The Era of the End... No, The Era of the Stud
The Era of the End... No, The Era of the Stud
It was a night when the buzzing motor sound from the convenience store showcase refrigerator seemed unusually loud.
On the smartphone screen in front of me, resting my chin on the counter, an announcer was reciting the same news with a somber expression, like a parrot.
"Today, at the UN Security Council meeting, the convention for the fair distribution of 'Strategic Reproductive Resources' was once again derailed. The United States claimed ownership over the six 'S-Class Studs' who have sought asylum within its borders..."
I clicked my tongue and changed the channel.
The world on the screen, no, this entire planet, was going insane.
Exactly three years ago, an unexplained biological catastrophe struck humanity.
Academia called it 'Y-Chromosome Collapse Syndrome,' and the public called it more intuitively, 'The Great Impotence.'
One morning, 99.9% of men worldwide could no longer get an erection.
Viagra? Cialis? Penile implant surgery? Nothing worked.
It was as if the power cord connected to men's genitals had been pulled out. Half of humanity lost their reproductive capabilities, retaining only the function of an excretory organ.
If it had been just a simple matter of not getting hard, humanity might have somehow endured through artificial insemination or in vitro fertilization technology.
But the catastrophe was more cruel.
Sperm was no longer produced in the testicles.
If you examined semen, under the microscope you would only see transparent prostatic fluid; not a single life seed swimming with a wagging tail could be found.
The result was devastating.
"Birth rate: 0.0%."
The countdown to the extinction of the human species had begun.
Society collapsed rapidly.
With the future gone, the drive that sustained the present for men also vanished.
'It's not a world I can pass on to my children anyway, so why bother?'
Breadwinners quit their jobs and returned home. The phenomenon of avoiding hard physical labor spread like wildfire worldwide. Construction sites halted, logistics systems were paralyzed, and the stock market became worthless scraps of paper. Men just holed up in their rooms, playing games or drinking, resentfully staring down at their own equipment that no longer rose.
Apocalyptic cultists ran out into the streets shouting, "It's God's punishment on lustful humanity!" but even they were powerless before the reality that they too could not reproduce.
But hope remained in Pandora's box.
Out of the global male population of 4 billion, about 10%, roughly 400 million men, managed to get erections again.
Although they were 'empty guns' with no sperm even if they ejaculated, the mere fact that the act of sex itself was possible earned them precious treatment.
And among them, only about 300 men worldwide.
Only about 300 men, an extreme minority, experienced a 'miracle.'
They got hard. And they came.
Their semen, confirmed under a microscope, teemed with lively, moving sperm.
Humanity's saviors? No, they were immediately classified as 'national strategic assets.'
Governments of various countries called them 'Breeders/Studs' and confined... no, housed them in special management zones.
The research results were even more shocking.
The sperm in the semen extracted mechanically through masturbation by these 'Studs' mostly had low motility or were deformed.
Only when they were 'sexually satisfied to an extreme degree,' that is, only when they had intense, satisfying sex with a woman they liked and ejaculated inside her vagina, did top-quality, highly active sperm pour out.
Moreover, an even stranger side effect—or blessing—was discovered.
Women who provided satisfying sex to a Stud and received his semen showed blind affection and obedience towards that man, as if addicted to a powerful drug.
A phenomenon where biological instinct dominated reason. Commonly called the 'Imprinting' effect.
When this fact became known, the whole world was shaken.
"Come to our country, and we'll grant you citizenship, a penthouse, a lifetime pension, and legally provide you with any woman you desire!"
The United States moved first. Mobilizing the CIA and Delta Force, they kidnapped... no, 'granted asylum' to Studs in third-world or chaotic nations. The incident where the young Russian Stud Alexei attempted to board a chartered flight to the U.S. at Moscow Airport, leading to a shootout with Russian Security Service (FSB) agents, was famous.
Putin was furious and threatened to "press the nuclear missile launch button," but the soldiers guarding the missile silos actually refused the order.
'It's not like I have any children anyway, why should I die for the country? And if we launch nukes, that precious Stud will die too.'
The soldiers' morale was at rock bottom, and in the end, Russia had to sign a humiliating agreement to hand over the Stud to the U.S. in exchange for a monthly supply of the Studs' semen. Semen had now become a resource more expensive than oil. The price per 1cc matched that of an entire diamond mine.
Then what about South Korea?
"Fuck..."
I glanced at the sports newspaper placed on the counter and muttered a curse under my breath.
The front-page headline was [South Korea Confirms 'Zero Stud Holdings'... Declares National State of Emergency].
South Korea was utterly abandoned.
Not a single natural erection and sperm production capable individual had emerged.
The government conducted a complete survey from those in their 20s to their 60s, but the results were dismal.
At least neighboring Japan had confirmed an 89-year-old man named Saito as their only Stud, but he was already suffering from dementia and couldn't even move. Rumors were rampant that the Japanese government was pouring national budget into keeping him alive, injecting Viagra into his veins daily and deploying young nurses to forcibly collect semen, but only thin prostatic fluid came out.
Korean women were in despair.
A country where getting pregnant was out of the question, and you couldn't even have proper sex.
Even if they tried to emigrate overseas, Stud-holding countries made visa issuance conditions extremely strict. Black market tickets to the U.S. or Europe under the pretext of 'pregnancy tourism' were traded for hundreds of millions of won.
The government went berserk.
They poured out provocative policies like [100 Billion Won Reward for Reporting a Stud], [Immediate Military Exemption and Special Appointment as a Grade 5 Civil Servant Upon Confirmation of Natural Erection], [Full National Support for Child-Rearing Expenses for Children Born from Mixed Blood with Overseas Studs], but there was no way a nonexistent pepper could be spicy.
The night streets were quiet, almost dead.
The once-vibrant Hongdae clubs closed their doors.
Men, castrated of their mating desires, became listless, and women became hysterical or fell into depression.
In this world, I, Kim Jun, was working a night shift at a convenience store.
Of course, I had also been diagnosed as 'impotent.'
Three years ago, during the military physical examination, I received a notice stating "Your testicular function has ceased" and was classified as Grade 4 for public service duty.
"Welcome."
What rushed in as the automatic door opened was not the chilly night air of late autumn.
It was a thick, pungent whiskey scent, and beneath it, a sweet, heavy perfume smell.
It was our branch manager, Choi Su-yeon.
Normally, she would be in a perfectly neat suit, with sharp eyes, snapping, "Did you check the expiration dates properly?" But today, her condition was different.
A wine-colored, tight-fitting knit dress clinging to her body.
Every time she staggered, the thin knit fabric rippled, revealingly outlining the swell of her chest, her slender waist, and the curve of her pelvis along the waves.
Her legs in black stockings were precariously perched on killer heels.
"Jun-ah."
She didn't walk towards the counter; she approached as if collapsing.
"Yes, Manager-nim."
"Did you see the news today? They found another Stud in France. A 20-year-old pizza delivery guy, they say. That bastard's life is set now. The president personally invited him to the official residence, gave him a medal, and sent former Miss France models into his bedroom..."
She placed an unopened can of beer on the counter with a thud, then slumped forward, resting her upper body on it.
"Huu..."
Her sigh reached my arm. It was hot.
Whether from the alcohol or suppressed frustration, her face was flushed red.
Due to her slumped posture, the neckline of her knit dress plunged deeply, clearly revealing the ample cleavage within.
The white skin, tightly pressed by her bra, rose and fell rapidly.
"I'm... I'm thirty now. I have money, I have buildings. Why should my eggs wither and die? I... I also want to receive a real man's seed. I don't even remember what that feeling is like."
Her lament was the cry of every woman in this era.
Beyond the simple desire to have sex, the survival instinct of a living being was screaming.
She turned her head, gazing dazedly at my crotch area with bleary eyes.
Of course, there was no hope there.
There should only be a limp lump of flesh that had received a 'testicular function cessation' diagnosis three years ago.
Unable to find any words of comfort, I just fidgeted with the barcode reader.
That's when it happened.
Thump.
It wasn't my heart.
A heavy, hot pulse drove down from the pit of my stomach to deep within my lower abdomen, near the prostate.
It was as if magma had begun to boil beneath the crater of a volcano that had been frozen for three years; the sound of each blood vessel expanding echoed in my ears.
'Huh...?'
Flustered, I crossed my legs.
But it was no use.
The front seam of my loose convenience store uniform pants, the space inside them, began to rapidly shrink.
Zzziiing—.
As if a machine had started, the sensation of blood rushing to my genitals was vivid.
It wasn't just 'getting a little hard.' The erectile tissues that had been dead for three years woke up screaming.
Blood filled the shriveled glans, creating a heavy sense of weight.
The sensation of my genitals brushing against the inner lining of my pants was sensitive and sharp, incomparable to before.