A Castle of Sand Turned to Stone
My lies became reality.
Surely, everyone has imagined it at least once. What was I born for, and what am I living for? How many people can actually give a clear, definitive answer to that question? At least, I couldn't. I didn't ask to be born, nor did I particularly want to keep living.
The reality laid out before my eyes was like a sore spot I could never touch. In the mirror, my receding hairline, uneven jawline, small eyes, and heavily crooked nose stared back at me. Dark, mysterious blemishes clustered tightly around my eyes, while my forehead and cheeks were ruined by built-up impurities and acne scars. And that wasn't all. I lived hand-to-mouth, buried under a mountain of unpaid loans. As someone who only lived because I happened to be born, I wasn't strong enough to face this reality head-on.
So, I hid myself. I fled from it all. I couldn't accept the hand I'd been dealt. Turning my back on the reality that constantly dragged me down, I created another persona and hid behind the veil of anonymity.
My fingers flew across the keyboard as if quenching a deep thirst, pressing and releasing, pressing and releasing, as characters bloomed across the screen. A fake profile and a fake job, born from deepfake technology and god-tier Photoshop. I rationalized it to myself, claiming I wasn't stealing anyone else's photos—I was simply creating a fictional character. I meticulously crafted my own lore... and just like that, I became a "named" user, a celebrity in the community gallery of my favorite mobile game.
They say to fool others, you must first fool yourself. It seemed I had a natural talent for it. Even as I spun endless webs of lies, I found myself utterly enchanted by my own delusions, feeling a rush of pure ecstasy course through my entire body.
That is, until I faced the greatest crisis of my twenty-five years of pathological lying...
Shit. Only now did the reality of the situation sink in.
I was nothing but a rotten, pathological liar, but I had always maintained my own set of rules while deceiving others. The twenty-five-year history of lies I had built up was like a sandcastle that had never once collapsed.
Though it looked like it was about to be swept away by the incoming tide.
Should I hire a stand-in...? I could scrape together the money somehow, but where on earth would I find someone who looked exactly like the fake profile photo I'd spent hours perfecting? I had meticulously avoided any real-life meetups, but now, all because I wanted to act like a big shot in front of a girl, everything was on the verge of crumbling down.
Clutching my forehead in sheer stress, I slammed my laptop shut.
"What the hell am I doing...?"
I bowed my head as a wave of intense self-loathing washed over me. Why, of all times, did I have to remember myself spending three grueling hours meticulously synthesizing and photoshopping a fictional face just because I wanted to hear that I was handsome? I also remembered searching for fine dining restaurants just to look financially secure. Meanwhile, I was currently rationing triangle kimbap to survive.
Lies had saved me from a life that was nothing short of hell, but knowing it was all an illusion trapped me in a painful dilemma. The guilt of deceiving someone, clashing with the ecstasy of being acknowledged. Today, with that delicate balance shattered, I decided to accept my fate. This was as far as my sandcastle would go.
"Tomorrow... I'll clean everything up tomorrow. I'll tell her the truth, apologize... and delete my account."
Muttering quietly, I closed my eyes, pushing past a throbbing headache.
"...Where on earth am I?"
The musty smell, the stench of rotting garbage, and the piles of trash. The one-room studio I lived in, which should have been there when I woke up, was nowhere to be found.
Instead, what met my eyes was a magnificent room decorated like a suite in a five-star hotel. The pajamas clinging to my skin were so soft they felt like they were melting against my touch. They were luxury pajamas and luxury bedding, the likes of which I had never used in my entire life. Looking around, even the furniture consisted entirely of high-end brands I'd only ever heard of.
Ah! Could this be a dream? Yes, what else could this absurd situation be but a dream? What a relief.
I laid my head back down on the pillow. It was incredibly plush and carried a fragrant scent, but above all, the sensation of it gently wrapping around my body was divine. I sank into the comfort, not wanting to get up. Was this what it felt like to lie on a cloud?
As I wiggled my toes to pass the time, a sudden sense of incongruity washed over me. I bolted upright.
I spun around, trying to grasp the situation, when my gaze naturally locked onto a full-length mirror in the corner.
"Uh...?"
It wasn't the gloomy, low voice I usually had. It was a deep, resonant, masculine tone—the exact voice I had fabricated using a voice modulator whenever I made calls online.
And the face reflected in the mirror? That, too, was familiar. Perfect symmetry and sharp contours. A high, balanced forehead, intense eyes, flawless, clear skin, and a strong, straight nose. It was the face from my fake profile, the avatar I had poured my heart and soul into creating.
Slap!
"...Ow, that hurts."
My cheek stung and swelled, but the pain brought a realization.
"It's not a dream...?"
A look of sheer bewilderment spread across my face in the mirror. I stared blankly at my reflection. I looked around once more, but all I saw was furniture, each piece likely worth more than my entire net worth. Though I was speechless in the face of this unrealistic phenomenon, one thing was clear: the delusions I had only ever imagined had somehow become reality.
"First... I should look around."
I opened the door with anticipation, but the space that unfolded before me far exceeded my wildest imagination. Speechless, I could only wander around, silently scanning my surroundings.
A long hallway paved with deep brown marble. With every step, the characteristic hardness and cool touch of the marble against my bare feet felt incredibly pleasant. The kitchen looked like a showroom for imported luxury kitchens. Seeing the stainless steel appliances lined up side-by-side was almost absurd. Spotting another door in the corner, I opened it to find a remarkably tall wine cellar. Dimly glowing lights reflected off the bottles of wine and champagne, creating a sophisticated atmosphere.
"Holy shit... how many bottles of Romanée-Conti and Dom Pérignon are in here?"
Each bottle was worth the price of a car. How did a shut-in like me know so much about alcohol? Well, if you want to pretend to be rich, you have to study their culture. Of course, I had never imagined I would actually be drinking them.
Stepping back out and heading further inside, I found a living room filled with luxury furniture and fine art. There was a terrace designed like an indoor garden, an alpha room styled as a study, and ceilings so high I had to crane my neck just to see them. A marble dining table, ridiculously large for a single person, was illuminated by indirect lighting placed everywhere.
Entering the room connected to the bedroom, I found a walk-in closet that took things to another level. Clothes were neatly organized on the walls by luxury brands I'd only ever heard of. Even the watch winder standing proudly next to the door was from a luxury brand. It was an Orff 1834 32-slot cabinet winder, which I knew was a limited edition... Inside, the watches were all luxury timepieces worth tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of dollars each. Richard Male, Patek Philippe, Constantin, Breguet, Omega, Rolex...
"Ha... I could buy a house just by selling this cabinet."
I could only let out a hollow laugh at the absurdity of it all. Every bathroom in the house was finished in marble, complete with a built-in jacuzzi tub that could easily fit two people. And what was there to say about the Han River view visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows in both the living room and the bathroom?
This insane space was where I, a guy who used to live in a musty semi-basement studio, was going to live from now on?
Overwhelmed by the sheer unreality of it all, my strength drained away, and I slumped onto the sofa. Cooling my head, I began to review the situation.
First, my face had changed into the synthesized face from my fake profile photo.
Second, my voice had changed into the modulated voice I used during voice chats.
Third, the fictional space I had claimed to live in on the community forums had actually become my home.
"The scary part is, I can't even remember all the lies I've told..."
It seemed that, putting my excitement aside for a moment, it was time to look back on my twenty-five years of a life built on lies. To figure out exactly what kind of phenomenon had just occurred to me.