The Orange Hoodie

After my shower I said goodbye to Rahee, who had been waiting, and headed home.

There's still time.

The leftover time sat awkwardly, and it had been a while since I'd gone anywhere near the university district, so I decided to leave early and get some air while I was at it. I changed, then turned to the mirror. This winter had been mild for the season, and mild weather was exactly when a cold liked to catch you.

I ought to do some shopping, too.

While I was still at the company, survival had been the priority, so I'd never given my clothes a thought—and everything in the closet had been bought three years ago, if not earlier. I hadn't cared yesterday. Meeting those younger women must have been what did it, because now it bothered me immensely. I clicked my tongue, chose the least offensive thing I owned, pulled on a coat, and left the house.

Hm.

When I reached the station, my eyes locked onto the train stopped across the platform. More precisely, they locked onto that unidentified car: a blue border, sunflowers and tulips, and an enormous round sun painted across it. Beneath the drawings, in a pointlessly solemn blue font, it read:

They want me to ride that?

Sorry. I'll pass. Just imagining it was humiliating beyond words. No able-bodied man in his right mind would board a thing like that. It felt like being told to ride a carousel alone in the middle of a crowd. And in that same instant the arrival announcement blared, the train slid past the screen doors in front of me, and I realized—too late—that the car was packed solid.

How long has it even been since I quit?

Of all times, I'd overlapped with the evening rush. The train was fairly crowded. At least it wasn't quite peak yet. Small mercies.

……

I watched the doors of the arriving car open and let out a sigh. It was, of course, absolutely not the male-only car. I doubted I would ever get used to that. The moment I stepped aboard, eyes gathered on me. For someone who had lived his whole life believing a subway was full of people interested in no one at all, the attention felt deeply strange. I slowly threaded my way inward. As I carefully passed between bodies, something odd brushed my backside. I turned my head, met the sly smile of a middle-aged woman, looked away, and pushed a little farther ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in.

There really are gropers. Wait—does this even count as groping?

Good lord. A groper who wouldn't even look away when our eyes met. So this was what it felt like to have someone touch your ass. The coat dulled it, but the fidgeting underneath was strange all the same. Honestly, though, it didn't feel much worse than someone tapping me on the shoulder. It wasn't as if the neighborhood grandfathers were telling me to whip it out the way my late grandfather used to.

It's awkward. I wouldn't go so far as unpleasant. Maybe because it's just my ass.

I scratched my cheek and put in my earphones. I was about to start the music when the fidgeting started up again. I looked back. Same woman. She must have followed me because I hadn't said anything. I tugged the hem of my coat and brushed her hand away; she flinched and withdrew, only to start fidgeting at my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠backside again a moment later. I didn't know about the rest of it. It was just annoying.

If you're going to touch me, touch me properly. This isn't even tickling.

And then, the instant that woman grabbed a full handful of my ass, a tremendous shout erupted behind me, followed by a scream.

"Ma'am!"

"Aagh! What the—?!"

"What the hell do you think you're doing?! Oppa, are you all right?"

"......Uh. Ah......"

"Looks like he's in shock. Ma'am! I am turning you over. No matter what."

With that, she hit a blue button on the subway wall. I had never seen one of those in my life. Had there always been a button like that? I turned and found the woman's arm folded back in the grip of someone in an orange hoodie and a navy padded vest. Judging by the clothes, the build, and the voice, she was a woman. The angle looked wrong, though. Pull any harder and that shoulder was going to come out of its socket.

Wait. Did someone just protect me?

The situation had opened so suddenly that I couldn't find a word. The young woman who had the arm locked gave it a shake, and another scream spilled out. Somewhere along the way, in a car that had been packed tight, a space had cleared around the older woman.

"What's going on?"

"What happened?"

"Looks like a groper."

"Again? God, they're disgusting."

"This is why the men all ride the reserved cars."

"Thanks to that, it's been a while since I caught a man's scent."

"He's the pure type. Height's just right. Skin all smooth and glossy. Looking at him, I'm starting to drool."

"Right? For an ajumma, she's got an eye."

"So where did she touch him? Did you see?"

"No. She was behind him, so ass or thigh, probably."

"......She didn't grab his chest, or the front, did she?"

"Are you insane? You're actually picturing that?"

"You say that like you weren't."

"......Well. A little."

There were voices condemning the woman, but what caught my ear were the ones looking at me and trading dirty talk. The woman still pinning the arm turned her head toward where that conversation had come from, and the talkers promptly dropped their eyes to their phones. The one in the hoodie never so much as glanced at me. All her attention stayed on not letting go of the arm she held.

"Don't mind them. Not every woman is like that."

"Ah—yes. And thank you. I didn't even manage a proper hello."

"Don't mention it. Really, truly, women are absolutely not all like this, so please don't start hating us. Though I feel like I'd hate us too, in your place."

"......Sure. Well."

She was apologizing so frantically that nothing came to mind to say. A moment later the train stopped at the next station, and the first two people to board pushed through the crowd and appeared in front of us. Policewomen. The two of them looked us over and spoke.

"You pressed the bell, correct? Please step off for a moment."

"Are you all right?"

One of them came up to me, peered into my face, and asked with a worried look. I gave a small nod, and she took my arm and guided me out of the train. Then she turned to the woman who had helped me, and to the older woman whose arm was still pinned. We had gotten off in the middle of the station, and a crowd immediately packed in around us. I seemed to be the only one who noticed.

Hm.

I looked around, and sure enough, I was the only person who found the situation strange. I was the victim, and yet the focus sat entirely on the criminal and the woman overflowing with righteousness. If anything, I felt like a bystander. Like I'd been reduced to an optional extra. Murmurs drifted out of the gathered crowd, and the content was hardly different from what I'd heard on the train. I folded my arms and watched.

"Is this the one?"

"Yes. Caught in the act, and I restrained her. It should be on that CCTV."

"Ah, now that I think of it—before—"

"Oh, you're the officer from back then. Hello."

"You've caught another one. Good work. This time you might actually receive the Brave Citizen Award."

"Not at all. It's simply what ought to be done. As for the good work—he seems to be in shock. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Could you counsel him for a moment?"

"Ah, I'm sorry. Are you all right? If you need a medical examination—"

"I'm fine."

Only then did they turn their attention to me and ask. An examination? Please. I waved them off and said I was all right, and the officer nodded.

"Thank you. Ma'am, thanks to this kind person, a year will do. You are under emergency arrest for sexual assault, caught in the act."

"Student ID, please. And yours as well, sir. It's procedure."

"Ah. Yes."

I took my wallet from the inner pocket of my coat, handed over my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ID, and felt utterly dumbfounded. The previous world had been like this too, in its way, and yet this was the first time in my life I'd been through anything of the sort.

Emergency arrest? Not a request to come along voluntarily?

On top of that, once they'd taken my ID they started reciting something like a Miranda warning, which suggested this was being treated as a fairly serious crime. And a year? She touched my ass once and she does a year? I honestly didn't know. I'd spent the last few years at the company like a zombie, so I was out of touch with the current mood—but had the original world been like this too? Even with the cuffs on, the woman wailed that she was being wronged, and the content of the wailing was painfully earnest. Nearly fifty, and she had never once been with a man. Really. Of course, she had brought it on herself.

"Are you really all right? Please get examined. It's free for victims of sex crimes, and if they find anything abnormal, we can make sure that woman serves the full three years."

"No, no. I'm fine."

"You don't need to go easy on people like that. A young man matters more than some woman who's already through menopause."

Three years struck me as too much. I didn't know. Maybe it was only because I wasn't feeling anything at all. I could only assume other men took a tremendous shock from this. And this orange hoodie—wasn't she calculating the whole thing a little too coldly, without a scrap of human warmth? Still, the woman had done wrong. That was a fact, separate from my strange mood. If something felt off, it was this: I was the one who'd been groped, and yet there was no talk of any settlement, only punishment. It was hard to explain. The front and the back of it didn't seem to match.

"You're not running late for an appointment, are you?"

"Ah, I'm fine. I left with time to spare. Thank you for helping me. May I ask your name?"

"Oh, I'm Shin Mirae."

"I'm Lee Shinwoo."

When I offered my hand, she startled, just a little. Should I be careful about handshakes, too? Her fingers came up and cautiously took only the tips of mine, and I thought I would have to watch that from now on—then changed my mind. I didn't want to live tired out by thoughts like that.

"Ah, yes. N-nice to meet you. No—no. I'm sorry this happened. I should have helped you sooner."

"It's all right. You helped almost at once. It might as well have been immediate."

The next train arrived just then, and we boarded together, neither of us waiting on the other. Unfortunately, this car was far more crowded than the last.

"Come this way. I'll stay beside you until you get off."

"......Ah. All right."

She even went in ahead of me, clearing people out of the way, and led me to a corner of the car. It was a strange feeling. I could have gotten there on my own. So this was what excessive kindness felt like.

Well. Whatever.

She seemed like a fiercely righteous sort of woman, and if we talked, I might pick up something useful. Standing near the wall and looking out the window, I noticed the woman named Mirae stealing glances at me.

"Is something wrong?"

"Ah, no. I was just checking that you were really all right."

"I really am. I didn't think things like this actually happened. Turns out they do."

"......Yes. It's gotten worse lately. This time of day is usually bad."

"Is that so."

"If you don't mind my asking—how old are you?"

With that one question from her, I understood.

So that was it.

Like a strip of film, the women of my old world passed through my mind—the ones who, the moment I slipped a personally interested question into a mood that had been going well, soured or brushed me off. From this single line I could feel her intention clearly enough. To put it a little dramatically, it was the not-quite-coercion of someone who had helped you and now wanted something in return. The situation was special, granted, but if I didn't answer I would be the one who came off badly. Even one question carried that weight. Answering, of course, wasn't any great problem.

"I'm about to turn thirty. And you?"

"Oh, I'm twenty-four. I'm job hunting."

"Civil service?"

"The police."

"I see. You'll make a fine officer."

"Thank you."

We had just finished saying it when the next station arrived and a flood of passengers poured in, shoving me suddenly sideways. On reflex I caught the shoulder of the woman standing beside me—Mirae—and pulled. She and I, pushed toward the wall, ended up braced against it face to face through no choice of our own. Mirae's eyes went round. She stared up at me without moving.

Hm.

Only then did Shin Mirae's face, hidden until now beneath the hood, actually register. I'd been too busy reading the situation. Long, untreated hair spilled down inside the hoodie—a student's hair, with no trace of a salon. A short forehead. Skin close to apricot. Not a scrap of makeup, which suited someone studying for an exam. Aside from a mole near her eye, there were no acne scars or blemishes; her skin was quite good. The overall impression was slightly soft, and the monolid eyes were the point of charm. With a little care, it was a face that could become beautiful.

Gulp. The sound of Shin Mirae swallowing rang out absurdly loud. She seemed to realize it herself; she hurried to cover her mouth and dropped her gaze, only to look up at me again, then down, over and over. I watched that for a moment, then turned my head and studied the ceiling of the car. Unlike the last one, this car had no CCTV on the ceiling or in the corners.

I am curious, though.

I came out of the brief thought and slowly lowered my head. Shin Mirae flinched, flustered, but I leaned in and whispered at her ear.

"You can take this as a thank-you. But there's something I'm curious about."

"......Huh? Huh?"

"If I touch a woman's breasts, is that sexual assault?"

"......What?"

"I'm curious. Whether, for a man as well—"

I kept speaking, and slowly pushed Shin Mirae's hood back. The scent that had been trapped inside rose in a rush. Not a perfumed body wash. Something plain, like soap.

"—the same rule applies."