My Name Is Kang Seoa

My name is Kang Seoa.

In Chinese characters:

— Kang, the family name.

— Seo, to unfold.

— A, the self.

As a child, I was told my father had given me this name to mean that I should hold fast to my convictions with an iron will.

But my life… far from holding to any conviction, was nothing but a succession of hardships.

The father who named me became a con man, fled overseas while the police hunted him, and my mother spent her days resenting him until she finally abandoned me in the night and vanished.

Honestly, I could understand her.

It was a truth I only learned after turning thirty, but Mother had married in haste after an unwanted pregnancy, and she had been barely twenty-one at the time. When she ran away, I was eight — which meant she had been younger then than I am now.

She could barely keep herself afloat. And a daughter clinging to her side — a daughter named by the very man who had been her husband — how could she stand to look at me?

For those reasons, my childhood was wretched. Abandoned and with no relatives willing to take me in, I was shunted from orphanage to orphanage, and never eating properly left me with a small frame I would carry for the rest of my life.

Still, if there was one thing I managed to salvage, it was this: even in those miserable circumstances, I never turned to delinquency. I remained a person of sound mind. Perhaps it was because I had been cast aside so young, but I learned how the world worked earlier than most.

I scraped together money with a stubborn ferocity. I studied without pause. And in the end, I was selected as a scholarship student and finished university without paying a single tuition fee.

Twenty years after being abandoned. Before I knew it, I was twenty-eight.

The life I had worked so hard for looked, at least, better than most of my peers'. With the money I had saved, I secured a small apartment lease. I landed a permanent position at a decent company and built myself a stable existence.

It was a barren life — no friends, no acquaintances — but that was fine. For someone who had lived alone since childhood, human relationships were the starting point of unnecessary expenses, the beginning of having to read every room and mind every face.

Still, every once in a while, when I found myself craving the touch of another person, I would share a drink with my coworkers.

And maybe that was what did it.

At some point, I began wanting more of those moments. I never longed for the special life of a so-called social butterfly. I simply… simply wanted the society I belonged to to accept me. I wanted to live each day with earnest effort. If I could just find one place of rest where my heart could settle… that would have been more than enough.

From then on, I started looking for something to lean on. Whether it was a rebound from having done everything alone for so long, I couldn't say — but I began to want a life in which someone would protect me, love me.

It was while I was living that way that I heard a strange story from my superior at work.

"Seoa, have you ever heard of Waltz Production?"

"Waltz… Production? What's that?"

"Oh, nothing major. You know Assistant Manager Iruna from the co-op office? The one who took a month of leave a while back. You remember her?"

"Yes, I remember. Everyone made a fuss about how she was the first person to actually use that one-month leave that existed on paper but no one ever dared take. What about her?"

"Well, she went and submitted her resignation. But from where I was standing, it looked exactly like a job change, so I asked her casually. She hemmed and hawed forever, then finally said she was going to a place called Waltz Production."

His voice was faintly excited. The content itself didn't sound particularly special, yet the department head — a title that should have carried more dignity — was working hard to stir my curiosity with every shift of his expression.

…Honestly, I wanted to tell him to stop fretting over nonsense and just handle the documents in front of him. But my sense of workplace survival stopped me. I forced an interested look onto my face and asked the question he wanted, adding a little tilt of my head for good measure.

"So what about it? Job-hopping is pretty common at a mid-sized company like ours, isn't it?"

Was that enough? Fortunately, the department head looked satisfied and got to the point.

"Exactly! You're right. But when I looked it up, this Waltz Production place…"

He glanced around. Was this something we weren't supposed to be discussing? Or did he simply want the atmosphere of sharing a secret between the two of us? Given that a forty-something bachelor approaching me at all already bordered on a pass, either possibility was plausible. More than anything, he reserved this kind of attitude exclusively for the single women in the office.

Haa. Just thinking about it again was exhausting.

"When you search it, all you get are weird sites. You know… the ones. You know what I mean?"

"What ones?"

"Aigoo, if I say it outright, I'm the only one who looks like a creep… Anyway! Weird sites came up! This… no matter how I look at it, it feels like he was straight-up sexually harassing me. Or was he deliberately dropping a green light? What do you think, Seoa?"

He left out every important detail. At the time, I had no idea what kind of influence this distasteful conversation would come to have on my life…

That evening, I came home and turned on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my computer. With a pounding heart, I typed Waltz Production into the search bar.

The site I had opened in the company break room after hearing the department head's story — the urge to know more about it forced me into something I never normally did.

Prison… torture… and control.

Waltz Production's various programs. A fantasy that should not have existed in the twenty-first century — let alone the 2050s — was right there in front of my eyes.

At first, I doubted what I was seeing. No matter how flooded the era was with niche fetish content, videos that treated women like objects and discarded human rights entirely… honestly, my first reaction was pure revulsion. So at the office, I hit the close button immediately and deleted the pages I had viewed.

But… was it because I had seen something so intense without any preparation? For the rest of the workday, on the commute home, even in the moment I opened my front door — thoughts of Waltz Production tormented me without end.

Are you really not interested? Is it really something so unpleasant you can't even look?

That was why I turned it on the second I got home.

"Confinement… and control."

Forgetting even dinner, I muttered to myself and spent a long time browsing the site. The content was far more severe than the superficial glance I had taken before. Even allowing that these were concept videos, Waltz Production's footage was so hardcore and shocking that I almost felt sorry for the performers.

Sometimes they were whipped. Bound and trampled. Subjected to sex that bordered on rape, or mechanical play. Of course, I assumed they were compensated well for the hardship, and in the end it was all staged — so I told myself it was just exceptionally well-made fake footage.

But the inexplicable excitement I felt… that began from that point on.

"Huh…? Ah… free content ends here."

Before I knew it, I had watched all ten free videos. Waltz Production's concepts were varied. The first showed a woman locked in a prison cell, toyed with by the guards who came to visit. In another, a woman lived freely inside her cell until a certain point, when she was dragged out by a guard, put through various forms of play, and returned.

But one video in particular caught my eye.

"Kyaaah… ah… ahhk… s-stop…! P-please… mercy…!"

"Mercy? A prisoner grabbing a guard's leg? Hoo. This won't do. Inmate A307! Assume the submission posture."

"Nngh…! Executing!"

Just one video. Compared to the others, it showed a prison of far harsher conditions. Not a woman locked away and summoned somewhere, not a woman locked away and invaded by someone — but a woman suffering under control and oppression from beginning to end. That video brought a strange excitement with it.

Every time I watched something like that, my head burned hot. Something slick stirred between my legs. Born into a life of constant hustle, never once having the leisure for romance or anything sexual — for me, a video of nothing but suffering became an overwhelming stimulus that stole my entire mind.

After that, without even knowing what I was thinking, I naturally pressed the purchase button for the paid videos. Nearly everything sold for a fee was footage of women receiving severe treatment. Per episode, as cheap as ten thousand won. As expensive as fifty thousand. Some that covered an entire day even reached a hundred thousand.

There were countless videos. There couldn't possibly be that many performers… and yet the algorithm kept serving me ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠footage of every kind of torture, every kind of prisoner. More precisely — "inmate." That was the name the people called guards in the videos used for the women they treated worse than slaves… worse, perhaps, than actual convicts.

From then on, video purchases became frequent. For someone who had scrimped every last won her entire life, it was unthinkable behavior… but back then — and even now — it felt like something I had no choice but to buy.

Work, then home. Once I got home, I bought a new video every single day. No — I had to buy one. And before I knew it, the moment my purchases hit one hundred…

A message had arrived for me.

After receiving that message, I went to Waltz Production. After several consultations, I applied for Grade C.

Honestly, Grade A appealed to me more… but having lived such a cautious life, I wasn't bold enough to throw myself into A-Class knowing nothing at all.

And so I experienced the life of a Grade C inmate.

…To be honest, it was boring. Most of each day was spent locked in a cell, and even with the sexual elements added, I had never been with a man and had chosen the chastity belt option — so everything ended after a few halfhearted touches. Bland, and nothing more.

That ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was how the month ended. Was the boredom simply too much? The day I returned home, I had to put on a Waltz Production video that very night. After a month of confinement, some trauma might have been expected… but all I felt was the sense of having wasted money on a field trip, and I needed something to fill the emptiness.

But it wasn't enough. No matter how many videos I watched, no matter how many fantasies I spun from my Grade C experience… the hollowness I had felt once would not go away.

In truth… I had put considerable effort into filling that void. For the first time in my life, I tried dating. I had never particularly groomed myself, but I didn't think my looks were lacking. I simply looked young from years of poor eating and no attention to appearance.

Whether fortunate or not — men with a modest age gap approached me. Of course, I was careful. Perhaps because of the life I had lived, my nature was not kind enough to trust strangers who came near. My own parents had abandoned me — how could I trust someone who shared not a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠single drop of my blood? A capitalist relationship bound by money, like Waltz Production, felt far more reliable.

But people change. After one or two brief relationships, a good man came into my life.

His name was Lee Chansik. We met in an SM community.

What those earlier relationships had taught me was that I was not a vanilla of ordinary inclinations. The BDSM culture I had already known of — the world I had researched in far greater detail after opening my eyes at Waltz Production — I belonged there.

Realizing that romance with ordinary people was difficult, I hastily closed out those short, almost-something connections and began participating in the SM community. For someone searching for a place to lean, the SM community was a good place to find connections as well.

By then I was in my late twenties. Given the nature of a community that pursued sexual encounters, my age put me on the older side. There was a slight urgency, but at the time I wasn't particularly worried. I had always been the careful type, and though there was a touch of recklessness in it, I had grown up observing people from a very young age — I prided myself on being a decent judge of character.

And so I began dating him. Chansik was a truly good man. Unlike the other seekers in the community, he didn't go after my body first.

"People come first. Play doesn't come first, right? Let's get to know each other first."

I was moved by his gentle words. It wasn't anything special, but his words felt sincere. Because of that, we spent a long time together and shared a great many things. Among them was everything about Waltz Production.

"Heeh~ So you're saying it's not acting? That's amazing."

"Hmm~ So if you get locked up in that Waltz prison, there's no way to contact the outside at all."

"When I signed up, only the men's videos showed up… Seoa, would you lend me your account?"

Perhaps because he was someone of the same inclination, he showed a great deal of interest in Waltz Production as well. So I found myself happily pouring out everything. Some of it was information Waltz Production had told me not to share — but even so, a romantic relationship felt closer than one bound by capitalism… so with only a word of caution, I shared everything I knew.

Months of that. We progressed further, becoming physically intimate, and enjoyed roleplay under the name of a dominant-submissive relationship many times over, each according to our own inclinations.

Then one day — during another night spent in that dominant-submissive dynamic — he spoke.

"Seoa."

"Yes, Master."

"We're getting married soon, aren't we?"

"Yes… that's right. It's about time…"

He was the one who brought up marriage first. In truth… as our relationship lengthened, I had begun to harbor a little hope myself. I was nearly thirty. The age when fantasies of marriage start to seep in.

"There's something we absolutely won't be able to do after we're married. What do you think? That Waltz Production you talk about so often. How about challenging A-Class there?"

"…A-Class…?"

"Yeah. After we're married, I'd feel weird sending you. No matter what, you'd be my legal wife — letting other people put their hands on you would feel off. And they have options to protect your chastity, right? I'll let you enjoy it one last time before the wedding. How about it?"

At his proposal, I swallowed hard. Temptation. Perhaps the last opportunity of my life. Everything he said felt right. Of course, at that moment… my whole body was bound, and I was in the middle of licking his feet, so I couldn't help but sink into the logic of our dynamic. But even setting all of that aside, his offer was far too sweet.

"If you permit it… I'd like that."

And so I visited Waltz Production once more. It was exactly two years to the day since my Grade C confinement had ended.