Oji-kom(3): What Did I Do Wrong? Why Is Everyone Staring at Me?
I wonder what the hell I did wrong? Why is everyone staring at me? Puzzled, I just sit back down and quietly look at Jung-ah.
"Why is everyone staring at me?"
"Guys don't usually come to places like this."
"Yeah?"
"Right?"
I can't wrap my head around it. In this world, do men not eat proper food like gukbap? Do they all just chow down on pasta or some shit? There's that Korean saying about rice being the root of strength—what the fuck do they eat if not something hearty like gukbap?
"So what do most guys eat then?"
"Um... From what I've seen on broadcasts and stuff, mostly donkatsu? Or they hit up pasta places a lot."
Holy shit, fuck... Are all the men here overflowing with estrogen or what? At this rate, my testosterone's gonna make me look like the girl.
My head's starting to throb a bit, but whatever—they're from this world, and I'm me. I'm the type who'd die without gukbap once a month, and who the hell's gonna complain if I wanna eat it? Nothing wrong beyond the novelty, so I shut my mouth and dig in.
"Seong-hoon, you're... surprisingly unexpected."
"Yeah? No clue what you mean."
She's calling me a novelty right to my face, but I genuinely have no idea. I've always been a stubborn fuck-my-way-or-the-highway type, and as a beggar, do I give a shit what anyone says? I've lived like this for five years.
I just gotta beg or find day work like always and get back to normal life. World changes or not, doesn't matter.
Thinking that, I sip some water and zone out.
"Does Seong-hoon like gukbap?"
"Yeah... love it. If you cut my wrist, out comes pickled radish broth or pork stock instead of blood."
"Haha, what? That's hilarious."
Jung-ah laughs at my answer. I wasn't trying to be funny—I was dead serious. But why'd I even say that?
"If you're just being polite... it's fine. We can switch to something else now, like pasta."
"The fuck is this pasta bullshit... You see my clothes? If I walk into a pasta joint like this, the owner's calling the cops."
"Nah... they won't go that far just 'cause you're a guy. Plus, most guys don't even like gukbap."
Just say you hate pasta, for fuck's sake. Gukbap is manhood—manhood is gukbap. Even if the world's flipped, my world's staying put.
I've done the route with the homeless uncles: booze at the gukbap joint, hangover cure in one. No way in hell I say I hate gukbap.
"Say you hate pasta instead. I need my gukbap—seriously."
Not a lie. For a beggar like me, starving every day, not many foods hit this hard. Can't trash my life's fuel.
"O-okay? Got it then."
"I really love gukbap, so relax."
Seeing her still uneasy, I grin, thumbs-up, and flash a peace sign. Now that she's seen this, no more menu changes.
**
About ten minutes later, the gukbap arrives. Fuuuck yeah! World flips, universe flips, but this house's gukbap? Timeless!
Milky broth packed with meat, offal, and blood sausage. I add a bit of chili paste to redden it up, toss in some green onions, shrimp sauce, and pickled radish broth to taste.
"Keya~! Now that's gukbap!"
Loving the red broth, I dump the rice in, mix, and shovel a huge spoonful.
Scalding hot enough to burn my palate—perfect for warming this body chilled by last night's cold wind. Damn, I feel alive.
Eating like a total pig, Jung-ah—who'd been watching—finally speaks.
"You really love gukbap, huh."
"Hell yeah! Love it!"
She'd eyed me suspiciously moments ago, but now she's loosening up.
Back to my gukbap, she keeps staring.
"Come to think of it, how old are you this year, Seong-hoon?"
"Me?"
"Yeah, I heard 'uncle' on the broadcast, so I wondered if you're way older than me."
"Tch... 25 this year."
"Pardon?"
She stares at me for a solid while after I say it. Come to think, I don't even know her exact age—just her name. Figured she might be older.
"Five years older? Oppa?"
"Yeah?"
Five-year gap means she's 20... A bit of an age diff, but still a kid.
"At that age, 'uncle' is a stretch, no?"
"I'm an uncle, ain't I? Fine, oppa it is."
I know five years ain't huge, but 'oppa' feels weird.
"Hmm... That age, I could call you oppa. Cool?"
"...Hate it usually, but you bought the meal."
I don't like 'oppa'—been called 'homeless uncle' way more, so uncle fits better. But she bought food. Food buyer = good person = pretty person. Let her do her thing.
We chat lightly over more gukbap.
"Why do this stuff, oppa?"
"What?"
"Ah, drop the formal—casual's fine."
"...What stuff?"
Knowing my age made formal weird, so she offers casual. Suits me fine.
"Why live like this?"
"Nah... guys are precious, but homeless? Begging? Can't compute."
"How to explain... Wasn't trying to be a beggar. Fucked up on crypto."
I lay it out like an answer: crypto fail, sold the house, five years homeless, up to now. Skip the original world bit—don't need crazy hobo image tanking further.
"That's why I'm here."
"What a tough life."
She claps after hearing me out, pats my head saying it must've sucked.
"Hey, no head pats."
"Ah, sorry! Hate it?"
"Not hate, but dirty."
Washed yesterday, so probably fine, but she might not wanna touch a beggar. Plus...
"You like patting a guy like me?"
"Pfft... not an uncle."
She insists I'm no uncle, but I look it everywhere. Toothpick-digging mid-gukbap? Mirror says bandit, not uncle.
As I go for another bite—
Slide—
"Watch the kid, bumping adults..."
"I'm an adult too!"
She plops a pickled radish slice on my rice with a smile. I grumble but eat. Not bad.
"Ah, and Seong-hoon oppa... be careful with your words."
"Huh? What'd I do wrong?"
"No... the way you talk..."
What's wrong with how I talk? Where's the issue?
"That stuff... it's classic guy-flirting lines. Everyone here's staring at you."
"Just me?"
For real...? Ignoring the serving uncle, surrounding women are whispering, eyeing me. Right behind: "Hey, heard? He's an uncle." "That mature charm is insane."
What the fuck... I know the world's changed, but this is my natural speech. What now?
Fuck, everyone's staring—horror movie vibes. Pressure's on; scarf it down and head to the goshiwon.
**
"Ugh... ate well."
"Glad you enjoyed, oppa."
I pat my belly, pick my teeth, and step out. She smiles, satisfied. I figure I shared a gem spot, head home chill.
"Oh, can I get your number, oppa?"
"What?"
"Gonna help with the stream, and pay the 100,000 won, right? I'll text when I withdraw."
"No phone."
"Huh?"
Why that look? Common sense: no ID, beggar—no smartphone.
"No... letter then?"
"Next room over—knock, I'll answer. Come anytime."
"R-really okay?"
Why not? Her face is priceless. Room's tiny, but fits two. No biggie.
"Oppa, that's how you get in real trouble."
"Trouble how? You're the only one coming anyway."
"True... but you're living dangerously."
She bows her head right after. World changed, but guy's room—or anyone's—is private. Even homeless me knows not to barge in. Door lock's solid; safe. Knock means her or landlady. Simple.
Wrap chat, prep to head back.
Slide—
"What?"
"Um, hi."
"Who're you?"
A woman blocks my path. Asking something?
"I really like you... can I get your number?"
What a crazy bitch. Time to bolt.