Chapter 56

Nothing happened.

Despite the severed contract with the Publisher, nothing out of the ordinary occurred afterward.

Three days had passed since the former Editor contacted me, and I truly returned to a normal routine. I began interacting with people around me again. Although I haven’t resumed tutoring, I occasionally chatted with Jae-Ah through messengers and met up with Hwa-won again.

Hwa-won, who seemed to have heard something from Senior Su-Young, called to check on me, asking if anything had happened. However, I evaded the inquiry casually and the topic passed. As for Muk Ha-neul, I received a rather delayed message. She said she would be focusing on a contest and it might be difficult to meet for a while.

In the case of Ham Yejin, I intentionally avoided contact with her at first.

But, as expected, that couldn’t last forever, so I eventually took the appropriate moment to reconnect.

Coincidentally, Ham Yejin mentioned she had something suddenly come up, making her busy. Thanks to that, deceiving her over the phone wasn’t too hard.

On reflection, I hadn’t received any contact from Professor Seo, despite expecting some as a consequence of leaving so abruptly. Perhaps he was upset that I left without permission.

That was the first week. Had I met someone else during that time, they might have noticed something was off about me. However, as time went by, I grew more accustomed to pretending.

After this transformation, I painfully realized how rare and precious an ordinary life truly is. Time flowed continuously, and daily life carried on.

Despite the lack of change being somewhat comforting, I hadn’t managed to write a single word properly, but I kept that fact hidden from everyone.

I intentionally behaved more energetically and with higher spirits than usual when interacting with others.

I don’t know if it was effective as a disguise, but I couldn’t face others with composure unless I did.

But once they left and I was alone in the house, the forced smiles would falter, and I often barricaded myself under the blankets.

Whenever I was alone, I mostly passed the time watching random YouTube videos without much thought. I had never really cooked anything properly, yet videos of people cooking were surprisingly entertaining.

As time passed, I started reading novels again. While watching YouTube mindlessly was certainly easy and effective as an escape, after a prolonged period, it was bound to induce a sense of danger.

At first, I tried reading the unread books piled up at home. But when I saw books on the shelf with the name Lee Cheon, I felt nauseous.

I immediately overturned the bookshelf and pulled out all of Lee Cheon’s books. Then I gathered them all and disposed of them.

Since there were quite a few books, I couldn’t carry them all at once with my current strength. Over three trips, I threw all of his books into the trash. This short outing was my first time leaving the house since then.

After returning, I had to reorganize the overturned bookshelf. While tidying up, various books caught my eye. As if bewitched, I pulled out a few books and set them aside rather than returning them to the shelf.

The first book was Franz Kafka’s *Metamorphosis*. It was a famous book I had read many times before. However, it was the first time I was reading it since my transformation. Since it wasn’t a long novel, it didn’t take me too long to finish.

The second book was Vladimir Nabokov’s *Lolita*. Another one I had already read. I remember feeling nauseous multiple times while reading it. I discarded it before even finishing half of it, probably around the part where the protagonist refers to himself as a “therapist” instead of a “rapist” with a pun. I had once found that wordplay sophisticated and amusing.

The third book was Yasunari Kawabata’s *Snow Country*. Ah, that’s right, my name. My name, which neither I liked nor disliked. I didn’t know whether my long-lost father or the mother who abandoned me had given it to me. Since it wasn’t a long novel, it didn’t take long to finish.

I read those books. Reading was, after all, a routine act for me.

How blessed the act of reading text truly was.

Yet the words I chose were nothing but a reheated version of hell.

I was Gregor Samsa and Dolores Haze, all at once. The irony was almost comical.

I’m about 4’10” (147cm), so the comparison fits.

And my mother? She was probably either Mrs. Goma or Mrs. Yoko, though it doesn’t matter much. They were both products of an adulterous affair anyway.

After the reading, it was back to the usual routine.

I had two choices: the first was to continue wallowing in self-pity and rehashing old wounds. The second was to numb my mind by scrolling through nonsense on my smartphone.

I chose both.

Back when I was a man, I naturally had sexual desires. Since I couldn’t trust women and feared being accused of #MeToo allegations, I managed myself accordingly, but I couldn’t deny such desires altogether.

I, too, engaged in the typical behavior common among men of that age.

Naturally, my smartphone housed bookmarks to such websites.

I clicked on a random video without fully understanding what I was doing.

The video played a moaning sound as an intense sexual scene between a man and a woman unfolded.

It didn’t evoke any particular thoughts.

I continued to indulge in my thoughts, using the moans as background noise.

I was aware that my current state was far from normal.

I had merely touched my thigh, just a little.

Just the thigh.

It wasn’t rape or grave indecent assault, and certainly no recording of the incident existed.

It was hardly the sort of situation worth making such a fuss over.

Had the old me been here, I might have mocked the absurdity of reacting like this over something so trivial. That’s how minor it was.

But I had changed.

It was an unpleasant reality, yet undeniable: I had changed.

I had become so weak that I was shocked by such a trivial event.

People may decide their wills, but humorously, the mind cannot be controlled so easily. My current self reflected that truth as well. I could not command my mind to obey my will.

It was useless to try sleight-of-hand tricks with self-hypnosis, telling myself it was “no big deal.” Ridiculing myself for getting worked up over something akin to rape, as if I had actually been violated, didn’t help either. How many days had passed, all because someone briefly touched my thigh?

Do you think you’re actually a girl now?

Funnily enough, my current state matched that of a girl.

It seemed like such a trivial issue.

It was merely the calloused hand of the person that briefly grazed against mine—a hand that penned numerous masterpieces.

Or perhaps it was all my imagination? Maybe it was a nightmare I concocted after mistakenly drinking too much.

Yes, it could have all been a nightmare. Perhaps it was all a mistake, or even a delusion. How could an individual show pity for their daughter’s sake while discussing their daughter, and then proceed to commit such an act? What kind of father would peddle their own daughter for sexual gratification?

Yet no matter how much I tried to deny and escape, I wasn’t stupid.

There were countless cases of fathers committing incest and individuals lying so convincingly it was impossible to count them all.

The absurd excuses of sex offenders surfaced in my mind.

“He reminded me of my daughter.”

The person said they thought of their daughter when they saw me. Was that even true?

I remembered the picture they showed me. Was their daughter really similar to me? I couldn’t recall properly.

I couldn’t trust any of the stories from that person.

The rough calluses I felt on their hands were too vivid for it to be a fabrication.

Acting like the protagonist of some grand tragedy was merely a form of masochistic pleasure.

In reality, I wasn’t the protagonist of such a tragedy. If anything, I was the protagonist of a cheap comedy.

Yet, indulging in self-pity became an addictive, powerful force devouring my mind. Being weak, pitiful, somehow felt satisfying—perhaps even more than sex.

I am, and will continue to be, a pitiable soul forever. Likely a virgin forever too.

I had to remain a virgin.

The moaning sounds continued, yet I remained unaffected, experiencing no arousal.

At this young age, such things held no meaning for me.

The woman in the video had a full, sensual body that seemed rather repulsive. It didn’t feel like the body of someone who shared the same humanity as me. I had thought similarly in the past, but something felt different this time.

I had already become a woman. But the woman in the video didn’t resemble me in any way. She was like a different creature entirely.

I wasn’t such an ugly creature.

My chest wasn’t that large. I barely fit into a junior-sized bra.

My buttocks and thighs weren’t that thick or broad either.

Why, then, did that person touch this frail body of mine? Did they instinctively despise the presence of a woman?

So, was the reason they touched me due to the lack of femininity in my body?

The places the person touched—the shoulder, side, and thigh—felt cold.

As the video’s intimate scene ended, the man and woman’s bodies parted. The woman sprawled out on the bed like a frog, and the man’s naked body was revealed.

For some inexplicable reason, I felt my body heat up slightly, like a fever. This was undoubtedly a hallucination. Without realizing it, my left hand moved towards my groin, but I suddenly realized what I was about to do and shivered with revulsion.

I immediately shut off the video and rushed to the bathroom. There, I scrubbed my hands furiously as if they were contaminated with something filthy. Only then did I realize…

My underwear was slightly damp.

—

That night, I had the nightmare again.

All the events from that day reappeared in my dream.

It was like rewinding a video—exactly the same situation unfolded.

And when the person touched my shoulder, the side of my body, my thigh, and when I threw my glass of alcohol at them…

I saw something and immediately ran away from them.

Writer Lee Cheon’s trousers were stiffly erect.

That night, for the second time, I soaked the bed with tears.