If She's a Twenty-Year-Old College Girl, She's Got the Size
The underground café in Nonhyeon-dong, Gangnam—the place they had agreed to meet—was strangely dark even in the middle of the day. From the moment she started down the stairs, the acrid sting of cigarette smoke, the damp mildew smell unique to basements, and the cheap artificial air freshener sprayed over it all mixed together and choked her breath. For Dohee, who normally only frequented the bright, cheerful cafés right outside the university gates, the alien feel of this space made her hesitate from the entrance itself.
Instead of her department jacket and jeans, she had pulled the cleanest white blouse and a beige tennis skirt that rode lightly above the knee from the depths of her closet. She had thought the look neat and properly polite, but the moment she opened the café door and stepped inside, her bare legs under the lighting felt especially cold. Swallowing dryly again and again, she made her way toward a sofa table in the corner.
"Yoon Dohee?"
Across the glass table, a man in a sharp navy suit called her name, flashing the large gold watch on his wrist. It was Han Siljang, the one who had sent the Instagram DM. Looking to be in his mid-thirties, with a sharp, cunning face, he slowly rose from the sofa where he had been leaning as she approached. And from that moment, his gaze turned into open, blatant appraisal directed at her.
Han Siljang’s stare was relentlessly thorough and shameless. While Dohee stopped in front of the table and gripped her bag strap, his eyes traveled from the crown of her head down to her pale, translucent cheeks, the collarbone line faintly revealed between the buttons of her blouse, and then lingered on the long, slender, straight legs stretching beneath the skirt. Wherever the man’s gaze landed, her skin burned as if seared by something hot. Experiencing this strange discomfort and shame for the first time in her life, Dohee clenched the hem of her skirt. It was the miserable feeling of being a product laid out on a market stall, being graded.
"Well, well…"
Han Siljang let out a low murmur of admiration between his lips as he sank deep into the sofa. He pulled a slim cigarette from his pocket, stuck it between his lips, and flicked the lighter with a sharp tick. A thoroughly satisfied smile curved around the flame.
"I came half-doubting after seeing the photos on your DM profile, but the real thing is way better. These days Gangnam is overflowing with those carbon-copy faces all stamped out by the same plastic surgeons—the usual Gangnam unnie style—but a natural pure beauty like this is genuinely rare. Aviation department, right? And you spent quite a while as an agency trainee too, didn’t you?"
"Yes… I did it for a little while."
Dohee answered in a voice as small as a mosquito’s as she perched barely on the edge of the sofa. Han Siljang exhaled a long stream of smoke and nodded.
"No wonder. Even just sitting still, the aura you give off is different. Twenty-year-old college freshman, aviation department title, plus an untouched ace face. In this business we call that ‘having size.’ With your physicals, madams from high-end places like ten-cafés or point-fives would be eyeing you to snatch you up right away, but since it’s your first time, it’s better to start learning the job at a hyper or a shirt room where the weekend or night shifts are easier to get used to. That’s how you make money fast in a short time."
Unfamiliar slang pricked at Dohee’s ears. Ten-café, point-five, hyper, shirt room. Words from the nightlife industry that only floated around in news exposé subtitles or dark internet community posts were pouring from Han Siljang’s mouth like completely natural, casual business terms. Dohee’s chest trembled, but she could not back down now. Her mother’s hospital bill payment was due the day after tomorrow.
"Um… Siljang-nim. You saw my reply, so you know, but I really need money urgently right now. In the message you sent yesterday you said it absolutely wasn’t illegal or dangerous… but what exactly would I be doing? I’m not even good at drinking…"
As Dohee brought up the main point in a trembling voice, Han Siljang let out a short laugh and stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray. The greedy light in his eyes gleamed under the dim underground café lighting.
"Dohee-ssi, no need to be scared at all. You think we’re some old-school gangsters who snatch kids, lock them up, and threaten them? Gangnam nightlife these days is a thoroughly capitalist system—business that runs on mutual agreement. What you’ll do is super simple. Go into a room, sit next to rich clients, pour drinks, keep the conversation going just enough, shake a tambourine when they sing, and match the mood. In short, you just boost the spirits of the older guys who came to spend money because they’re stressed. No special skills needed. Dohee-ssi, if you just smile prettily with that face of yours, their wallets will open on their own."
"Is that… really all? No physical contact or… that… second round or anything?"
Dohee’s lips twitched lightly as she forced out the question she feared most. Han Siljang’s eyes cooled for a brief instant before the snake-like smile wiped it away again. He casually set a luxury leather wallet and foreign car keys on the table and leaned in close to her face.
"Ahh, so that’s what you’re worried about? Of course you’d be worried—it’s your first time. I’ll say it straight. The places I’ll set you up with are principle-wise table-focused shops with no ‘second round.’ Sure, drunk older guys might put an arm around your shoulder because you’re pretty, or their hands might sneak toward your waist. But if you just handle it with room manners—smiling slyly like a little fox—that’s the end of it. You can refuse flat-out if you don’t like it, and if someone really starts acting like a problem, just call me on the radio and I’ll clear the room for you. On the other hand, rooms with a little touching or higher intensity pay weekly wages and tips beyond imagination. The choice is entirely yours, Dohee-ssi. We don’t force anything. It’s a capitalist society, right?"
Han Siljang’s voice was sickeningly sweet and precise. As if he knew exactly the situation she was in, he laid an inescapable trap with meticulous care.
"You said you need close to ten million won this week alone, right? Even if you slave away at a convenience store for ten thousand won an hour, ten hours a day, every day of the month, after interest there’s nothing left. But here, if you just steel yourself and do four or five rooms a day, you walk away with a million won each day. A week and you’ve got ten million won, just like that. Money that can get your mother the absolute best treatment in the ICU and finish the college diploma you want, all in one shot—and some guys touching you a little because they say you’re pretty and calling you cute is that big a deal? You have to look at reality, Dohee-ssi."
Mother. ICU. Ten million won.
The words that left Han Siljang’s mouth precisely crushed the weakest, most painful wound she had. His voice became a sweet devil’s whisper that slid into her ears and seeped into her mind.
A million won a day… in a week I can save Mom.
The moral sense and values twenty-year-old Yoon Dohee had built her entire life were slowly collapsing in the face of that enormous sum of money. The terror and shame of unknown men possibly touching her body were hundreds, thousands of times less cruel than the reality that she might have to have her mother’s oxygen tube removed because there was no money. Dohee kept her head down and swallowed dryly. The rapid rise and fall of her chest beneath the thin fabric of the white blouse spoke for the violent turmoil inside her.
"A precious ‘size’ like you—the madam unnies at the shops will treasure and protect you a lot. If there’s a problem customer, the managers will cut him off risking their lives, so you won’t get hurt either. How about it? Want to start work tonight? Once you see a few million won in cash right in front of your eyes tomorrow morning, you’ll completely realize how pointless all the worrying you’ve done until now was."
Han Siljang drove the point home by sliding a document that looked like a contract form across the table. The heavy perfume and acrid cigarette smoke coming off the man seemed to paralyze Dohee’s rational judgment. She recalled her clean, neat reflection in the mirror. The dazzling dream of flying through the sky and smiling at people. But right now the ground beneath her feet was already black mud, and if she did not want to sink she had to desperately grab whatever came to hand, even if it was a rotten rope.
"…Yes. I’ll do it. I can start today."
From between Dohee’s red lips finally came an answer mixed with resignation and resolve. Han Siljang’s eyes flashed with greedy delight. Looking satisfied, he stood and clapped her lightly on the shoulder. Through his palm he felt the faint tremor in her slender shoulder, and he looked down at her as if savoring a captured prey.
"Good thinking, Dohee-ssi. No—now that you’ve stepped into the night world, let’s decide a stage name for the shop. Starting today your name is ‘Sea.’ The most expensive, dazzling ace who’ll shine in Gangnam—Sea."
The moment the man’s large hand rested briefly on her shoulder and then fell away, goosebumps rose all over Dohee’s body, but she squeezed her eyes shut tight and forced herself to look away. The die was already cast, and what awaited her was the cruel, secret black reality that would unfold tonight under Gangnam’s glittering neon signs.