Similarities Between Puppies and Menhera
From the age of seven, I was already an adult. Or maybe my growth just stopped after that. Honestly, I still can't tell the difference between the two.
That was back when I was living at my grandfather's house after my parents died.
Grandfather said mutts reach full growth in just a year. In human terms, that meant becoming an adult by age ten. Was I on a similar growth curve as one of those mutts?
Grandfather's mutt was stupid. Even when he beat it every day like it was the dog days of summer, it would come waddling back the next day, whining for pets. Grandfather said mutts like that just pop up in the hills and fields without any mother dog to raise them. So they mistake big humans for their parents and cling desperately.
"If you treat them well at first, you could beat them to death and they still wouldn't run."
Chilled by Grandfather's creepy words, I let the mutt loose that night—and got the beating of my life for it. The next evening, the mutt came back. Dumb mutt.
"Cough..."
Ah, right. That was me, of course. I was a mutt pup too.
"Why, why...! Why'd you come back?!"
A-hyun's shrill voice rang in my ears. Blood kept pouring from the hole in my gut, and my body was cooling fast.
"Tae-oh...!"
My ex-girlfriend dropped the bloodied knife. She rushed to my side, touching me with trembling hands. Well, yeah, why'd you go waving that knife around?
Of course, I could kinda understand. She probably couldn't stand losing a catch like me.
Threatening to kill herself if I dumped her was par for the course. But hey, A-hyun. That's why I came back, isn't it? Mistaking me for a burglar and stabbing me—what the hell?
I'd planned to surprise her crying fit, but ended up skewered instead. You could've at least checked who it was first.
I wanted to curse her out, but... with her stroking my hair like that, the words stuck in my throat.
Ha, fine. Whatever. At least life was a bit more fun thanks to this crazy menhera bitch. Call it even with this one stab clearing the slate.
Still. I wanted to see my game go live. My baby, getting love from players. The game I'd poured my life into was right on the verge of launch.
And now this—dying from a knife to the gut. No, if I go out like this... it'd be like my parents, leaving a kid behind. I don't want that.
So many bugs to fix, patches to add...
My eyes were growing heavy.
"Kang Tae-oh!"
"Guh...!"
You crazy bitch. Pressing my gut like that...!
My ex's so-called CPR shattered my thoughts... but it was really just confirming the kill. Blood spurted from my belly. She freaked out at the sight. It was kinda funny, so I grinned.
I thought that was the end.
I was reborn as an experiment subject. With navy blue hair and sharp, cat-like upturned eyes... a petite girl! Damn it.
"T-999, vitals stable."
I woke up in a stark white room swarming with kids who looked about fifteen. The numbers and the setup screamed it: this was a research lab, and I was a test subject. The baggy white dress I wore was standard-issue lab rat attire. My designation: T-999. Solid ID—kinda badass.
No other kids shared my letter, so they called me T. Back then, I had no clue what genre this world was. I just vaguely hoped, "Maybe I'll turn into a monster?" while watching the usual bullied-kid drama unfold among us confined brats.
"They say if you're with D, you get dragged off."
"Ugh, get lost... don't cling to me...!"
The bullying targeted a redheaded girl called D mostly.
"Agh...! Sorry, sorry. Don't hit me...!"
D was the clingy type, super sensitive to loneliness. She'd timidly approach even the kids who beat and tormented her. With clumps of yanked-out red hair staining her pristine white dress... she was a rural stray pup through and through.
"Whine..."
D trembled in pain and fear, yet eyed the huddled group of kids with envy.
Tsk. That didn't sit right. Having been ostracized for over ten years as an orphan, I could vouch: there was no deep reason for shunning D. Probably just her red hair or something dumb like that.
For now, I hung back, observing from afar to figure out the dynamics.
A day passed, and I realized I'd dropped into some weird world.
A boy called H spotted me and said something odd.
"Hi. You're new today, huh."
??? At first, I thought it was some local flirting quirk. But H had greeted me exactly the same way yesterday. Same words, even.
When I told him to cut the boring repeat, H's face froze. He... remembered nothing from yesterday. Not our chat, not what he ate, not the games he played—total blank.
"D-did I... get infected?"
Infected. H's symptoms weren't quite dementia. He remembered everything from the day before yesterday and earlier. It was like yesterday had been surgically excised from his life.
"No way! H's gonna get dragged off too."
"D, you did this!"
Watching H quake in fear of the researchers and the other kids blame D, I pieced together my two days' intel. "Infection" meant losing a full day's memories.
"No... no way, right?"
A recent cyberpunk game I'd played had exactly this setup. I scowled.
Next day, H's symptoms persisted. The terrified kid from yesterday was gone; two-days-ago H greeted me cheerfully instead.
"Hi. You're new today, huh."
"...Yeah, hi."
I couldn't snap at him this time—just returned it flatly. The mood soured.
"Don't worry, it's not dangerous."
Researchers hauled H away. Kids shivered and whispered.
"He's infected."
"He got sick."
Those words stuck. After H's distant screams faded, D huddled in a corner, refusing to budge. The hesitant kids turned accusatory, pointing fingers. A few who'd been close to H mustered courage to slap her outright.
"This is your fault!"
"...Sorry, sorry..."
The scene felt familiar; I smirked bitterly. Bullies always think they're enforcing justice. I'd been there—branded the "uppity orphan studying too hard," beaten by tough kids playing hero.
Night meant isolation in personal cells. Before heading to mine, I glanced at D.
"Eek!?"
She met my eyes and whipped her head away.
H never returned that day. Kids fretted over him—or themselves getting taken.
Tsk. Weird, right? What they were scared of.
Losing a whole day's memories wasn't normal, but they weren't fazed by the symptom. They dreaded the researchers more. Normally, you'd think white-coated folks dragging off the sick meant "treatment," but...
D stared holes in the floor or zoned out at me. She'd avert her eyes quick when caught, so I stopped looking.
Next day, H was back. No lab gown—in something like a uniform.
"...Hi. I was acting weird, huh? Sorry..."
Blushing over his freakout, he greeted me. A small scar topped his flushed ear.
Confirmed. This was that cyberpunk game I'd made. That scar? Trace of a hippocampus implant.
Kids relaxed at the sight, congratulating him. Thing's pricey in lore. Screw this— if you're sending me here, at least make it my game. Not some noob trash with under 10k hours.
H introduced his new name—Hans—and left the lab. Kids buzzed about his "graduation."
"Think I'll get the surgery too?"
"White-coat sis said Hans went to the academy to learn a job!"
"Whoa... I wanna get infected ASAP."
Some bold kids approached D. To apologize? Fat chance.
"Hey, infect me already."
"Ew, gross. Hair like blood. Creepy."
Bullying ramped up. What'd I say? It's the hair. Cowards too spineless to admit wrong, sticking to momentum. Once you're marked, no reason needed. "Why wouldn't tormenting bad kids be justice?"
Experience talking. D crouched gloomier in her corner, surrounded by mocking hush. The outcast girl shuddered, eyes shut.
Okay. Assessment complete. Couldn't take it.
"Hi."
Amid the kids' shocked stares, I extended a hand to D. Her pale skin flushed; she ducked her head as I neared.
She'd craved belonging so bad. Yet this scaredy-cat flinched first, then peeked up cautiously. Fiery red eyes flicked to mine—doubt, fear... hope.
Reminded me of that rural mutt pup. I chuckled, reaching out to stroke her red hair without thinking.
"Eep. Eep. Uh, h-hi..."
D panicked but didn't pull away. Staring blankly up, she wriggled out from her nook on her own.
"I'm Dorothy..."
D for Dorothy, huh? She gripped my hand tight, staring intently—like imprinting.
Wait. Bad memory surfacing. No? I'd already been stabbed by one menhera to get here. Dorothy, don't you start too.
"Hi, Dorothy. Pretty name."
Praise her name, and she dropped my hand quick. Did she sense my hesitation? More emotionally sensitive than expected.
"Dorothy, give me a name too?"
But I'd mastered bonding with menhera. She lit up at the request, face brightening.
"T... so, Tiara? How's that?"
She gauged my reaction. T-999 sounded monstrously cool. But knowing it's cyberpunk now... "Tiara" fit the vibe better.
Like naming a game character, I nodded.
"Pretty name too. Thanks."
Dorothy beamed—an awkward smile, like she hadn't in ages.
"Hi, Tiara. Nice to meet you."
Good. Decision made. I'll get this kid out of here.