Lock the Door and Live
Kang Isul had been class president since her first year of elementary school. She had never missed a single day. Middle school, high school—it was the same. After every class president election, her name was always written the most times on the blackboard. Seeing how she got along with everyone from a young age, her parents had high expectations for her. Isul will become a big person someday. A great person. They took it for granted. Whether that sense of inevitability was a burden or not, she had decided long ago not to think about it.
Fundamentally, Kang Isul was a bright person. She approached others first, laughed easily, and befriended anyone quickly. Teachers called her reliable; friends said she was comfortable to be around. And that was true, to an extent. But there was also the part that wasn't. Maintaining that image drained her energy. By the end of the day, after pouring it all into dealing with people, she felt like a dead battery—unable to do anything. Without time alone, she felt suffocated, like a fish flung onto dry land.
Every day, the version of her shown to friends, teachers, parents, and others shone brighter than anyone's. But that shining self was fabricated. Some saw her as a firefly glowing on its own, but Kang Isul thought she was more like a moth pretending to glow by the light of a flame. Even the way she felt herself burning up in that fire, suffering in agony—it all felt like the moth to her.
Even someone like Kang Isul had a hobby. She started running in middle school. While running, she didn't have to pretend at all. Out of breath, legs heavy, side stabbing. It was just her body hurting—that was all. Just her planting one foot after another on the ground, surging forward, while people around her paid her no mind. In those moments, she wasn't class president or her parents' daughter. She was just one person.
Her issues with boys were even more complicated. From childhood, she'd seen plenty of sensitive male students. Kids whose faces stiffened at a single word. Kids who bowed their heads at a mere glance. Kids who seemed to bruise at the slightest mishandling. As a heterosexual, Kang Isul liked boys. But around them, she had to expend twice the usual energy. One wrong word might hurt them. One misplaced smile might lead to misunderstandings. Just being near them meant watching every little thing.
Kang Isul knew how to earn people's recognition and respect. But deep down, she understood others' feelings less than anyone— so she just repeated the behaviors that got the best reactions. That's why she felt a huge resonance reading the part in No Longer Human where Yozo wins people's favor through foolish antics because he can't understand humanity. If she'd been born in the Japanese colonial era, Isul might have become a second Osamu Dazai. But even then, she probably wouldn't have measured up to Yozo—she was just an ordinary person. Yozo had the gift of easily charming the opposite sex with his words, but talking to boys alone overwhelmed her.
So she kept her distance the easiest way possible. Not pretending to be uninterested, but genuinely staying away from boys. That was more comfortable.
That night, she was just running her usual route. From the main road onto a back alley. Streetlights were sparse, making it a bit dark, but she ran it every day, so it was familiar. That's when she heard the sound from deep in the alley. A low voice. Something thudding against the wall.
Kang Isul slowed, peering into the shadows.
"Let go of me...!"
A woman in a suit had a boy pinned against the wall. He had nowhere left to retreat. She hesitated only half a beat. Her body moved first. Twisting the woman's arm to subdue her was easy. She'd learned self-defense since middle school, and her stamina was on par with a PE specialty student. While reporting to the police, the woman struggled, but Isul didn't let go. She knew better than to release in a situation like this.
The patrol car arrived, the woman was handed over. Only then did Kang Isul turn to the boy. He was leaning against the wall, catching his breath.
"You okay?"
"Yeah."
A short reply. Their eyes met. No sign of fear. Or rather, it was a face that had fear firmly suppressed. His hands trembled slightly, but his expression was calm. That tugged at her oddly. Even when he thanked her.
"Yeah... thanks for saving me."
Just that one phrase. No more, no less.
"You live around here? Can you get home alone?"
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"Oh, really? Okay then."
She'd asked with the nuance of offering to escort him home out of manners, especially since it wasn't the safest neighborhood. But seeing his firm resolve, Kang Isul turned away quickly. As she started running again, she tried to shake his face from her mind. It's nothing. Just helped someone in passing. That's all.
But honestly. He was pretty.
Kang Isul upped her pace, stomping that thought underfoot. Bursting from the dark alley onto the brightly lit main road, streetlights poured down. She was out of breath. Just from running, she told herself.
Day 7 in this gender-reversed world. School started in three days. I pulled the uniform from the corner of the closet. Stared at it for a long while after taking it out. It was crumpled from being shoved in, wrinkles everywhere. Stains here and there. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd washed it. No washing machine. Laundromats cost money.
I dragged a rubber basin from the bathroom, set it on the floor, and filled it with cold tap water. Shoved the uniform shirt in, added detergent. Dipped my hands. Freezing. This body went white at the fingertips just from cold water. But I had no choice. I scrubbed with all the feeble strength I had. Collar, cuffs, back. Compared to my army cook days, it was nothing. Back then, I'd scrubbed a hundred soldiers' dishes alone because of seniors.
But this wasn't that body, even if the height was the same. About ten minutes in, my fingers started trembling. Cold water plus frail stamina. Now too weak to wring the uniform pants, I tried stomping them in the basin. As I pulled them out halfway, my foot caught on the rim.
Thud.
A heavy, dull fall to the floor.
"Shit..."
My butt throbbed. Cold water spread across the floor. Lucky I hadn't hit my head. Gritting my teeth, I stood again.
Then, thudding footsteps from the entryway. Bang bang bang.
"Hey! Han Gyeowol! What happened? What's that noise inside!"
Min Chae-ah. The doorknob rattled.
Oh.
Didn't lock the door. By the time the thought hit, the door was open. Min Chae-ah rushed toward the bathroom, then froze. I stood at the bathroom entrance, soaked in cold water. T-shirt clinging to my body. Floor flooded.
Min Chae-ah stiffened. One second. Two.
"You... you you!"
Her face flushed red fast. She seemed about to say more but couldn't find the words. Eyes darting. Finally, she whipped around.
Bang. The front door slammed shut.
I stood there for a while.
"...What the hell."
Nothing much to say. She barges into my place uninvited and has the nerve to yell and leave. I went back to the bathroom, sat by the basin. Hands still shaking, but I couldn't stop. Grabbed the pants, scrubbed again. Cold water. Soap suds. The crumpled fabric stretching and snapping in my grip.
I remembered hand-washing fatigues in the army. Early days, when the washer broke. While seniors handled their own, I washed the communal towels left by discharges. Hands red then too.
I powered through. Shirt, pants, tie. Washed, wrung, hung on the rickety rod on the bathroom wall. The rest on a chair by the semi-basement window. Not much sun down here, but the window side was best.
I slumped on the wet floor, staring up at the uniform. Limp shirt. Wrinkled pants. Crooked tie. Not a pretty sight.
But.
"Eh, good enough."
I muttered to myself. Hand-scrubbed it myself. No washer. No money. With this fragile body. If you ask what's impressive about that, nothing was. But it felt fine.
I sat there a bit, gazing, then slowly stood. Changed out of wet clothes, pulled the blanket over my still-trembling body to hide it. Slanting sunset rays filtered through the window onto the uniform. Three days till school. Just hold out somehow. Meals at Hongbok Banjeom during shifts would cover nutrition. Before hunger hit harder, I closed my eyes.
Outside, footsteps faded. Probably Min Chae-ah.
'Lock the door and live.'
I chuckled. At her sudden parental worrying. At the end of the day.