The Cursed Saintess Came to My House (3)
Bubbles started rising in the pot of water, but there was still no sound from the bathroom. I tore open the ramen packet, stirred in the seasoning first, then added the noodles once it came to a boil. The three minutes waiting with the lid on felt strangely long. Listening to the bubbling, my eyes kept drifting to the egg carton on top of the fridge, but I didn't reach for it. He used to grumble that cloudy broth ruined the taste, and besides, any little gesture of consideration right now might make him crumble completely.
I lifted the lid, and spicy steam hit my face. The ramen was done. Had she eaten anything all day? Looking back at her state earlier, I doubted she'd even managed a sip of water, let alone a meal. I wanted to whip up something more substantial, but I held back. Fussing over a spread would just turn into pity, and with her barely holding it together, it was better to leave her be.
I transferred the ramen to a bowl, set it on the table, and placed a pair of chopsticks beside it. As I turned to go, I sensed a presence. Glancing back, there she was at the end of the hallway, wearing nothing but the hoodie I'd given her. It was comically oversized on her small frame. It had slipped off one shoulder, exposing her collarbone, and the sleeves dangled past her fingertips. Her hair was still wet, clinging to her cheeks, and with nothing on below, her bare thighs peeked out from under the hem. Water trailed down her legs, forming another little puddle at her feet.
Whether drawn by the smell or my footsteps, she stood there hesitantly at the hallway's edge, peering over but not daring to approach. Like a frightened puppy gauging its owner's mood, head slightly bowed, looking up at me—it was heartbreaking, but I didn't let it show.
"Eat. I boiled some ramen for you."
My tone was the same as always. Back in the day, she'd have chirped, "Sure thing, thanks~!" hopped onto the chair, snatched the chopsticks, and devoured it like a beast. I could picture her mouth already open before even grabbing a bite. But the girl in front of me now couldn't do that. She just stood there. In front of me, at the end of the hallway, just standing.
The ramen's aroma filled the kitchen, yet she couldn't take a step. Finally, I moved first, circling behind her and giving her shoulder a light nudge. Only then did she shuffle forward like a child, plopping down on the chair at the table. Her hand trembled as she picked up the chopsticks, but the moment she slurped up the first strand of noodles, it changed. Slurp—they vanished into her mouth, and the second bite came even faster. By the third, she was swallowing without chewing.
Her disproportionately large breasts pressed against the table's edge, must've been uncomfortable, but she didn't care, shoveling in the noodles frantically. Just as I'd guessed, she hadn't eaten a thing all day. I turned to give her space, stepping away to let her eat in peace—but then she flinched. Her shoulders hunched, chopsticks froze mid-air, her mouth still holding a noodle, eyes darting toward me. It was like her whole body screamed in fear that I'd leave and she'd be alone again.
I stopped in my tracks. Couldn't take another step. Until she finished the ramen, I just stood by the table. Not saying a word, not even looking directly at her, just... there. Like it was where I belonged all along. Only then did she relax, scarfing down the rest, even tilting the bowl to guzzle the broth. She set the empty bowl down with not a drop left.
And finally, she spoke.
"I got kicked out."
Her voice was small and fragile.
"They called me a cursed wretch."
Her hand, setting down the chopsticks, trembled on the table. Head bowed, she continued.
"So I went to Sangcheol... but he groped my thigh and suggested a motel. I ran."
No emotion in her voice. Not whimpering, not angry—just reciting facts, dry and flat.
"Yuri... Yuri looked at me like I was a bug and walked away without a word."
Yuri. Han Junseo's closest female friend, as far as I knew. At her name, a crack finally split her monotone voice.
"And that pimp... he just... treated me like..."
I knew what came after "just," and so did she. But saying it aloud would make it real, so she cut off.
"Just..."
She couldn't go on. A choke escaped her throat, shoulders starting to heave. Head dropping to the table, muffled sobs filled the cramped kitchen. She clamped her mouth shut to stifle them, but couldn't hide the shaking.
I said nothing.
Family kicked her out, calling her a cursed woman...
My fist clenched on instinct. Before my brain caught up, my knuckles stiffened, nails digging into my palm. Not aimed at anyone specific—just the sheer injustice of it all forcing my hand shut.
But my head got it. Her life had always sparkled from the outside. Laughing in crowds, drawing envy—that was Han Junseo's everyday. Like a dazzling display in a shop window. I knew what lurked behind it. Unlike her outgoing facade, her family was from a rigid religious household. Sundays meant church for the whole clan; skipping prayers earned an hour-long lecture from her dad. She'd told me herself, back when we were drinking, treating it like casual gossip. To them, she was their pride despite the flaws—a healthy eldest son blessed by God.
That son had defied divine will and become a woman. Not by choice, just the TS disease, but in that house, it wouldn't fly. Plenty of reason to scorn her as cursed. I didn't want to grasp the logic bridging deep faith and abandoning your child, but for that family, it tracked.
Family aside, the friends surprised me. Everyone knew TS disease wasn't a curse but a mystery illness—blasted on the news daily. Yet Sangcheol groped his friend's thigh, and Yuri turned away like she was vermin. People who'd clung when Han Junseo was on top, now pulling that crap the moment she changed. Was it because she turned pretty? Or had they never been real friends? Hard to say, but one thing was clear: her downfall unfolded too perfectly, unfairly so.
Kicked out by family, ogled as a sex object by a trusted friend, shunned by her closest confidante, then targeted by a pimp. No one to catch her at each step down, just worse scum filling the void. Like it was scripted from the start.
And the bottom of that fall? My doorstep.
Her sobs were easing. Shoulders settling, she lifted her head from the table through damp hair, rubbing her still-red eyes with the sleeve's end before speaking again.
"And... know what scared me most?"
Her voice cracked but was clearer now. Crying it out had loosened her tongue, it seemed.
"No idea."
I kept it short.
"Yeah, of course..."
She made a bitter half-smile, half-grimace, fingers fidgeting inside the sleeve as she went on.
"My phone... the lock won't open."
"Fingerprint?"
"Yeah... fingerprint, iris scan—nothing works."
My mind blanked for a beat.
That rare case, huh...
Most TS cases just changed the body. Full biometric overhaul—fingerprints, irises—was ultra-rare, the stuff of occasional news oddities. It meant no proof of identity left. Banks, government, even her own phone wouldn't recognize her. She'd hit the jackpot on bad luck.
I recalled those gray irises under the porch light. Not Han Junseo's black eyes. My gut feeling had been spot on.
She was no longer anyone who could prove she was Han Junseo. Fingerprints gone, irises changed—probably even her resident number useless now. Socially erased. Kicked out, betrayed, unprovable, trudging barefoot through Christmas downpour to reach me.
Fresh tears welled in her eyes, but I didn't react.
"You've eaten and showered—now rest. You look exhausted."
No pity. No denial. She'd vented her rage, spilled every injustice. Time to let her crash. That was the best I could do. Platitudes wouldn't help; what she needed was sleep in a warm spot.
"You got soaked. I'll give you a thick blanket. Sleep where you always did."
Her usual spot. The cheap leather sofa in this place. Nights she'd crash after drinking, snoring sprawled out. Mornings she'd wake with drool stains on the leather, grinning shamelessly.
"Thanks..."
I paused. Her first words of gratitude. Not when I opened the door, toweled her hair, or served ramen—but now. Unlike her halting crawls earlier, this held a faint spark of life. Faint, but there.
"I'll grab a blanket. Stay here or on the sofa."
I tossed the words over my shoulder as I headed off. She just nodded, rising slowly toward the sofa. I went to my room, opened the storage cabinet. A thick blanket, folded deep inside, came to hand.
Wasn't cold this year, so I stashed it... perfect timing.
One I'd considered sending back home unused. Mildest winter ever, but tonight it fit just right. Hugging the massive thing—thick enough to block half my view—I returned to the living room. She was curled on the sofa. Utterly vulnerable.
As a guy, she'd lounge with shirt hiked up or bare-chested, watching TV or calling friends. Not now. Knees to chest, arms wrapped tight, shriveled like a shrimp. Her back, balled into a near-sphere under the hoodie, rose and fell faintly. Bare thighs sticking out prickled with goosebumps on the leather.
I unfolded the blanket wordlessly. Normally, I'd fling it over her head. "Hey, cold? Cover up and crash." But my hands lowered it gently instead. Pity sneaking in? Or that tiny curled back just looked too small? I tucked it up to her neck. She twitched, turning her head to peek up at me.
"Sorry..."
Not thanks. After that one gratitude, back to apologies. Sorry for barging in on Christmas, dripping water, crying, mooching food and blankets. Han Junseo wasn't the type for that before.
"Don't sweat it."
I brushed it off gruffly. She didn't reply, burrowing into the blanket like hiding. Then her body started shaking again. Crying, no doubt. No sounds this time. No choking sobs. Just faint tremors under the covers. Swallowing her last tears alone, unseen.
I turned off the living room light. Darkness fell, the blanket lump on the sofa fading to a vague outline. Rain pounded outside, mingled with her thin breaths leaking from within, filling the dark room. Listening to it over my shoulder, I slipped into my bedroom.