Virgin Bitch (2)
I'd sniffled, sure — but I hadn't cried.
Not that a single viewer was going to believe that, but it was the truth. Tears had welled up, yet they weren't quite enough to spill from the eyes of Seong Yuhan, a man among men. And if real tears had actually tried to fall, Geum Taeyang's instincts would have stepped in anyway. This body lived on swagger alone.
Anyway, nothing was going my way. The wrecked back was infuriating. Not having the money for a Switch was infuriating. And the fact that the stream had just come within a hair of dying on the spot was infuriating.
No, seriously — why would you just throw your clothes off like that? Did that person not get banned?
Whether they got banned or not didn't matter. What mattered was me.
Sprawled on the floor, the pain in my lower back only got worse. First priority: get back to the bed. Anything beat lying face-down on the floor.
"Uuughhh……. Nngh……."
Pain I couldn't swallow clawed its way up my throat. A grotesque groan. Microphone in hand — the same one that had gone down with me — I crawled across the floor toward the bed, slow as a zombie.
"Hhnnn……."
Gritting through it, I hauled myself onto the mattress and collapsed. I lay there a while, then flailed an arm around until I found my phone.
Ah. To actually end the stream I'd have to get all the way to the desk…… whatever. I'd deal with that later.
Bad luck really did come in packs. I figured the stream's mood had probably cratered too. It couldn't get much more dead in here: a bizarre video donation clearly meant to get me banned, me screaming my lungs out in genuine rage, and my condition completely shot.
I steeled myself and looked at the phone. More precisely, at the chat window on the screen.
"Huh?"
Why did the mood seem… fine?
That somehow made it even scarier.
"What? What's going on……? Did chat break?"
Question marks kept flooding the chat. Same thing inside my head. They were scrolling fast enough that it didn't look broken — and chat wasn't the kind of thing that "broke" in the first place.
I wasn't in any condition to calmly take stock of the situation either.
"What was what……. What are you even talking about? Shhh……it, I'm not getting banned, right? I shut it off right away?"
"Fuck. A pair of tits just popped out on stream. If I leave that up I'm obviously getting banned……. Ahh, this hurts like hell……."
……?
Something wasn't lining up.
As the pain started to settle into something I could think through, I realized the situation was veering somewhere very strange. Skimming the chat, it sounded like I wasn't getting banned?
"What? I'm…… not banned? For real? Please tell me I'm not."
The strength went out of me all at once. I buried my face in the pillow and let out a long, shaking breath of relief.
Whether a ban actually dropped wasn't the viewers' call, strictly speaking — but if they were all talking like that, I probably didn't need to panic. And the chat wasn't turning hostile, which was another mercy.
"Heh-hehh……. Reflexes saved me."
"The exposure was that bad, so of course……. Ah."
Ah.
That was the mismatch. The reason everything we'd been saying to each other had been just slightly off.
People are social animals. You don't just shrug off the socialization you've absorbed since childhood. I'd only been in this world about three weeks; keeping up with its way of thinking in real time was still a lot to ask.
Men went to the pool in at least a T-shirt. Women could have their chests fully out and it wasn't really a problem. You might get called a little tacky for it, sure — but that was it.
That had been in the cultural notes I'd put together when I first dropped into the gender-reversed world. I'd completely forgotten. Not like I had any occasion to watch someone flash their chest.
Which meant…… that video just now hadn't been a problem at all.
Thinking it through slowly, I finally understood what had just unfolded.
……I'd been the only one losing my mind over something that wasn't even weird?
I'd taken an ordinary funny clip and thrown a fit about how indecent it was.
Oh, god.
My face burned. I wasn't even someone who embarrassed easily, and this was mortifying. The fall of Seong Yuhan, man among men.
I dropped my head back into the pillow and pulled it over my face.
Those bastards. No — those bitches. Mocking someone for not knowing their culture. A bunch of rotten ethnocentrists, every last one of them.
"Shut up……."
"……."
"I'm not……."
This could not stand.
I'd been born a son of Korea and lived a rough life. I was not going to sit here and take being called a virgin in front of a few hundred people. Even if it was true.
I did not like these ₩10,000 donations starting to roll in.
No — I liked them, but…… this was a matter of pride.
I didn't usually swear that much on stream, even when I talked rough. The curses came out on their own.
"……Hey. Cut it out. This is pissing me off now."
These were the same viewers who used to flinch if I so much as got a little serious.
Nobody was taking me seriously anymore.
Four hundred people started roasting me. The phrase that kept popping up was Virgin Bitch. I'd always hated the term "virgin bitch" when it was aimed at girls — and now I was the one wearing it. A shocking turn of events.
I wasn't a bitch in the first place. I was a delinquent.
What was the difference…… well. There was a difference. Something.
I wanted to slap a chat timeout on them and cool the room down, but getting to the desk would take another eternity. I never thought this tiny studio apartment would look this big.
Now they were even getting a reaction out of the woman from the video and using it to roast me. I'd been wondering why the viewer count was climbing — they were spilling in from her stream.
Hm. If the persona went past an act and I just got read as a straight-up delinquent, the stream could get weird. I wouldn't tune in either if it was just some thug going live.
The cooking streams had been my way of keeping the concept from going too far, in that same vein.
That worry evaporated in a single breath. It didn't look like a disaster. If anything, it would probably work in my favor. I still wasn't happy about it.
It felt like I'd sold off my pride.
The room kept getting hotter, but the pain in my back kept getting worse, so I ended the stream at midnight — earlier than usual.
The money I'd made in those few hours was several times everything I'd earned streaming up to now.
I didn't even know what to call the feeling. I fell asleep inside it.
Lunchtime had already come and gone.
I was forcing myself through studying that wouldn't stick, but my focus had been on the floor for a long time. The clock's short hand pointed at one.
Sunday, one in the afternoon.
Yuhan oppa still hadn't come to the orphanage.
I went into the Director's office — a place I usually avoided so I wouldn't get in the way of her work over something trivial. She said she hadn't heard from him either.
On days he couldn't come, didn't he always at least send the Director a check-in text? It was strange.
Until a few weeks ago I'd been the one avoiding him, so I hadn't seen his face much. I regretted that a lot. It wasn't as if I got to see him often to begin with, and I'd thrown even those chances away.
So now, if he came to the orphanage, I'd wanted to stay with him as long as I could.
The clock told me another thirty minutes had already passed.
One-thirty.
He still wasn't picking up my calls.
I changed into going-out clothes and left the orphanage.
Yuhan oppa had only acted like this once: when he'd hurt his back doing construction labor. He hadn't wanted anyone to worry, so he'd cut off every line of contact — until I caught him.
I remembered lecturing him hard. If you're hurt, call me at least. If you're a man, take better care of your body. And so on.
The person I'd loved my whole life getting hurt like that and then just sitting there groaning by himself — of course I'd been angry.
Back to now. Honestly, I hoped this was just me inventing things.
Even thinking about the square pain patches stuck clumsily to his back that day still made my chest ache. It would have been better if I were the one suffering. Being uselessly young had held me back.
I hated my faceless parents all over again. If they were going to abandon me anyway, they could have at least had me earlier. Completely useless people, right to the end.
I drifted through the past as I walked, and before I knew it I'd arrived in his neighborhood. The sticky, gloomy atmosphere was no different just because it was lunchtime. I picked up my pace, trying to shake off a mood that had gone sour for no good reason.
An old building with a damp, clammy air. He'd said the soundproofing, at least, was solid — and honestly, that looked like the only thing it had going for it.
The gloom I'd just shaken off came flooding back. He deserved to live somewhere better. I was supposed to be the one who made that happen.
I was always powerless.
*knock knock knock*
I knocked. No answer came back. But I could clearly feel someone inside.
I'd called dozens of times since morning, so he probably knew I'd come in person. He was avoiding me on purpose.
I wished that weren't true — but he'd clearly hurt himself somewhere. There was no other reason he'd hide from me.
"Oppa. If you don't come out, I'm picking the lock."
I'd seen the code before anyway. I had it memorized.
I waited a moment, and a text came through from him — permission, more or less.
I opened the door. In the dark room, a beautiful man lay face-down on the bed.
That face was stunning no matter how many times I saw it.
That wasn't what mattered.
His shirt had ridden up. On his back, white rectangles were stuck on crooked.
Pain patches.
Again. Always, it was only him who suffered.
I really, truly hated the way the world worked.