The Sickly-Looking Beautiful Girl

"I feel clear."

I came to and sat up, and the pain in my lungs—sharp as a knife thrust—was gone without a trace. So what had happened a moment ago hadn't been a dream? It was as if my body had been built all over again. The exhaustion and the agony I had lived with until now were simply not there.

"Nice. Then let's start the day off right— ...what?"

Had that been a woman's voice just now? And now that I thought about it, my eye level was lower, and my balance felt slightly off. What was going on?

"A mirror. I need a mirror."

The room was close enough to my old one that I found a mirror quickly. Staring back from it, blank and stunned, was a pale, beautiful girl: limp black hair that looked half dead, and glassy blue-gray eyes sunk deep in their sockets.

"A d-doctor! Call an ambulance! There's a woman in here who's about to die— wait. That's me."

As I'd just told myself, there was no pain in this body, and no fatigue at all. Which meant that however I looked, I was actually in excellent health.

And just as the god had said, I had become someone who looked sick but was perfectly fine. So why, of all things, a woman? Had the god made a mistake?

"This is a little awkward. Shouldn't I have kept my original sex?"

I was patting myself down, taking stock of the body piece by piece, when the god's voice from a moment ago rang through my head.

"You gave me a chance to take it back, but I'm fairly sure you never mentioned you'd change my sex while you were at it."

The teasing tone annoyed me.

"Fine. Let's at least hear the reason. Why in the world did you turn me into a woman?"

Don't fuck with me. This can't be how it goes.

"Give me my original sex back. Right now."

If you were me, would you stay polite in this situation? Fuck.

"The house itself is almost exactly like the one I used to live in."

No clutter to speak of—just a place where eating, sleeping, and getting by were enough. It had been made sleek and efficient, very much like my old house. The one real difference was the feel of it: the old place had been a little warm, and this one ran distinctly cool.

"And my identity?"

"A slightly different sense?"

Listening to the god, I opened the wallet on the desk.

The ID was deeply unfamiliar. The front digits of the resident registration number, especially, were nothing like what I had expected, so I couldn't even guess how old this body was.

"This ID is quite foreign to me. How would you feel about providing a certain amount of information?"

"Now that's the first welcome thing I've heard."

I checked myself over and walked the house, and once it started to feel a little familiar, hunger crept in.

"I'm hungry. Isn't there anything to eat?"

I opened every cupboard and the refrigerator. There were no ingredients, no instant meals—not even a simple snack I could eat on the spot. I was going to need to go shopping.

"Should I go today? No. Today I'll just make do with whatever the convenience store sells. It's been a little while since I had convenience-store food."

I ignored the god's quiet little jab, took the wallet, and headed for the nearest convenience store. The moment I arrived and met the part-timer's eyes, her face went white as a sheet.

Had she been slacking off on the clock? Why so shocked? Thinking that, I started browsing the triangle kimbap, the cup ramen, and a drink to go with them.

"Both is a little much, but just one would be a shame. And they're both my favorite flavors."

Decision paralysis set in. Tuna mayo, with its rich, greasy charm, or Jeonju bibim, salty and savory—what was I supposed to eat? While I failed to choose, the god sighed and spoke.

"Which is?"

Eureka. I hadn't thought of that. Marveling at divine wisdom, I took both and moved toward the cup ramen—and in that instant my head throbbed.

"What is this? I was told this body looks sick but isn't. So why does my head hurt?"

I was still turning the headache over when a siren grew louder outside.

"A siren? Did something happen nearby? Whatever it is, it's got nothing to do with me."

I picked out cup ramen and a drink and approached the register, only to find paramedics standing in front of the part-timer, saying something.

"We got the call! Where's the patient?"

Patient?

And the part-timer's finger, astonishingly, was pointing at me.

"That person!"

"Me?"

I gave a hollow laugh and tried to say it wasn't me, but something about the paramedics' faces was wrong. In that strange atmosphere I backed away with the food still in my arms, and that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was all it took for them to move.

"Stretcher, now!"

"You can tell just by looking—this is serious! Prep CPR, just in case!"

"What are you standing around for? You here to sightsee? Move, move!"

The paramedics worked in perfect sync. When a few of them started toward me, I hurried to insist I wasn't a patient.

"I think there's been some kind of mistake."

"A mistake? Ma'am, just looking at your face, you seem to be suffering more than a terminal lung cancer patient. We'll take you straight to the hospital."

"Let go of me! I'm telling you I'm not sick! I'm not a patient!"

"The patient's seizing—inject her!"

They tried to restrain me and haul me off, so I fought them, and the paramedic gripping my right arm drove something I couldn't identify into it.

The needle sank in.

As the drug dragged my mind under, I got out one last line.

"I'm not sick... fuck."

Today was my first day on the job!

College kept me busy, but my family wasn't well off, so I'd had no choice but to work to cover tuition. A friend had recommended the place, saying the nightmare customers were at least relatively few. It was a bit of a walk from home, but after some twists and turns I'd managed to land the shift.

I got the handover from the manager, heard what I had to do, and officially started the job.

"How much is it?"

"That'll be two dollars!"

"Card, please."

"Yes, thank you! Have a nice day!"

Customers came in about every twenty minutes: well-mannered kids, kindly old folks, and now and then one or two middle-aged men in tracksuits. It was a truly easy, happy convenience-store job. Until that girl walked in.

I was waiting for the next customer, chatting with a friend on Latok, when the door chime rang. I looked that way and offered a greeting.

"Welcome! This is Eight Twenty!"

I greeted her the same as always, and the moment I lifted my face and actually saw the customer, I screamed inside.

Kyaaaaaaaa!

I couldn't not. The second I saw her, my whole body locked up. Was this what a real-life zombie looked like? No—looking that sick would have been an insult even to zombies.

Skin paler and drier than any zombie in a movie. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠A stagger, as if she might collapse at any moment. Dark circles hanging so low they nearly touched her cheeks.

She looked as if it wouldn't be strange for her to die at any second, and she was also extraordinarily beautiful, and she had walked into the convenience store.

Watching her drift slowly toward the triangle kimbap, I quietly took out my phone.

"Is she having trouble walking? She really is incredibly pretty, though. No—this is not the time to rate a customer's looks! Call emergency services, right now!"

I dialed without hesitating, and thankfully a dispatcher picked up at once.

"Someone who looks like they're about to die just came into the convenience store. Can you help?"

"The location is..."

I gave the store's address and the girl's condition at the calmest, fastest pace of my entire life—so she wouldn't die, so the paramedics could reach her in time and she could survive.

Before they arrived, the girl chose her triangle kimbap and started slowly toward the drinks. On the way she pressed a hand to her forehead with a short groan, as if her head hurt.

"Ugh..."

Did her head hurt? If it did, how badly? For a person to look that sick, wouldn't it have to be at least a brain hemorrhage?

"Wait. It isn't actually a brain hemorrhage, is it?"

Should I go over? No. Even if I did, I wouldn't be any help. What could I possibly do for that girl? I couldn't give her any help at all. She was enduring pain that enormous, and I—who didn't understand even a fraction of it—was never going to be of any use.

All I could do was pray the paramedics would arrive soon, and keep begging that they'd get here early and save that frail, sickly girl.

Maybe the prayer got through. Outside, an ambulance siren sounded.

"Where's the patient?"

"That person!"

"Me?"

The paramedic who arrived first took one look at the girl, and his face hardened sharply.

"We may already have missed the golden hour. Rookie, you go get the stretcher, now. You, get the oxygen set up immediately, and prep CPR just in case. Hurry!"

The moment the crew chief finished, everyone moved as one. The girl seemed startled that the paramedics were coming for her. She said this and that to them, and then she suddenly started seizing.

"Let go! I'm telling you I'm not sick! I'm not ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a patient!"

To calm her, a paramedic injected something into her arm, and the girl who had been injected went limp at once.

Had she come here just to taste a moment of freedom? Maybe I had forcibly snapped that freedom in half. Even so, I wanted her to live even a little longer.

"I hope she lives... I hope she comes back ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to the store looking healthy."

If she came back healthy, I'd slip her a banana milk next time. Thinking that, I watched her leave and prayed, even though I didn't believe in God.

Would I remember today for the rest of my life? Thinking I had saved a person's life, I felt as if I would sleep easy tonight.