my thoughts.

Born of a mother and raised by another, a daughter who received love from both yet could not feel loved.

The mother who raised her loved the girl, but at the same time, hated her.

The mother who gave birth did not love the girl, but wanted to possess her.

The conclusion of the two mothers was to share the girl equally.

“Your Majesty, we have decided. Cut the child in half, give one half to the mother who raised her, and the other half to the mother who gave birth.”

And so, the king spoke.

“Divide those two women in half.”

In the end, the girl escapes. From love and hatred, indifference and desire to possess.

Alone, the girl realizes that until now, she wasn’t herself. The girl had never truly been herself for even a moment. Until now, she was simply the daughter of her mother.

The moment the girl could finally be herself, she simultaneously realizes that she is nothing.

To survive, the girl wanders everywhere and does everything.

However, in the end, there was only one ultimate destination.

Prostitution.

A girl whose menstrual cycle had not yet started could be sold at a high price. Of course, most of it went to the brothel owner, but on the first day she sold her body, she was able to receive a warm meal and a place to sleep.

The ‘daddies’ who bought the girl’s body were, of course, men.

They were all different. Some were violent, and others were gentle. The common point was that they all shoved sticks into her holes.

The girl knew well that it was not love. But perhaps, that was better.

Sometimes it was hatred, but gradually the pain lessened.

The girl had no choice but to recognize that it was not indifference. And so, it felt better.

Sometimes it was desire to possess, but they were all temporary.

Men were foolish and ugly beings. They were pathetic, swayed by their lust. Their actions of shoving sticks into her hole and shaking it back and forth were stupid and ugly.

But they were still better than her mother.

That’s why they were called father—daddy.

Such a life eventually came to an end.

The brothel owner was caught. The girl, who had sold her body to survive, suddenly transformed into a victim and garnered sympathy from everyone.

The girl laughed at them. But soon realizing she was returning to her mothers, the girl understood that she was the one who was even more ridiculous than they were.

The mother who raised her could no longer care for her. That was because her father had done that. The girl was now trapped in the home of her birth mother.

The mother remained the same. But the father was different. Her biological father loved her. Cherished her. The first real love she received was sweet and beautiful.

Until her father came to her room at night.

Well, it was nothing special. It was just returning to what they had always done. The girl willingly sold her body to her father. The payment was love and attention.

She didn’t know if it was really the right thing, but for her, it was enough.

One day, the girl started to bleed. It was her period. At the same time, she felt nauseous.

The girl now realized that she was no longer one. She was two.

The king said.

“Divide the child in two; give half to this woman and half to that woman.”

Truly, the girl was so.

She was becoming a mother. The one she had loathed so much.

That was why she refused to become an adult.

Once again escaping, the girl’s belly was swollen, yet she was still not a mother.

The girl gave birth to her child in the restroom. And she abandoned that child in front of the house of the mother who had raised her.

Half to this woman.

And the girl returned quietly to her birth mother’s home without anyone knowing and performed a hysterectomy on herself.

She pierced her uterus with a knife and discarded it in front of her mother’s room.

Half to that woman.

By that point, the girl was already dead.

Yet there was still one last person who would receive a gift.

The remaining rib must go to the father of the child, right?

My father.

The girl dragged her lifeless body onto her father’s bed.

And the girl embraced her father with her bleeding body, falling into eternal sleep.

My, your Majesty.

Thus, I fell into slumber.

~

A day passed. Two days passed.

I began to write like a madman. Strangely, words flowed out effortlessly. I plotted, organized the detailed story, and pieced together the framework. All the fundamental processes were completed in just one day.

However, it was naturally not the end. Writing a novel was painful. It was agonizing and terrifying. It was neither easy nor enjoyable. But I did not stop. I could not stop. Aside from time for sleep and meals, I kept writing.

I did not wash, nor did I receive contact from anyone. Naturally, I neither played games nor read web novels. I only ate once a day.

I had to write while I could. I raced forward like crazy. I felt as if I were under anesthesia, completely detached from sensation, fully focused on my writing.

Writing felt like a kind of self-pleasure. However, the end result was not pleasure but pain. Yet I could not stop, making it akin to lust. It was similar to conceiving, suffering, and giving birth.

The painful act of self-pleasure ended like a man orgasming in quick succession.

Only after I had written about half of the plot did I realize it.

The words I had written down frantically for almost two days. Perhaps that was why I couldn’t comprehend it until then. And when the moment came, I had no choice but to realize it.

Who wrote this?

What is this writing?

The words I wrote like a madman for two days… to put it simply, it wasn’t writing at all.

It was grossly vulgar, lowbrow, crass, and disgusting.

It was feminine.

It was not the writing of a man.

I recalled the writings I had created before, before I became this way. The writings I had set aside, thinking they were inferior. I summoned those writings. And I began to lick and chew the already rotten and decayed texts.

But time had already passed. So much had gone by.

I could no longer find myself in this piece. I had no recollection of how I wrote this unreadable text. My own fragments could no longer be found. Neither in my old writings nor my new ones.

What I had lost never returned.

As time flowed on, it only deepened.

I recalled the moment I conceived.

That feeling of having taken a wrong turn somewhere, of having made a mistake, was like having improperly tightened a screw.

It was wrong. It wasn’t just a matter of misplacing a single screw.

It was entirely wrong from the very beginning; a new me.

It was clear where I had taken a wrong turn.

So obvious and evident that I could hardly understand why I hadn’t realized it until now.

It was that day.

That day.

The day I became a woman.

The day I ceased to be a man.

I lost my writing.

The realization of that terrified me, and a single tear fell from my eye.