Nevertheless, I Am Innocent (1)
How the hell did my life turn out like this?
Is it my fault?
I lay on the hospital bed, lost in thought. But even that brief indulgence wasn't allowed by the hellish environment around me.
Snoring from somewhere, the TV blaring at full volume with zero consideration for the sleeping patients, and an old man's nonstop vulgar bullshit with some young, trashy girl who sure as hell wasn't his wife—probably a sugar baby.
In the end, desperate for a breath of fresh air, I dragged myself out of bed. My body was in such rough shape that even sitting up straight was a struggle, but calling a nurse for help was the last thing on my mind.
At first, that bitch had fawned over me just looking at my face. But once she found out why I was hospitalized, she'd started openly despising me.
Yeah. The nurse hadn't bothered to figure out for herself if I was innocent or guilty. She'd just swallowed the bullshit floating around on YouTube and branded me a rapist.
I had zero interest in begging for help from someone who wanted so badly to see me as a rapist.
So even though each step felt like it might kill me, I forced myself out of the room on my own power.
The nurses huddled by the reception desk, chattering away happily. The second they spotted me shuffling out, they all shut their mouths in unison.
Just a couple days ago, they'd been treating me like a critical case in the ICU, but now here I was walking around alone—and not one of them said a word.
But their eyes said it all. I'd been on the receiving end of that exact look from countless strangers for years now...
"You shouldn't be moving."
The nurse's half-assed voice hit the back of my head, laced with pure disgust, but it might as well have been formality. I ignored her and kept walking.
Toward the stairs leading to the hospital rooftop. No elevators for me—the hospital had banned me from using them alone without "a valid reason"
Something about child patients in the hospital and preparing for emergencies.
It was beyond absurd, enough to make you puke, but I'd stopped picking fights over petty crap like that.
Not because I was some pacifist. I just knew damn well I'd lose any argument.
Once you're stamped a rapist, everything you say just sounds like rapist bullshit. Even legitimate protests against injustice get twisted into sexual harassment by everyone around you.
The moment the gavel dropped with that guilty verdict, I lost all human rights.
I refused help and clawed my way up the stairs alone. By the time I reached the rooftop door, my back was soaked—sweat or blood, who the hell knew. I squeezed out the last of my strength and stumbled through.
The rooftop garden was a neglected shithole. Weeds overgrown everywhere, mosquitoes swarming in the shady spots under the stems.
Which meant no smokers up here. Just me.
Perfect. I could think in peace.
I chewed over the memories of that day for the thousandth time. But no miracle fix for my ruined life was gonna pop into my head now. All the cold night air did was seep into my battered lungs, courtesy of that bitch's bodyguards beating the shit out of me.
A coughing fit exploded out of me. I dropped to my knees, hacking away for what felt like forever, then looked up at the sky through tear-stung eyes and rasped,
"What the fuck did I do wrong?"
No answer was coming, no matter how much I asked. I didn't believe in God. Hell, I couldn't.
This was an ugly world. A world without justice or truth. If some god really existed in a place like this, it'd have to be an evil one.
One that got off on watching the things below it writhe in agony... no different from that bitch who'd turned into a cult leader.
Still gasping for breath, I pulled out my phone. I knew damn well it was like rubbing salt in the wound. But I opened YouTube anyway.
As long as the world saw me as a rapist, I couldn't just forget those bitches and live my life. The world wouldn't let me.
And as long as I still believed in justice and truth, I couldn't ignore those who dragged me to hell thriving like kings.
No need to hunt for them—they were always right there. Trending channels, top of the list: one of their faces.
Yujin.
Platinum blonde. Massive tits that looked out of place on her slim waist and delicate ankles. Her rabid dark fans even nicknamed her "milk cow" for it.
True to her looks, Yujin—the hottest idol around these days—danced under dazzling lights in an even flashier stage outfit.
From the dark audience below, her fanboys chorused cheesy praise in a gray blob of mindless cheers.
Impressive devotion. I'd have scrolled past if it didn't involve me.
But Yujin's sasaeng fans, obsessed with proving their "love," had tracked down my house and workplace—shit that gained them nothing—and terrorized me.
This wasn't some distant problem.
And it wasn't just me. They'd gone after anyone I associated with, too.
Guilty verdict means I'm the criminal, so anyone hanging with a criminal must be one too. That was their logic.
Utter nonsense, but most were underage punks—catch 'em, punish 'em, no real effect. They'd get a slap on the wrist, walk free, and come back twice as rabid, screaming revenge.
Yujin should've stepped in for her fans' sake. Instead, she'd fan the flames on Instagram Lives, dropping "sexual harasser" mentions to whip them into a frenzy.
Her sasaengs might be clueless, but Yujin knew I was innocent. And she still played the pitiful victim.
A world where a bitch like that skyrockets to stardom, while innocent me sinks deeper into the abyss.
And now I'd hit rock bottom—no lower to fall.
Disgusting world.
I shut off the phone and looked back at the sky. I revisited the same thought I'd had thousands, maybe tens of thousands of times since that sexual harassment accusation.
How the hell did my life turn out like this?
What did I do wrong?
But no matter how I turned it over, the conclusion never changed.
I had no sin.
I am innocent.
Over a decade ago.
I got into a prestigious private school on scholarship. My first exam there.
I wasn't top-10 material normally, but luck was on my side—familiar questions, lucky guesses. Whole school first place.
Was that my fault?
No.
Absolutely not. It was my first test; I'd just studied my ass off hoping to do well.
But one of those girls—for the first time in her life, robbed of first place by me—Sua.
She held a grudge and dragged me into her scheme.
Or hell, not even a scheme.
Sua just asked if I could help move some heavy stuff to the "empty" gym storage room since she was a "girl" and it was too much for her.
Simple request. She looked strained holding the load, so out of pure goodwill, I agreed without a second thought.
Now I regretted that decision to my dying breath, but it wouldn't change the past.
That day, I took the stuff she handed me and stepped into the gym storage room.
Into a room that wasn't empty—three girls waiting...
A room with no CCTV to prove my innocence...
And I walked right in.
What happened next destroyed everything.
The next day, they accused me of sexually assaulting them. Said in court that while we were in there, I waited for no other guys around and pounced.
Evidence?
Of course not. I never did that shit. I was innocent. But proof of my innocence? None either.
No CCTV in the gym storage room.
Still, I wasn't worried. This country had the
Presumption of Innocence
— The principle that a defendant or suspect is considered innocent until proven guilty.
Explicitly stated in Article 27, Paragraph 4 of the Republic of Korea Constitution.
But that law? It meant jack shit.
The entire school treated me like a rapist outright.
Cops showed up at my house without a warrant after the report and dismissed everything I said, handling me like the perp.
The public defender spent the trial bored out of his mind, mechanically repeating "just admit guilt and settle."
The memories of that day—when my life shattered—still burned fresh.
Cold night wind blew again. Coughing, I staggered to the railing and peered down.
Dark.
Like the Avici Hell where demons who commit the worst sins get eternally punished by the gods.
Throw myself into that darkness, and it'd all be over. Peace.
No more trials, no more disgusted glares from people treating me like a criminal, no shattered future, no thoughts of my mom who worked herself to death scraping for pricey lawyer fees.
But instead of jumping, I gripped the railing tight and held on.
Am I the devil...? That was the thought.
Did I commit sins evil enough for Avici Hell...?
Tears blurred my vision as I looked back at the sky. But these weren't tears of sadness—they were pure rage.
My fault?
If I'd just admitted guilt early, my life wouldn't have crumbled this bad. The rapist label would've stuck, but I could've scraped by pathetically for the rest of it.
Unlike other guys who meekly turned innocent into guilty, I stood tall against those bitches.
I believed the truth would come out someday. That I'd win in the end. Because I believed in justice and truth.
But here's the result.
No justice. No truth in this country. Once this broken body healed, I'd be dragged back to court for new charges I didn't commit. Prison this time—no escaping it.
"I believed in justice. I believed in truth."
But if that's the payoff for my faith—if guilt or innocence doesn't matter, only how much power you have—then fine!
I'll become that devil plummeting into Avici!