A Reversed World, the Mold-Infested 19-Year-Old
A vicious mold stench stabbed at my nostrils. The moment I opened my eyes, I saw a stained ceiling and a flickering old fluorescent light draped in cobwebs in the corner. I'd clearly passed out last night after downing a bottle of soju in utter despair.
"…Where the hell is this?"
A chill ran down my spine at the voice leaking from my lips. It wasn't mine. Not the roughened tone soaked in booze after discharge, but something thin and clear, like a boy's just past puberty.
When I tried to sit up, my limbs had zero strength. Forcing myself upright, my protruding collarbones and skinny wrists came into view. Just days ago, this body had been toughened by kitchen duty, with some muscle to show for it. The calluses that had covered the back of my hands from hauling heavy pots and prepping rough ingredients every day—my badges from private days—were gone without a trace. In their place, only pale, smooth skin remained.
It was grotesque. My mind was still that of a soldier rolling in the dirt, but this shell was frailer than a flower in a greenhouse.
"Agh, fuck…."
My head throbbed like it was splitting open. I'd probably smacked the edge of the desk getting up in my sleep; one side of my forehead was swollen like a lump. Nausea hit with the pulsing pain and rising bile.
I looked around. A cramped semi-basement room, barely ten feet square. The wallpaper was peeling everywhere from dampness, and unidentified textbooks lay scattered on the rickety desk. Was this a dream? I pinched my thigh. It hurt. Vividly so.
I headed to the bathroom. The muggy air hit my lungs the second I opened the door. In the grimy mirror above the sink stood a face I knew all too well.
"…Why the hell am I this now?"
19 years old. Han Gyeowol, the high schooler who'd been pale from poverty and abuse. That was me. Nothing like the face I'd tanned slightly after enlisting. The skin was ghostly white, almost transparent, like it'd never seen sunlight; I was short, and my whole frame was slender. It might've looked good as a kid, but this body was just a symbol of fragility, ready to snap at a touch.
I turned on the faucet to wash up. After a screech of metal and a spurt of rusty water, cold flow finally came. Hot water? I'd be waiting forever. I scrubbed my face roughly with the icy stream. My head cleared a bit, but the situation still made no sense.
Back in the room, I grabbed the smartphone on the desk. The cracked screen showed the date: February 21st. Exactly ten days until the semester started.
"School…? Back to high school?"
A hollow laugh escaped me. Returning to those hellish high school days of grinding poverty and bullying? If there was a god, this wasn't a blessing—it was a straight-up curse.
Was I losing it, or dreaming? I opened the phone and dove into the internet. The news articles hooked me immediately.
"…What?"
Thinking I'd misread, I tapped the screen. The article was insane. Korea's defense duty falls on women; men are exempt from conscription for physical and emotional protection—this had been upheld as constitutional by the Constitutional Court.
My fingers started shaking. Like I was possessed, I hit the search bar. Male military, Female Conscription—I typed whatever came to mind.
The more I read, the dizzier I got. Common sense—no, the whole world—was flipped.
The best comments under the articles were the real kicker.
The victim-blaming hurled at women in my old world was now arrows aimed at men. Women held society's reins; men were forced into "chastity" and "protection." The gender roles and logic I knew were reversed 180 degrees. This world ran on the polar opposite of the one I'd endured for nearly two years as a reserve sergeant, crawling through mountains.
"No way… This has to be a dream. A fucking nightmare."
I buried my head in the pillow for a while. But opening my eyes changed nothing. The moldy wallpaper stench, the throbbing lump on my forehead, the rough shouts of women outside the window—all too real.
I recalled a classmate otaku guy, ignored like me back in those bullied school days. He'd rambled about a genre called "gender reversal." This matched that fictional setup perfectly.
"So I hit my head and… ended up in a place where male and female roles are swapped?"
I tried to accept it, but my stomach churned. In my world, men protected and shouldered the rough stuff. Here, that was all on women.
Gurgle.
My gut's signal cut through the thoughts. Fuck common sense—I was starving to death. I shuffled to the so-called kitchen and opened the fridge. Empty. A few shriveled kimchi scraps and half a block of expired tofu in the corner. The misery of scraping by alone in near-orphan poverty hit full force. Possession or regression, whatever—poverty hadn't changed.
Rummaging the cupboard yielded one unopened ramen pack. Cook's instincts kicked in; no meat, but a dash of MSG made it smell decent. I wolfed down the noodles and slurped the broth. Stomach full, reality crashed in colder.
Gender reversal, brutal poverty. Survival was the immediate blockade. School in ten days. Back into that harsh, flipped world with this fragile body.
"…This is fucking insane."
I needed more intel. Staying cooped up wouldn't cut it. I pulled the cleanest hoodie from the closet. The mirror showed the previous owner had grown out his hair to hide this pretty face. But I wasn't masking up or bowing my head. Army life with tough bastards after enlistment taught me: hiding just makes you look easier prey.
I opened the front door. Eek—the grating friction hurt my ears as I stepped out. Midday sun stung my pale skin. Leaving the alley for the main street, the air felt different for sure.
Women strode by with confident, vigorous steps. Rare men kept heads down or trailed quietly behind women. And the stares. Dozens of eyes raked over me as I walked.
"Whoa, check that guy. Hot…."
"Totally my type. What school?"
Passing women groups whispered openly, eyeing me. The predatory glint yangachi thugs in my old world gave pretty girls. The street felt like a massive showroom; I was the mannequin in the window. Their gazes weren't just admiration—scorching, almost scary.
Those blatant eyes licked over my body, raising goosebumps down my spine. A lone regular guy walking here looked like "prey advertising to be taken."
One woman blocked my path. Easily over 170cm, solid build.
"Hey, kid, what's your name? Out alone?"
Her hand reached for my shoulder. In the old world, I'd have cursed a lunatic. But here, I was the social weakling. I met her eyes with a cold, flat stare.
"Move."
My low, gravelly tone made her flinch and freeze. The icy, hardened gaze clashing with my delicate features. She blinked in surprise, then let out a hollow chuckle.
"Ooh, feisty? Even hotter."
I ignored her and walked past. Persistent stares pricked my back like needles. What the fuck was this mad world? Even in the original, normal guys didn't get this from women. Poverty gripped my ankles, the world made me weaker…
But it didn't matter. I'd endured similar hells.
Heading back to the semi-basement, I glared at this sky-except-all-flipped world. Vowing to claw out of this poverty hell somehow, I steeled myself again. Ten days till school. My war had already begun.