Better Than Expected
The semi-basement's iron door let out a screech like a scream every time it closed, the rusty hinges grinding together. The moment I shut it, I was greeted by the dank, fermented air thick with humidity and mold that hadn't aired out.
Compared to those strangely sticky gazes that had followed me outside earlier, this fishy rotten stench actually put my mind at ease. At least here, no one raked over me like I was an object, smacking their lips.
I shoved the shoes I'd left by the entrance into a corner and plopped down in the middle of the room. My body was far from normal. I'd only gone out once, but it was trembling, especially my thighs—they shook like they were someone else's flesh. Even the slightest movement beyond what this body could handle sent my heart pounding like a drum right next to my ear.
This frail frame, ravaged by malnutrition and chronic fatigue, was beyond anything I'd imagined from my days as a discharged soldier. My mind felt ready to run ten laps around the training field right then, but this weak shell couldn't keep up.
If I got thrown into that brutal world on the first day of school like this, I'd collapse from overwork before anyone could even devour me.
I dragged my heavy body up and started rummaging through the mountain of trash bags piled in the corner. Whoever the previous tenant was had let it rot—black mold colonies climbed the peeling wallpaper all the way to the ceiling. The floor was sticky with some unidentified dried black liquid, and the old desk was coated in dust so thick that a single swipe of my finger gathered it into gray clumps.
Dust-filled air triggered a coughing fit, but I didn't stop. In a dump like this, even survival instincts dulled.
I methodically swept through the cramped room, clearing the filth and scrubbing the floor raw. As I dug deep into the cabinet under the creaking sink, my fingertips brushed something heavy and crinkly.
It was a black plastic bag shoved behind a battered pot and plastic containers crusted with grime.
"…Why the hell is this here."
I pulled out the bag, dusted it off, and found half a sack of rice inside. I opened it and sniffed— the musty scent of old rice hit my nose, but thankfully no bugs or black mold.
I decided not to worry about expiration dates. For a dirt-poor guy on the verge of starvation, that was a luxury.
"This'll cover meals for a few days."
The unexpected haul lifted my spirits just a bit. I stashed the rice bag securely, grabbed the remaining 12,400 won from the desk, and headed back out.
The streets were still bizarre. Men were nowhere in the passing crowds. The few I spotted in the distance all shuffled along with heads bowed, hugging the edges of the sidewalk and glancing nervously at the women.
"What, is walking outside such a big deal?"
They acted like unwelcome intruders ruining the scenery. I walked like I didn't know any better—like always—head held high, striding with wide steps. Women flinched and eyed me as they passed, but I ignored them completely.
I'd learn much later that not every guy in Korea shuffled around like that—just the ones in this neighborhood.
The mart buzzed with women out shopping. Pushing carts and hauling heavy loads was just expected of them. I slipped through to the farthest discount shelf, where near-expiration items gathered.
One block of tofu slashed to half price. A bag of cheap frozen green onions—plenty for the cost. That was the height of luxury my balance allowed.
Passing the meat section, the oily aroma teased my nose, but I forced my eyes away. Meat wasn't for flavor right now; it was a distant goal.
"Checkout."
I set the items on the counter, and the cashier woman stared at my face.
"Kid, no mask? Got some guts these days."
"You selling or not?"
"Yeah, I am… whatever. Be careful out there."
She shrugged at my indifference, surprised, and scanned the barcode. I pocketed the change and bolted.
"Thanks." The stares prickled my back, but they felt less alien now.
Back in the semi-basement kitchen, I fired up the old burner and measured rice into the pot. While it cooked, I fished out a soy sauce bottle from the sink corner. No separation or weird smells—lucky.
I roughly cubed the tofu into a small pot, splashed in soy sauce and water, then dumped in the frozen green onions generously.
Sizzle. As the sauce reduced, a salty-sweet aroma filled the cramped space.
The survival cooking skills from harsher days hadn't faded. Even without fancy seasonings, it smelled decent.
I heaped the steaming rice with the braised tofu.
"…Mm."
The first spoonful filled my mouth with salty soy and soft tofu. Way better than expected. In this pathetic state, it was practically a feast.
"Protein from the tofu. Green onions count as veggies. Nutrition's balanced enough."
I chewed steadily, convincing myself. No meat, but as my belly filled with tofu protein, warmth seeped into my chilled body. The anxiety clouding my head cleared a bit.
To hurl this frail body back into that mad world on opening day, I needed stamina first. One meal wasn't just filling the gut—it was a fight for survival.
Staring at the empty bowl, I calmly plotted next steps. I had no intention of getting swept up in this gender-reversal nonsense.
I'd just survive my way—fiercely.
Right now, reversal or whatever— the real problem is just eating and scraping by somehow.
Outside, confident women's heels clicked past the basement window cracks. They probably thought they owned the world, but I had no plans to play by their rules.
I lay down on the threadbare blanket, oblivious still to tomorrow's storms or the building owner's details.
Han Gyeowol's second night passed in quiet like that.
Too early to crash.
I got up and inspected the freshly cleaned room. Not spotless, but at least room to stand. I washed the old dishes, set them to dry, wiped the floor dry.
Faint streetlight filtered through the narrow window, rippling on the wet floor.
Tomorrow had to be better. Refill the rice, bulk up this scrawny frame, grasp this world's logic coldly.
Whatever this order defined men as, I'd exist on my terms. No need to prove anything or hide.
It was distant, but I sensed it: this cramped hovel would be ground zero for clashes to come.
The moment I stepped through those school gates in ten days, I'd be reborn as something this world never saw coming.
Think a Korean reserve sergeant scares easy from some high school punks? Not like the old days—this is different.
With that final thought, I sank into deep sleep. Mold lingered, but I was certain tomorrow's me would be tougher.
In the darkened semi-basement, only my steady breaths hummed low.
Like soy sauce traces stuck to the cooled pot, my survival instinct clung thicker.
I inhaled the cold air, eyes closed. The war had just begun.
Come morning, I'd open my eyes sharper than now, viewing the world unswayed by any gaze—as a man surviving solely for himself.
I pulled the worn blanket over my head. Cold air brushed my nose, but a full stomach dulled the chill.
Protein, carbs, a bit of fiber. Those meager nutrients coursed through muscle and vein, reigniting my will to live.
Tomorrow: snag a part-time gig or find better food sources. Until that zero in my account gained a digit, I wouldn't stop.
Not till I escaped this miserable basement.
Not till I could mock every poverty and scorn that crushed me.
I'd survive.
Just like back in hell.