Trapped

My name is Kim Hanbin, and I am a prisoner student. It means I am fundamentally different from those repeat examinees who have clear goals and can reasonably expect results. All I had was a vague objective.

An engineering department at a Seoul university. A major with good job prospects. It wasn’t even my own decision to start retaking the exam. It was my parents’ will. While some kids wanted to retake the test but couldn’t and had to head to college as fresh graduates, my parents told me to at least give it one more shot. The only condition was that a third attempt was off the table. It was an incredibly half-hearted kind of support.

They even paid for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠three months at a reading room near the house, saying I should study comfortably there since I didn’t seem motivated. This was exactly where my parents’ ignorance about private education revealed itself. The students ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠who succeed through self-study retakes are a tiny minority. Sure, someone will always pull it off, but the odds that a guy like me—with zero willpower—would succeed through pure self-directed retaking were practically zero.

“...Maybe I should tell them it’d be better to switch to a boarding academy now...”

I muttered to myself while sitting on a plastic chair outside the convenience store, stirring my cup ramen. If things kept going like this, I’d obviously end up with the same report card at the end of this year as last year. That would mean I’d wasted an entire year that meant nothing.

My family wasn’t exactly well-off. Of course, we weren’t poor either. We were the type who didn’t qualify for any of those subsidies or grants they always talked about on TV.

My father, now fifty-three, had worked in production at a large corporation for over twenty years. Thanks to that, my tuition was covered and they supported up to seventy percent of the school expenses. But my mother, forty-seven, would hammer the same words into my ears every single time my father left for work until I felt like my ears would grow calluses.

“Your father drags himself to the company every day even though there isn’t a single spot on his body that doesn’t hurt. He’s doing it for you and your brother Hanho, trying to hold on until both of you get married… He has to stay at the company so that at least some congratulatory money comes in when you get married later.”

To make matters worse, a recent health checkup had diagnosed that my father’s kidney levels had deteriorated quite badly.

“...I really am trash.”

I cleaned the spot where I’d pulled out the tissue, poured the ramen broth into the food waste bin, and crossed the street toward the old commercial building. On the third floor was the Happy Reading Room.

It was run by an elderly woman who sat at the counter all day with earphones in, playing TTS novels because her hearing was failing and her eyesight was dim. In many ways the facility needed repairs, so it was a quiet reading room with almost no users.

I kept my head down, lost in thought, and climbed the gloomy stairs one by one until I reached the third floor. Right then the reading room door opened and a girl walked out.

She wore an oversized gray hoodie and sweatpants. Even though the clothes were baggy, they couldn’t completely hide her figure. Just before we collided head-on in front of the door, we both lifted our heads at the same time and our eyes met.

A face I felt like I’d seen somewhere before… In my shock I unconsciously blurted out her name.

“...Seo Jiwon?”

“Wh-wh-what the hell…! Why the hell are you here of all places?!”

Through a truly absurd coincidence, I had run into my third-year high school classmate Seo Jiwon—now Seo Jian—in this remote, musty-smelling reading room.

That was in the first week of March, right after I had started my retake year.

The official name was Acute Isomeric Physical Metamorphosis Syndrome. On the internet it was called TS Disease, and it was an ultra-rare condition said to occur with a one-in-ten-million chance.

The symptom itself—gender transformation—was sensational enough to draw attention, but what made the disease world-famous was the “U.S. President Gender Transition Incident.” An eighty-year-old white-haired old man had turned into a stunning twenty-something white beauty overnight. There was no way that wouldn’t cause an uproar.

The United States poured astronomical amounts of money into researching the cause, but to this day nothing about its origin has been discovered. It really is like some prank by a god—your sex just switches with a pop, as if you had always been the other gender.

Seo Jian was one of those extremely rare cases.

Back when she—he—was still in school, Seo Jiwon had belonged to the so-called “popular” crowd. And by popular I don’t mean the delinquent kind. He got along with all sorts of students, was well-liked, had a good reputation with the teachers, studied hard, and was even handsome. There wasn’t a single flaw.

I had been obsessed with a mobile open-world game for degenerates at the time, so even though we were in the same class we barely ever spoke. Of course, that’s all in the past now.

Seo Jiwon contracted TS Disease right before the college entrance exam and spent the entire transformation period in the hospital, so he couldn’t take the test. By the time she returned to school, everything had changed.

Some friends had gotten early admission, others had scored higher on the real exam than on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the mock tests and were debating whether to snipe medical school or aim safely for a top-tier engineering department. A few were already worrying about having to retake the exam.

Seo Jiwon’s three years of high school had lost all meaning after a single week of hospitalization. The way her friends looked at her changed too. She tried to wear the boys’ uniform by cinching the waist with a belt, but there was no way it would fit. Her widened pelvis was uncomfortable, and her suddenly enlarged chest was impossible to hide. Even her jawline and eyes had become subtly more feminine.

She had been an extrovert with a capital E, but she started distancing herself from her friends. She felt embarrassed, jealous, and couldn’t endure the complicated gazes directed at her.

The moment she turned twenty, Seo Jian started working part-time jobs. She had never shown it while in school, but she came from a single-parent household. She knew very well how hard her mother had worked to support her. That was why she had wanted to get into a good university, land a good job, and repay that kindness. Dropping out with only a high school diploma had never been an option.

She would cover the cost of retaking the exam with part-time work. The only thing she had was a fairly good brain, so she had to retake the test and get into college. It meant losing a year, but she comforted herself with the fact that at least she wouldn’t have to go to the military…

Starting in March, Seo Jiwon became Seo Jian.

“You changed your name to Jian?”

“...It would be awkward if I ran into someone I knew. That’s why I deliberately picked a reading room that looked like it wouldn’t have many people. Anyway, why are you here?”

“I’m retaking the exam too.”

At my calm answer, Jian shot me a look that said why are you stating the obvious?

“No, I mean—why did you come to a crappy facility like this?”

“I don’t really like crowded places either?”

Jian let out a deep sigh, her shoulders slumping.

“Ugh… I already paid for three months so I can’t switch now… There isn’t anywhere cheaper than this place anyway.”

“Look, I’ll really stay quiet. Just ignore me and study comfortably. I’ll… probably move somewhere else soon.”

“Move? Where?”

“Well… I think going to an academy would be more reliable than a reading room. Self-study is comfortable, but my mind is too uneasy. Since I’ve already started retaking the exam, I can’t afford to fail.”

“Ah. Yeah… I guess that makes sense…”

That was how the two of us slowly started talking to each other over the next few days as we came and went from the reading room. Back in high school we had been so distant we barely exchanged words, let alone been close, but surprisingly Jian was the one who initiated conversations this time.

It wasn’t completely out of nowhere; it had to do with Jian’s personality. Even though she had cut off all her relationships because she was embarrassed to see her friends, the former extrovert with a capital E was secretly lonely. She needed someone to talk to. And it seemed the perfect person for that was this dense classmate named Kim Hanbin who had shown up.

He was one of the few people who knew her past, he didn’t seem like the type to spread rumors to their old classmates, and he had mentioned he would switch to an academy in a few days… Jian opened up to me faster than I expected.

Within days the two of us naturally started going to the convenience store together to eat cup ramen for lunch. And before we knew it, the March mock exam was right around the corner.

That day we decided to do something special for lunch and brought kimbap and tteokbokki to the rest area to eat together. Many places banned outside food, but the old lady who ran this place was fairly lenient, and at the time there was no one else in the reading room except the two of us.

“So you’re thinking of switching to an academy after you see your March mock results?” Jian asked, chewing on a piece of kimbap.

She was probably doing it on purpose, but even in her drab oversized clothes Jian’s femininity couldn’t be hidden. I pretended not to notice and shoved a rice cake into my mouth.

“Yeah. I’ll at least check my current level before deciding whether to switch.”

“What if you completely bomb tomorrow?” Jian chuckled.

“...Then I’ll have no choice but to go. I’d be seriously fucked.”

“Hey, Kim Hanbin. Then let me give you a question. What does volatile mean? You memorize English words every day, so this should be easy, right?”

“......What?”

When I just frowned and couldn’t answer, Jian looked at me like I was pathetic and dipped her kimbap deep into the tteokbokki sauce. Then she took a huge bite.

“Hey, how can you not know that?”

“What are you saying…”

“Ahem. Ahem! I’m asking how you can not know this. It means ‘changeable.’ Changeable. I already told you it’s one of the most basic words. You definitely need to go to an academy. For real.”

“I know, I know. I just blanked for a second.”

Jian kept teasing me while steadily stuffing more kimbap into her mouth. But even though she was laughing on the outside, Seo Jian’s true feelings were actually a little unsettled.

This strangely unpleasant emotion. Back in school we had barely spoken, yet the moment I said I was probably switching to a retake academy, she felt something—jealousy or disappointment, she couldn’t tell.

But she didn’t show it. Like she kept reminding herself, we hadn’t been close to begin with. She had chosen this reading room precisely so she could retake the exam alone, and this was simply things returning to how they should be…

Jian crumpled the empty kimbap foil into a ball and tossed it into the trash. She was wiping the table with a tissue and about to gather her books and stand up when—

“Huh?”

I, who had stood up first, was struggling with the doorknob.

“What are you doing?”

“The door… won’t open.”

I really couldn’t open it. I grunted and pulled on the knob so hard my face turned red. All I heard was the clacking sound; the door didn’t budge at all, as if the doorframe had been welded to the wall.

“Move. It’s probably just old and stiff.”

Jian stepped forward confidently, but the result was the same. Since her strength had weakened after the transformation, it was only natural she couldn’t open what I couldn’t open with force. It was questionable whether force would even work in the first place.

“Huh? Why is it doing this? Grandma! Excuse me! We’re trapped in here!”

But no matter how much we knocked and shouted, nothing changed. The counter was right in front of the rest area and the old lady was always sitting there, yet there was no reaction at all. We even kicked the walls and I threw my whole body against the door… but nothing happened. Thirty minutes passed, then three hours slipped away uselessly.

“Hey, Kim Hanbin…”

Jian twisted her legs and grabbed my sleeve. Her face had gone deathly pale.

“Y-yeah. What’s wrong? Are you feeling bad?”

“I… I really can’t hold it anymore…”

That’s right. She had drunk an entire can of cola along with the kimbap, so it was only natural. Jian was curled up on a chair, trembling. The tension from being trapped in a closed space was probably stimulating her bladder even more.

In that situation I looked around the room.

“J-just wait a second. Let me ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at least find something to cover us and a container.”

“Hey, what the—!”

“The door won’t open. What else can we do? You want to just pee yourself?”

“......”

Maybe I had more decisiveness than I looked. I turned my gaze to the whiteboard that had been abandoned in the corner of the room. I figured if we used the table and the whiteboard to block the view, the CCTV on the ceiling probably wouldn’t catch anything…

‘...Huh? Why isn’t the CCTV there?’

It had definitely been installed above the door, but now it was gone. Still, worrying about when it disappeared was less urgent than Jian’s immediate problem.

I spun the whiteboard around. On the front that had been facing the wall, these words were written:

“...What the hell is this?”