A Hollow 40th Birthday and the Sudden Transformation
Yeah, but ○chujang. It's gone, right? Life feels empty. That's just how it is for a hikikomori who's dropped out of society. In modern terms, am I some kind of unemployed middle-aged guy? Nah, isn't it unfair to slap that label only on the young? Anyway. Food, shit, game, sleep. My life in four words. Life is like belly fat piling up day after day, meaningless. I wake up at a decent hour, drag my numb legs to the bathroom for a dump. Hmm. Another squirter today. Glancing in the mirror, I see my matted hair, chubby puffy face, and that one eye grotesquely twisted from the scar.
Did I have any popularity back when I was young? Time has passed so much that the memory is all foggy. I wash my face. Probably not, right? Soaked in subculture for so long, it's hard to tell what's real anymore. Even scrubbing hard, it's still the sleazy face of a washed-up old man, complete with a disability. If I lost some weight, wouldn't I look like a hard-boiled type with a backstory? A pathetic delusion brought on a hollow laugh that came out like a cough.
I head to the kitchen and pop my blood pressure meds. As you age, things start breaking down one by one. Or rather, I was already broken from youth. Defective product. No, wait. With a dull headache, I fumble for my phone and start steaming some frozen kimchi pork dumplings to kick off the day. What a great world where food gets delivered as long as you have money—no need to go outside. These days. If not, oh well. Yeah, just suicide it. I think of the clown from stock memes and crack a self-deprecating smile.
Luckily or unluckily, that altcoin I YOLO'd into out of sheer recklessness exploded. Some might envy it, but to me, it's just an unexpected accident. Yeah, an accident. Ironically, even with all that money, I'm barely clinging to life. No drive left for luxury. My desire for life has shriveled up like my solo-play dick. I set a timer on my phone and sit at the table, staring blankly at the gas flame flickering.
Living off the blood money from my deceased family has become numb too. My most repeated mutter is that. Empty. Or meaningless? One of the two. Nihilist sounds kinda cool, huh? Just another ordinary day. A boring day. I wish a gate would open and I'd awaken. Or no-clip into the yellow room and come out as a munchkin. Or have a god pop out and grant me cheat powers to isekai. Unrealistic? Well, that's how the delusions of a trashy life lacking any sense of reality roll after a few years. Today marks my 40th birthday. And the anniversary of my family's death. Forty years old now. A severe hikikomori with 20 years under my belt. And a virgin too.
If magic existed, I'd be a grand wizard by now. Ugh! Trash! Trash! Die! Die!! Cursing inwardly does nothing to stir the heart of a fine nihilist. Emotions like rotten oil have dried up, clinging like soot. Licking at the scraps of happiness just leaves a charred bitter taste. I bring over the fully steamed dumplings and place them on the table like a birthday cake. Even a pig wouldn't steam 40 dumplings. But hey, doesn't it kinda look like one? Pretending it's cake, I wave my chopsticks like a magic wand.
And this overgrown kid makes a wish. "I wish the world would end."
'Rest in peace.'
A cracked voice murmurs an empty wish. Meanwhile, in my heart, I pray for the peace of my family, whose faces are now just vague outlines in memory. Feel like something's different? Whatever. Does it matter? My annual prayer on the anniversary. And yet the world keeps turning. I know it's an empty wish. Just... felt like it. It doesn't hurt anyone anyway, right?
After the cracked voice echoes, I reach for the dumplings with my chopsticks. Huh? Something's weird... Did my eye get worse? A black afterimage floats in my half-vision. Before I can check it out,
"!"
The blackness expands in an instant. A long, drawn-out beeeeeeep rings out. With the tinnitus, my whole body crushes. Excruciating pain as if my senses are being chewed up raw—I let out a hollow death rattle.
... Everything sank into black emptiness. And so I plummeted into the calm depths.
▼
"Hmm."
A thin, elegant tone. Coming from my throat. Where did my baritone go? What just happened feels like a blink, and I'm sitting at the table. Was that phantom pain from before just a memory? Or pure hallucination? The surroundings are my familiar house... but a faint ozone scent lingers at the tip of my nose, stirring unease.
My fat body feels light. An arm as white and pristine as milk on an empty table. Tilting my head down slightly, my white tee bulges out with hefty flesh. Touching my mangled eye, it's soft smooth skin. The natural clarity of perfect vision bridges the gap in perception, slowly evaporating.
"Haa."
This is that, right? That thing. Well, it's trendy. Long hair rustles down, wafting a nice scent. Didn't ask for this, but it's not bad. The body itself is normal now. 40-year-old virgin TS. A wild combo. With a light motion, I spring up from the chair. My healthy legs carry me nimbly to the bathroom.
"Aa, is this me?"
They say you say this when you TS. Right? Staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, it feels detached from reality.
Skin white and translucent enough to blur the boundary with glass. Long straight black hair with bangs holding shadows of midnight. Sinking black pupils and a sharp nose. Even without makeup, plump red lips seem to carry the scent of fruit just by looking. Manipulating the lofty beauty in the mirror feels... surprisingly good. Petite build. But the breasts are, well, pretty big. No, huge. Slim waist makes them stand out more? Height's a bit short, but the proportions blend girlish charm with mature allure.
I lift the tee slightly. Faint blue veins trace across the white skin. So not a doll, then. In a cringey move, I strip off the bottoms completely. Hmm. So that's what it looks like. Oh. Wow. Neat. I stretch one long leg up into an I-balance pose straight out of subculture, checking everything. Pristine. A pose impossible for old-man me, but no strain at all. Legs soft and flexible. Worlds apart from stiff old-man flesh. Anyway, it's like seeing it for the first time in reality, but with learned data—or because it's my body—there's zero pounding heart. Even the fresh body scent rising doesn't stir me. No sensation even if I poke around. Is it supposed to be like this? Yeah, but dick-chan. It's gone, right? Now seeing a guy makes my womb go kyung-kyung? Bleh.
Finishing the rough spec check, I throw my clothes back on. Then I reach out and pull my phone to me. It's almost the same as my old one... no, subtly different? Lock pattern's the same, at least. Other "obvious" facts stir a faint unease again. The phone's empty like a burner. All the old family contacts I kept are gone. Swallowing bitter illusion, I browse the internet under the bathroom's white light.
[Seoul Area Missing Persons Rising Yearly. Government Measures Urgently Needed.]
[True Identity of 'Lee Sang-yoon'! 2nd Grade Awakened Ability User. Mad Drug Party!]
[Honghwa Guild Clears 1st Grade Gate! Elevating Korea's Status Again!]
[Not Just Korea: Vacuum of Special 0 Grade Ability Users. No National Responsibility?]
News headlines straight out of a generic webnovel. Right. This world has what they call Awakened Ability Users—aka the awakened. Not that surprising. Not possession, either. They just slotted "me" into this world. Knowing that "naturally" creates a subtle dissonance... which evaporates just as smoothly. Whatever, brushing aside the irrelevant bits.
I search for Korea's top handsome guys. Not big on celebs, but the names I knew are gone. At best, same-name randos. A few pretty-boy faces pop up, but no womb-throbbing. Good? Amid it all, titles like "Actor and Awakened Ability User" give a faint sense of another world. Checked some women too, just in case—no spark. Just "pretty." No different from looking at my own face. Nah, am I prettier? Whatever. Sexual orientation doesn't matter. Back as an old man, it barely got up anyway.
Shelving the pondering, I float the phone in midair and pull the wallet. The worn one my sister gave me is now some fake luxury knockoff. Bitter... no, illusion. ID and one credit card. No cash, as usual. If there was, the face on the bill would be different too. I "know" that "obviously." Pull out the ID. Subtly different details and color from the original. Especially the "General" mark before the resident number—feels alien. No, familiar. Baek Yeha. Birthday and name same as old-man days. Expressionless face. So neat it looks AI-generated. If not for the mirror reflection, it'd be fine.
Status:General
Birthdate:[20 years younger, ending in 4]
Birth year 20 years younger. The trailing 1 became a 4. I tidy the wallet back to position. Let the sink run for a while. Water flows naturally, as if always connected. Dip pale white hands into the warm stream and wash. Habit. Or compulsion? I wash hands after touching anything brought outside. Wallet counts. Phone never leaves the house, so fine. Always shower after going out. Weird? I know it's just my head. Even changed, the stain of old habits lingers. Reassuring, oddly.
Foam swells from the dried-up soap, mingling with white hands. Rinse with clear water. Mirror reflection feels familiar yet strange. Even TS'd this pretty, no thrill. The head-tilting beauty remains expressionless. Trying to smile just feels awkward. Hands clean, I instantly purify and dry the moisture. The purifying scent sinks into my fluffy skin. Right, I'm an Awakened Ability User too. Invincible TS body. Magic at will. 40 years virgin means magic flows post-TS, common sense? Doesn't? Maybe someone stole it while sleeping. Poor you! Oh, and I can transform too.
"Transform."