A World with a Fucked Gender Ratio (1)

Inside the slide on the playground, a cold night breeze whistles through. I'm clutching scraps of newspaper to block the chill.

"Fuck, it's freezing my ass off."

Lying there battered by the wind... that's me, Oh Seong-hoon. A 25-year-old beggar who's been at it for five years now.

I used to avoid sleeping outside. At least at Seoul Station, I could block the wind, but some drunk asshole swigging soju stole my spot after I had a drink. Half-fleeing, I ended up deciding to crash inside this playground slide.

It was somewhat cozy, with less ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wind blowing in... but still.

"Slippery as hell, and even these tiny drafts are driving me nuts."

This place wasn't great either.

I wasn't always like this. I had a warm house that kept out the rain and wind. Lived a normal life... no, more like well-off.

At 20, I got into crypto on a buddy's tip. Whether it was talent or luck, everything I bought skyrocketed, and I piled up enough to call myself rich. Not world-redefining billionaire rich, but comfortable—no worries there.

I figured those happy days would last forever. But beginner's luck runs out, and crypto crashed hard just like that.

I sold my house to try and recover, poured it all back in... but I couldn't even break even. Total wipeout.

With no college degree like everyone else, the job market wouldn't touch me. Desperate for quick cash, I went into construction labor.

Even busting my young ass with passion, I got chewed out for being worse than that foreign worker Amir next to me.

"Seong-hoon, why the hell can't you work worth shit? Don't come back after today."

"Yeah..."

I had no choice but to quit that gig too, swallowing the site foreman's abuse.

And just like that... homeless with no house or money, I became a Line 3 subway squatter at Seoul Station.

At least there, I could block the wind... but tonight, that drunk grabbed my spot with his soju bottle. I bolted out and tried crashing in this nearby park slide, but with temps near freezing, sleep wouldn't come.

How long do I have to live like this? Or is this my life forever? At 25, prime of youth, squandering it on the streets.

People say get a part-time job or go back to labor... but my body and stamina gave out on that long ago.

All I can do now is sit during rush hour with an empty can, begging for spare change.

Is this really living? Hell, was I ever meant to be alive?

As the cold deepened, my mind filled with nothing but dark thoughts. Everything felt detached. No will to live in this world... no value left.

Clink. The few coins and two crumpled thousand-won bills in my can. Maybe this'll do it?

I counted them out and crawled out of the slide, heading to the mart without a second thought. Grabbed a lighter, charcoal briquettes, and a green soju bottle.

I don't even know why. But... maybe this'll ease my mind a bit?

I shuffled to the counter.

"That'll be 5,500 won."

"Here."

I slapped down a crumpled five-thousand-won bill and a five-hundred-won coin. As she took the money, the Mart Auntie stared at me hard.

What's she doing if not taking the cash?

"Kid, you're not up to something weird, are you?"

"Huh?"

Her words blanked my brain. Was she right? I didn't even know the details myself—how to explain?

"It's an errand. Someone sent me to buy this for grilling meat."

"Oh, got it?"

She nodded like it made sense and rang me up. As I grabbed my stuff to leave,

"Kid."

"Yeah?"

"If things get tough, come back. I'll hook you up with some discarded food."

"Ah... yeah, thanks."

First kind words from a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stranger in years—my face softened without me realizing. I forced an awkward, gentle smile, nodded, and headed out.

Not like I'll ever come back anyway.

Straight back to the park slide. Only sealed spot around. I sat up top so I wouldn't slide, set the briquettes on the box, lit 'em with the lighter.

Watched the smoke rise slow while chugging soju straight from the bottle. Alcohol hit my system, haze settling in, eyes drooping. A faint warmth... this might actually be bliss.

Where'd it all go wrong? Starting crypto? Or just being born?

Is this really the end? At least painless and quick...

Consciousness faded. Next time I wake up, somewhere warm, please.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

I closed my eyes.

"Fuck."

I woke to bright sunlight. Blinked clear-headed in what I thought was warmth—bullshit, morning air bit my mouth off.

Yesterday flashed back. Dead? Nah, pounding headache said otherwise. And if dead, no cold like this.

Failed. Why? Slide's got too much airflow—even a few briquettes couldn't do it. Emotions overrode brains? Or the booze?

Everything I do flops like this. Can't even fuck up simple right.

"Ugh, starving to death here."

Morning chill plus nothing but soju yesterday—guts twisting, hunger killing me. No exaggeration, stomach in knots. Three days no food? Yeah.

Buy something? Can's got...

"What the hell can I get with this..."

Three ten-won coins. Thirty won. Can't even snag gum at the corner store.

"Shouldn't have pulled that stunt yesterday."

Regret hit hard. Suicide over it? Failed, and lost the cash too.

Now beg to eat. Dragging my sorry ass through life on handouts.

With weak steps, I headed to the Seoul Station subway entrance. Gotta hustle today too.

Seoul Station Exit 3. Most office workers, best begging spot.

I spread newspaper, plopped down, and called out loud.

"Spare some change, please..."

Standard beggar line with my saddest face. But

"Look, it's a guy."

"Huh?"

"A dude? Doing that?"

"Cosplay? Or some shoot?"

"Acting's spot-on."

Everyone staring, saying weird shit.

Plenty of beggars at Seoul Station Exit 3 besides me. That soju guy from yesterday was out faking illness this morning. What's odd about a guy begging?

Perplexed by the reactions, I scanned around.

Usual Seoul Station... but something's off. Why are guys wearing makeup? Sure, rushed women fix makeup on commutes, but today it's reversed. Men dashing, pulling cosmetics from handbags, primping eyebrows with mascara in mirrors. Women sprinting by with canned coffee.

Am ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I dreaming? I yanked my cheek hard.

Straaain—!!

"Ack! Fucking hurts like hell!"

Pain confirmed—not a dream.

Then what the fuck? Anxious, I eyed the TV in the station plaza.

News subtitles hit me like a truck.

Am I seeing this shit right? Male numbers dropping? Sperm Donation Center? Head spinning from the nonsense, I clutched it.

Steadying myself, I kept watching. Then a huge headline broke me.

Male 1, female 9. Realization dawned.

Looks like I got isekai'd to a different world. One where the gender ratio's fucked to hell at 1:9...

"This is some real bullshit."