Grown-Up Means Fending for Yourself
Once you're an adult, you have to survive on your own. Even if you get dropped into some hellhole, you adapt, fight, and claw your way through. That's what being an adult is—carving out your own damn life. That's human existence in a nutshell.
Military service? That's just boot camp for it.
"You're discharged, so get out."
So when my aunt called me over and laid that out, I fired back with the line I'd rehearsed for ages, no hesitation.
"No way, Aunt! Please, have mercy! I don't even have deposit money—how am I supposed to move out?!"
"I'll give you some, so get out."
"Got it."
Fine, time to go.
"From now on, fend for yourself. I've done my duty. Don't contact me. We're done."
I knew my aunt hated having this unwanted kid dumped on her. Didn't matter—she raised me anyway. For that alone, I'm eternally grateful. Raising a brat ain't easy. Hell, even her own kids would be a handful, but a sister's castoff? That's next-level suffering. And she sacrificed her youth for it. I respect the hell out of her. If it were me, I'd have yeeted that kid with a giant swing on day one.
"Thank you so much from the bottom of my heart!!!"
I bowed deeply to her twice at the end.
"Why twice...?"
Respect, obviously.
"You don't even have kids of your own! And you raised a punk like me anyway! Can't compare to my real mom—I'm seriously thankful! You're all I've got, Aunt! You're my real mother!"
"I get it, so please just leave..."
"Alright, take care! Stay healthy even without me around! No bullshit—I've never seen anyone as pretty and kind-hearted as you! You're a blessed aunt! I'm so grateful I'm tearing up!"
"Get out already, you exhausting brat..."
And just like that, society spat me out.
"Name: Kim Geun-hyeop."
I blew the deposit money from my aunt—who's only ten years older than me—on a room and scraped by.
"Forgot my parents' names. From today, I'll live as a one-man adult."
Starting now, I had to survive this brutal world solo. With no parents to remember, nothing scared me. Isn't that what adulthood is? Orphans fear nothing by nature.
Well, except my aunt getting sick or in an accident.
Pop!
Grab short-term gigs.
Vroom-vroom!
Work 'em, quit 'em, repeat.
"Ahh, another flop."
No college meant I was short on "experience" time. My survival strategy: try every odd job, find my fit, carve my path.
"Buffet gig: service terminated."
Stick to what suits you to last long. Still mid-twenties. Use this time wisely, build my future. All those jobs? Mental fuel.
Spend my youth hunting my true calling. That's what I thought, so I tried everything.
"Hmm."
Even I hit dry spells. Usually when I clash with coworkers—social life is fight central, what the hell?
"What's next?"
Lounging in my one-room dump stuffed with my crap, scrolling job apps for the next gig. That's when a decent-paying one popped up.
[Historical Drama Extra Part-Time Job]
It was a historical drama extra gig.
"Actor dreams."
I pictured myself as a star for a sec.
"Not bad."
Maybe acting's my thing. New challenge. New shot. Untried job. That hooked me—I landed my first historical extra role.
"Here, put this on! Just do what you're told!"
"Yes."
"Yes."
Dressed like fellow desperate peasants in some period rags, we shuffled around. Instructions were sweaty but simple: run here, cheer "manse!", wail, bustle like market folk.
"Dig it."
Overall vibe: solid. Shoot going smooth. Maybe I've got acting chops. Hit it big, visit Aunt—pure drama gold.
"Hey, you! Over here!"
Daydreaming my stardom, a staffer called me.
"Yes. What's next?"
"Stand here, back to camera, pretend to drink."
"Ah, tavern boozer act."
"Yes."
"Got it. Like this?"
I plopped at the tavern spot, mimed swigging. My god-tier acting got instant OK. Kept pouring air booze as directed.
"Leads incoming!"
Stars arrived, greeted, started acting. Ignored 'em, stuck to script. Then—
"What the fuck! Why's that shitty bastard there?! Clear him out, now?!"
Some asshole erupts in curses.
"What?"
Not an actor. Turned—director-looking prick.
"Yeah, you! The fuck you doing?! Get out, you dogshit!"
"Me?"
Talking to me?
"Hurry the fuck up, you deaf shithead!"
This fucker's seriously raging at me?
"Who you cussing at, you motherfucker?!"
"What?"
"You, come out! Who the hell you cursing?!"
Manly Kim Geun-hyeop—no parents, but won't take shit from no-mom punks!
"You wanna die, you fuck! Hey! Come on! Out!"
"Wh-whoa!"
Charged the director; panicked staff tried blocking. Sudden chaos—no dice. Grabbed his hair, yanked and shook like mad.
"You little shit!"
"Aaaah!"
I came for cash, not abuse!
"Ow! Aaaah! Y-you psycho! Someone stop this psycho!"
"Stop what?! Headbutt and apologize, fucker! Who you think you are?!"
"Uwaaaah!"
Screaming instead of sorry? Dense or faking? No release till bald. Kids these days think yelling wins.
"H-hey! Calm down!"
"Calm what?! He cursed me first!"
"You know where you are, causing a scene?! I said get out!"
Who the fuck's this now?!
"Scene? Your director started it, asshole!"
"Wha—?!"
"Why yell? Headbutt and apologize, now!"
Snap!
His hair ripped out clean.
"Oof."
Fistful exactly. Like yanking weeds.
"Gaaaaah!"
Director clutched scalp, shrieking; crowd surged, I lost grip.
"Calm down, please!"
"Ow, ugh...! M-my hair! That psycho!"
"Psycho my ass. Still bitching? You're done."
Yanked that much, no sorry—just more shit? Beat his ass. One of us chicken tonight.
"Hurry! We gotta shoot—clear him!"
"Apologize quick to shoot!"
His bullshit—roared back. Apologize, resume shoot, right? Extra pride, duty, acting dreams. Stalled set costs a fortune. Quick sorry minimizes loss, but this dickhead refuses.
Need to nail my role, prove talent. What the fuck?
"Calm down! Why cause chaos?! You're insane!"
Lunged for hair again; lady staffer yelled desperately. Absurd.
"The fuck?! I sat doing my job—he cursed first! Why tell me calm?! Yell at him, not me!"
"B-but...!"
"Can't face director? Then why me?! Who the fuck are you to boss me?! Wanna get wrecked?!"
"S-sorry..."
"Sorry? Shut it! Can't tell when to butt in?!"
"Hic!"
Made her tear up.
"Raaaaargh!"
Mighty roar.
"Eek! Madman!"
"Help!"
"Mommy!"
Roar scattered 'em; closed on director.
"Hey! Apologize! See the shoot's halted 'cause of you?! Set's dead! Cover today's loss, fucker?!"
"Uh-uh...!"
Scamper!
Suddenly, director bolts!
"You fuck! Where you running?!"
Chase—but staff swarmed, nabbed me.
"Sorry! So sorry!"
"Sorry! Please calm!"
"Our fault! Calm down!"
In Korea, flip out over injustice to win. Humans—we bow to mass groveling.
"Not about your sorry. Someone else needs to."
"Uh..."
"I said there's someone! Shoot's stopped—huge losses! Fetch director! Gotta act! Sorry, I'll accept—drag him!"
"Wh-what...?"
Shoot's priority.
"H-hey! Director said take this and go!"
"Huh?"
Staffer dashed up with white envelope.
"My pay?"
"S-sorry for incident. Full day's pay—take and leave."
Checked: full amount.
"Hm."
Cash softened the sting. Hourly? Profitable.
"Fine."
Still pissed, but half-day full pay? Settled.
"His hair. Return it."
"Gasp!"
"Tell him plant it."
Handed fistful, hit changing room.
Shit keeps happening. Last job, he flipped over unmentioned crap—I cursed back, fired. Too common.
Whoosh.
Stuffed beloved extra rags in bag.
"Fuckers. Keeping this."
No sorry? Fair game. Cozy—winter undies.
Solid loot, mood lift. Curse someone? Expect loss. Arrogant pricks get wrecked.
Regret: didn't finish my scene. Shoot halted too.
Damn strong work ethic. Can't shake it. Set needs me.
"Unavoidable."
Vroom.
Headed home. Not late. Chicken for mood, shower.
Ding.
TV on, chugged beer with historical drama.
If not for that asshole director, I'd be actor material... Nah. Proved my talent—keep at it, casting someday. Natural flow.
Actor Kim Geun-hyeop? Today's my "dedicated extra" anecdote later.
"Right."
Watching drama, remembered looted gear. Try it on.
"Not bad."
Good grab.
Ding-dong.
"Coming."
Grabbed chicken, sat to chow.
"Hell yeah! Tasty!"
That was my last memory on Earth.