True Education for the Pinching Finger - Part 1
(Illustrator and Cosplayer, Kim Hayan)
“Save me! Please, save me!”
Illustrator and cosplayer Kim Hayan was on her knees, frantically performing a dogeza.
Blood streamed from her forehead, split open from slamming it against the floor like King Injo prostrating before Hong Taiji of the Qing Dynasty four hundred years ago, but Kim Hayan didn't care.
She had to appease these menacing men who were looking down at her with amused, cruel smiles, even if only a little.
Otherwise...
“Hot... it's hot...”
...she would end up like the woman slowly boiling alive inside that drum.
She had heard that the other woman was also a former illustrator.
The reason she was swimming in that boiling vat was the same as hers.
She hid a misandrist hand gesture in her illustrations, causing the collapse of game companies and inflicting massive damage on the users.
A vague, terrifying realization flashed through Kim Hayan's mind: she was destined for the exact same fate.
That cursed hand gesture.
That Finger—the pinching gesture of the thumb and index finger, mocking the pathetic size of Korean men's genitals.
Because of a moment of foolish, arrogant bravado, Hayan's life now hung by a thread.
“Please save me! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I'm sorry for being such an idiot! I'm sorry for ruining your livelihoods! I'm sorry for looking down on you like fools!”
Hayan slammed her head against the concrete floor again with all her might.
Her brain rattled and blood dripped from her ruptured nose, splattering onto the floor, but she did not stop.
At the very least...
“Ah... Aaaaargh!!!”
One of the men picked up a pair of iron fire tongs used for stoking wood and clamped them onto the boiling woman's forearm.
I don't want to end up like that...!!
“Ah... ahhh... it hurts... it hurts...”
The moment the cold iron touched her, her skin—melted to a gelatinous mush—peeled away entirely.
She was cooked so thoroughly to the core that the outer skin slid off, and even the soft, mushy dermis layer sloughed away with it.
“Ah... Aaaah! Ah!”
The woman poked her head and shoulders out of the drum, staring blankly up at the sky.
Her pupils were dilated to their limits in sheer disbelief. Her mouth gaped and closed like a carp, desperately trying to gulp down the cold winter air.
Her boiled, sluggish brain cells could dimly register that the cold air only prolonged her agony, but regardless, she just couldn't bear the heat.
“Ugh... Aaaagh!!!”
The tongs clamped down even harder on her forearm.
Sinking through the liquefied flesh, the iron teeth bit into muscle that had denatured into the texture of a rubber tire.
“Ah-hur! Mmm-ah-hur!”
The woman struggled with all her might to scream, to beg for mercy.
But her vocal cords, scorched by the steam rising from deep within her chest, failed to function.
Only infantile, incoherent babbling escaped her lips.
In truth, her brain cells had literally cooked, reducing her intelligence to that of a toddler.
“H-hot... so hot... hurts!!!”
She thrust her tongue out, desperately trying to inhale the freezing winter air.
“S-fave me... p-please s-fave me...”
Her tongue, bruised a dark purplish-blue from the intense heat, writhed in the air like a performing cobra rising from a basket.
Her heart pumped frantically, trying to send whatever coolness remained in her head throughout her body.
The excessive strain caused her blood pressure to skyrocket, instantly rupturing the capillaries in her eyes and across her entire body.
Her failing extraocular muscles twitched uselessly, rolling her eyeballs in every direction.
Damaged by the extreme blood pressure, her eyes darted independently in bizarre, chaotic patterns like a chameleon's, searching for an escape.
Her eyes scanned the surroundings in frantic desperation, but there was no salvation to be found.
Suddenly, her eyes froze.
“K-kill... m-me... p-please... k-kill... now... t-too... h-hot...”
Thick, hot steam drifted from her gasping mouth like a humidifier.
“Whoa, my face is getting so moisturized.”
One of the men leaned his face directly over the steam rising from the woman's mouth.
“My skin's been so dry and cracked lately, but nothing beats getting misted by a woman's breath.”
The man patted the moisture into his cheeks with loud slaps, smiling with satisfaction.
“Doesn't it smell like bad breath?”
“That steam is coming straight from her throat. It must reek of rotten breath.”
The other men grimaced in disgust.
“Actually, it smells surprisingly good. Try it.”
The moisturized man suggested to the others.
Hesitantly, the other men leaned in and sniffed near the woman's mouth.
“Smells like boiled pork...”
One of the men remarked dryly.
“Hey, old man! Come over here and have a bite of this!”
“Y-yes, sir.”
One of the men stepped forward hesitantly.
It was Kim Donghoon, Hayan's boyfriend.
“D-Donghoon... Oppa! Oppa, save me! Please help me!”
Hayan cried out desperately to Donghoon.
“Who the fuck is your oppa? You trying to get me killed too, you fucking bitch...”
Donghoon muttered under his breath, cursing Hayan for her lack of tact.
“Old man, what are you doing? Hurry up.”
“Ah! My apologies, I'm coming right now...”
Donghoon nervously approached the drum, keeping a close eye on the men's reactions.
“Have a bite, old man.”
“...”
A bite? Of 'this' in the drum? He wanted to ask, but since the answer was glaringly obvious, he kept his mouth shut.
“Ah... ah... ahhh...”
The low groans of the woman slowly boiling in her deadly bath snapped Donghoon back to reality.
“Um... where should I eat...?”
Donghoon asked hesitantly.
“Just eat wherever.”
The man replied dismissively.
“Ah, are you squeamish about using your bare hands? Here, take the tongs.”
Donghoon took the tongs and hesitated once more.
If I back out now...
“Oppa! Are you insane? Why are you eating a human?! Save me, Oppa!”
If he didn't comply, he would end up receiving "true education" alongside Hayan, who was still screeching like a toxic shrew, completely blind to the reality of their situation.
“Well... then...”
He had to eat. There was no other choice.
He had always styled himself as a "sweet male feminist," never hesitating to deliver sharp, intellectual rebukes on women's issues, earning him the mocking nickname "The Edge of Justice."
As a sweet male feminist, he had reaped praise from women (whom he viewed as mere playthings) and extracted money and "honor" from other male feminists (his cash cows).
He had his own pride as a "sweet guy" who cherished women—which usually meant making sleazy sexual jokes, sweet-talking them, or getting them drunk to sleep with them—but he had to swallow his pride now.
The struggle for women's rights required survival first. Surely, the woman boiling in the drum would understand that this was all for the greater cause of feminism.
Donghoon squeezed his eyes shut and clamped the tongs onto the woman's nipple.
The nipple tore away from the softened breast tissue, pulling out several milk ducts like a string of sausages.
“...”
Donghoon stared blankly at the milk ducts, which dripped with pale, boiled fat that looked sickeningly appetizing.
Gulp.
He bit down hard.
The fat and milk ducts burst in his mouth like a cluster of grapes, spreading a rich, greasy, and savory flavor across his palate.
The woman's breast tasted of feminism.
Meanwhile...
“Hey, you took the best part.”
One of the men grumbled in disappointment.
“H-hiieek...”
Hayan watched Donghoon, her face turning completely pale.
Her boyfriend, the Young Forty sweet male feminist Donghoon, had transformed into a sweet cannibal, grease from a woman's breast dripping down his chin.
“What are you looking at?”
Donghoon snapped at Hayan.
This, too, was for the feminist struggle.
One had to survive to fight. And if anyone deserved to survive, it was a sweet, upstanding Young Forty man like himself (even if he suffered from erectile dysfunction and high estrogen levels). That way, the feminist movement would have a strong leader for the future.
Ultimately, Donghoon wanted to live.
Hayan wanted to live, too.
The events that led to this nightmare traced back to a short while ago.
(The following content will be easier to understand if you have read the 'Seoul's Spring' arc or the 'Part 1 Summary' in the announcements.)
On a certain day of a certain month, at the headquarters of the National Normalization Supreme Committee...
Chairman Park Tae-seop had been assassinated by a woman identified as a Tal-corset Feminist, and Vice Chairman Lee Jin-hyuk had assumed the chairmanship.
Although Chairman Park Tae-seop's martyrdom had swept away any talk of transitioning to civilian rule, allowing the revolution to surge forward like an unstoppable wave, it was not without its complications.
“Following Chairman Park Tae-seop's assassination, riots have broken out nationwide. In particular... hate crimes against women have spiraled completely out of control. We can't even compile accurate statistics at this point.”
“Hmm...”
Chairman Lee Jin-hyuk furrowed his brow.
Chairman Park Tae-seop had been the savior and hope of the young male population.
And that hope had served as a safety pin, holding back the explosive fury of a generation of young men pushed to their absolute limits.
Because they believed the world could change, they had endured.
But their hope had been assassinated.
The rage of losing that hope erupted with a violence proportional to how long it had been suppressed.
“...”
This was, to some extent, expected.
The important thing was...
“...Who is leading them?”
“Leading them, sir...?”
“I am asking if these riots are merely the chaotic violence of an unorganized mob, or if there is an entity orchestrating the madness.”
Chairman Lee Jin-hyuk pressed.
“The current unrest is highly fragmented, so it doesn't appear to be led by a single individual or organization. However, the group with the most significant influence over the chaos is an alt-right youth organization called the National Male Vanguard.”
“The National Male Vanguard?”
Chairman Lee Jin-hyuk raised an eyebrow.
He had heard of them.
Though extreme, they were a radical alt-right group that had been quietly forming among young men even before the revolution began.
Once the revolution ignited, they expanded their ranks exponentially. Now, they were leveraging the massive civil unrest to solidify their political influence.
“Quite an interesting bunch.”
Having finally begun to grasp the nuances of political maneuvering, Chairman Lee Jin-hyuk could dimly perceive their ultimate goal.
“They're trying to drive the nail home!”
Driving the nail home.
Power and influence were not won by violence alone.
Violence was merely a symbol.
It was a performance to announce that one had seized control.
These young men wanted to scream at the top of their lungs that the hegemony of the new era had shifted away from the old pigs and women, straight into their hands.
“...Should we suppress them?”
The adjutant asked.
Chairman Lee Jin-hyuk fell into deep thought.
Then...
“There is no need to suppress them. In fact... there are no riots to begin with.”
He delivered his verdict with a cold, sweeping finality.
“Hate crimes, riots... those only become crimes when we choose to investigate and make arrests. This situation is merely an unfortunate accident. Yes, a tragic, unavoidable accident.”
“We leave them be, then?”
“Sometimes, you have to open the lid and let off some steam.”
“Understood, sir.”
The briefing continued for a few more minutes.
Once the report was complete, the adjutant saluted sharply and left Chairman Lee Jin-hyuk's office.
“...”
Left alone, Chairman Lee Jin-hyuk placed a cigarette between his lips and lit it.
“The alt-right... the alt-right, is it...”
He inhaled deeply, letting the smoke fill his lungs as he pondered.
The youth had realized something.
A normal society is maintained by the rule of law, reason, and order.
Yet, that very society had subjected them to senseless disasters: injuries and deaths during mandatory military service without compensation, economic ruin brought by false accusations, and systemic discrimination that relegated men to dead-end, low-tier positions.
Normal society had failed.
Therefore, the rule of law, reason, and order had failed as well.
“Sometimes, you need an alternative.”
They needed an alternative.
An alternative to order, the rule of law, and reason.
The young men had searched desperately for that alternative.
“This is going to get very interesting.”
And they had finally found it.
The alternative to the rule of law was lawlessness.
The alternative to reason was hatred.
The alternative to order was chaos.
They had become the alt-right.