Hunger
This harsh world offered no help from the law. A being perfectly suited to be called a loner. That was me.
That was me, Lobelia Yuris. No, Min Siyoon. I am Min Siyoon. Even if this body is Lobelia Yuris's.
The mind shouldn't get rattled just because the body is Lobelia's. But surprisingly, the mind was stubbornly dragged along by this rigid body. After all, 'me' is defined by others, so to those who see Lobelia Yuris, I had to keep becoming Lobelia Yuris.
No, forget all that. I'm hungry. Give food to my starving self. No, forget all that. It hurts. Give freedom to this suffering me. Give Lobelia Yuris food and freedom. Make me a companion because I'm lonely. How long do I have to be lonely? How long do I have to live hated by the world?
Born into the dirt poor, working construction sites my whole life like I'd be buried there, and when I died and opened my eyes again, now this golden life is in mortal danger? It makes no sense. What did I do wrong to deserve this?
When I open my eyes, surely a wretched world will greet me. But that doesn't mean I can keep them shut. Opening my eyes is something forced upon me, as long as I don't die.
"……."
The moment my eyes opened, a hard sensation tormented my back. It was a life so incomparable that I wanted to erase all memories of sleeping on that luxurious, fluffy bed. As I let out a sigh like that, my chest rose once and then slid back down.
I fumbled my hand behind me to prop myself up. Spotting the movement, the hero approached with a hollow laugh. His attire was the same as before—just naked with a cloak. No wonder lying on the floor was so uncomfortable. And this wasn't even linoleum like back in Korea; it was real wooden flooring.
"Did you collapse to feel a little less shame?"
As I sat up, wrapping the cloak tighter around my body with a grumble, the hero plopped down on the bed, looking incredulous. How could anyone make a person sleep on the floor in a room where shoes were worn indoors? But thinking of that freezing cold basement, this seemed tame. Of course, compared to the bed from my first few days in this body, every sleeping spot was basically trash.
Still, it was foolish to spit on everything else because of one moment of sweetness. I took a deep breath in, then let it out. Exhausted even to retort at the hero's mocking expression, I stared blankly at him before moving my lips.
"…I'm hungry."
"Huh?"
Whether startled that I wasn't resisting and just said I was hungry, or because my stomach let out a vigorous gurgle at the same moment, the hero gawked at me with a dumb sound.
When I was in Min Siyoon's body, I had to do manual labor, so I ate a ton to recharge and push on. But this body wasn't one that ate much to begin with— a few bites of meat with a fork and I'd be full. A stomach that filled quickly, and emptied just as fast. That was the downside of small appetites.
How the hell did she maintain that diet and still grow these breasts? A mystery. But right now, I was hungry. I stroked my grumbling belly and grimaced in agony. When you're that hungry, it feels like your insides are twisting—that was exactly it. Or was it just my gut hurting from being forcibly violated? No way to know.
Lost in those thoughts, I flopped back down onto the floor and curled up. The hero shrugged his shoulders and replied.
"Why come to me for your food?"
He called himself the master and me the slave, but apparently wouldn't even feed me properly. Guess it's hopeless. Am I just going to starve like this? It hurt. The sensation of my body screaming from hunger felt so long forgotten. No wonder memories surfaced of scavenging behind dumpsters back when I couldn't even land a construction gig and nearly starved.
Funny now—I couldn't even rummage through trash here. "It's late. Go back to sleep."
As I stared down pessimistically, fumbling sounds came from ahead, followed by the hero's voice. What did he mean, sleep again? I had just woken up. How was I supposed to sleep now, starving so much I couldn't anyway? Sleeping helped when you were hungry because you didn't feel it. But if you were too hungry, you couldn't sleep, ending up sleepless and twice as miserable.
That was now. These bastards really knew how to torment a person in every way. I could feel a hatred for humans growing that I never had before. Human scum! You disgusting pricks. At least feed me. Even if treated like a slave, hit on the head with fists, kicked, raped—I tried to endure. But they could psychologically corner you like this too.
And this body—legs trembling, whether it was the first time or not. I'd thought I walked fine before, but my thighs quivered so much now. Damn it. Watching the crazy hero roll over under the covers and sleep peacefully made me want to stab his gut with a knife right then. Once, no twice, ten, a hundred, a thousand times wouldn't be enough.
If I don't kill him, this life goes on. Yeah, this was survival. But I didn't even have a dagger. Depressing. If Kudbeka had gifted me one, it'd be perfect. Too bad. I'd stab him the moment he fell deep asleep. I bit my nails.
I tossed and turned, rolling on the floor. My hair, the cloak wrapped around me, bits of exposed skin getting filthy—I had no time to care. Worrying about that would keep me from resting properly. Crunch. I bit my nails. A nicely grown one splintered and went into my mouth. Crunch, crunch.
Maybe eating something would help—I chewed and swallowed. After a while, it seemed to ease the hunger a bit, and nails seemed surprisingly edible. Lucky. I'd finished the thumb one. Small appetite or not, fingers don't have much meat or nail, so it still wasn't enough. Fine. Nine more fingers left.
I switched fingers and bit the index nail next. I stopped after the middle one. Still hungry, less than before so somewhat better, but the main reason was different. If he kept starving me, I'd need three a day. Eating them all now would leave none later.
Gurgle. If my feet were closer, I'd count toenails too, but nah. Ugh. Hungry. Too recently passed out to sleep again. Tonight would be a long one.
*
Hollow. One word summed up my state. Couldn't sleep more despite hunger, chains glued tight to the wall so no escape, no knife to stab him. Going mad. Not just talk—I really might. Hunger pulled at me from inside, like wringing my guts.
"Ugh, urgh."
Writhing in agony, shifting positions, the hero stirred. Morning sun rising, he popped up without alarm like a rooster. They say sunlight triggers it reflexively. He chucked a pillow at me.
"What the fuck's that noise first thing in the morning!"
Pillow or not, thrown by the hero it packed power—I rolled and it hit my face, tears welling up in instant fury. Bonus disgust. Seemed my groans woke him, not morning routine or bright sun. Rising from bed, he muttered, "Shit. Wide awake now," flung off the covers, and stood.
His dick—easily over 20cm—pitched a tent threatening to rip his pants. Wow, fuck. In my old life, chicks would've swarmed. Or maybe too big, they'd run. My boredom-pickled brain spat random thoughts. Realizing they veered weird, I shook my head to clear them.
Anyway, the hero sighed, glanced at the window. "Breakfast time? Gotta head down."
Sounded like an inn. Most isekai inns had eateries; picky guests ate there with lodging. Like daily-changing Korean baekban—want else, eat out. Usually spacious on the first floor, so "going down for food" meant that. My mansion had it too, but that was a mansion. Thus, inn confirmed.
But hearing "morning" made my stomach gurgle again. Hungry. No expectation he'd feed me, but sitting mute like an idiot? I'd starve dead in this roadside inn. Better beg survival over prideful death. Now I got it: drowning's agony makes you bolt if you can; starvation's a parasitic worm eating you. And beaten-to-death vibes too.
Pushing grim thoughts aside, I swallowed hard and urgently called to the hero, now dressing. Survival instinct crushed pride. I'm Min Siyoon anyway; pride's Lobelia's. Rationalization bonus.
"Um, I-I'm hungry too… c-could you give me food?"
My left thumb intact, right one gnawed last night—they twitched rubbing together anxiously. I noticed but didn't stop. Ignore it, hunger asserts itself.
Crushed pride, swallowed hard, words out—I waited jittery for reply. Hearing me, hero sighed, finished dressing, checked adventurer gear, turned.
That prick, heard me but dresses anyway. And changing so casually before me—I'm Lobelia on outside. Various gripes bottled up, his answer came.
"…Sigh, you passed out and don't remember how you got here?"
"……."
What the fuck, thanks expected? If he'd fed properly, not hit, not raped—I wouldn't be at limit…! Grinding teeth, biting lower lip shut, hero shook head wearily.
"Jeez, demon folk don't even know gratitude?"
So, say thanks for food. Irritation surged, but I calmed. Can't endure this, back to nail-munching survival. Starve, beaten daily. Can't suicide-blocked? Endure till I kill or escape him.
Finally, lips fumbling, I said to the hero, casually standing akimbo before me.
"Th-thanks."
"Am I your friend?"
What more?! Biting lip, answer dawned. Sighing, I furrowed brow, glanced floor, looked up at him.
"…Th-thank you."
Bent pride for food, shame wanted death, but odd good feeling knowing hunger solved soon.