The 'That Finger' Illustrator's True Education - Part 13
A few hours later,
“My hand... what do I do with my hand...”
Just as Jiseong and his crew had threatened, Hayan’s left hand had been completely charred after the relentless electric torture.
No, her left hand was no longer in a state that could even be called a 'hand.'
Her fingers had turned into hard lumps of charcoal, losing all connection to the hand itself.
Her palm was completely ruined, resembling the hand of a stuffed doll—nothing more than a blunt extension protruding slightly from her wrist.
However, comparing it to a stuffed doll only described the similarity of its mangled shape.
Naturally, Hayan’s hand was now a grotesque monstrosity, infinitely far removed from anything cute.
The cross-section of what used to be her skin, now charred black and hardened, had burst open, ugly streams of pus and clotted blood oozing out.
“Ah... my hand... my hand...”
With even the deepest nerves charred to ash, the hand could no longer transmit pain signals to her brain.
Instead, the agony radiated from her wrist, where the last remaining nerve endings still clung to life.
“Fuck, she’s still calling that piece of shit a hand. 'My hand, my hand,' shut the fuck up with that bullshit.”
“Hey, you retarded feminist bitch, does that still look like a hand to you?”
The men snickered, mocking Hayan relentlessly.
“My hand... give it back... hurry... I need to go to the hospital... if I go to the hospital, they can fix it...”
Hayan babbled incoherently, waving her stump of a hand back and forth.
It wasn't that the men had untied her.
As her hand crumbled, it had simply slipped free from the restraints on its own.
“Hey, you hand-crippled bitch, we have a doctor right here. Why don't you ask him?”
Seongcheol introduced one of the men in the group to Hayan.
“I’m an otolaryngologist, so I don’t know much about burns,” Director Kim said.
“Oh, come on, Director Kim. You learned all of this back in med school, didn't you?”
“Well, that’s true, but...”
“Just think of it as roleplay. We all gathered here to torment this bitch anyway.”
“When you put it that way, it does sound rather amusing.”
Director Kim chuckled playfully, then—
“Uh... Patient Kim Hayan?”
He lowered his voice with mock gravity and approached Hayan.
“Yes, Doctor. Yes. You can save my fingers, right? Yes? You can save them, right?”
Hayan, completely blind to the sadistic amusement dancing in Director Kim’s eyes, kept babbling her desperate questions.
“Hmm...”
Director Kim put on a show of deep contemplation, lifting Hayan’s wrist.
“Please, Doctor. Tell me. What’s going to happen to my hand? Can you save it?”
“Be quiet for a moment.”
“Yes...”
“Hmm...”
Director Kim examined her wrist, then plucked off one of her fingers that was still nailed to the chair.
The completely charred finger, pinned by the nail, had severed entirely from her hand.
Director Kim held up the charcoal-like finger, inspecting it under the light, before—
“You stupid bitch, do you think a fucking hospital is some kind of resurrection chamber?”
He snapped at her.
“Huh...?”
Hayan stared blankly, utterly dazed.
“I’m not a fucking voodoo priest. How the hell am I supposed to bring this back to life?”
“Heeg... *hic*... No... you're lying...”
At Director Kim’s sudden shift in attitude, Hayan began to sob.
“Fucking bitch ruined so many people's lives, and now she’s crying like she’s the victim. Unbelievable.”
Director Kim furrowed his brow.
“Egh-gug?!?!”
Director Kim shoved the charred finger straight into Hayan’s mouth.
“Gheb-guk... Ghe-be-guk?!?!”
Hayan instinctively tried to spit it out, but—
“Taste it, you fucking cunt. How is it? Huh? Tastes incredibly burnt, doesn't it? Does this look like something that can be saved? Huh?”
“E-guk... ghe-be-guk...”
“Don’t throw up, you retarded bitch. You fucking feminists love fingers so damn much, don't you? What, even though you're a feminist, does a feminist's finger taste like shit to you?”
“Kke-be-guk... Kke-be-guk...”
The acrid, burnt taste that instantly flooded her mouth, combined with the nauseating flavor of thick, dried blood and pus, violently triggered her windpipe.
“Mmph... gung-mmp-mmph?...”
Hayan’s stomach, which didn't have a single scrap of food left in it, churned violently to force up bloody bile, but Director Kim kept her mouth clamped shut, blocking any escape.
“That's it! Chew it, you fucking feminist cunt! It’s your own finger! Chew it and swallow!”
Director Kim continued to muzzle Hayan’s mouth, his eyes flashing with murderous intent.
“Kk-mmp... kk-mmph... kung-ut... kku-guk...”
The bile was forced back down her throat, only to surge upward again.
Finding no exit through her sealed mouth, the rising acid lost its way and—
“Kh-fup... kh-fuph...”
Sprayed out of her nose.
Dark gray fragments of her finger, yellow stomach acid, and bloody mucus oozed miserably from Hayan’s nostrils.
The highly acidic gastric juice scorched her nasal passages, eating away at the delicate membranes inside her nose.
Tears of blood, born of agonizing pain, mingled with the foul discharge and dripped steadily from her chin.
“Good job swallowing, you fucking cunt.”
Director Kim patted Hayan’s cheek with his dirty hand, looking thoroughly satisfied.
“Ke-heuk... ke-gahk... ke-guk...”
Hayan’s eyes rolled back, and she made no reply.
Unfortunately for her, she didn't lose consciousness.
A short while later,
“Hey, Hayan. Blood is incredibly expensive these days. You’re really living the high life, aren't you?”
An IV needle for blood transfusion was now inserted into Hayan’s body.
Under Director Kim’s direct supervision, they had quickly screened the men to find those with matching blood types.
Those selected had gladly volunteered to act as human blood bags, driven by the single-minded desire to keep Hayan alive for more torture.
“See? Aren't you grateful? You spent all your fucking time screaming 'Die, Hannam' and posting all that bullshit, but here we are, giving our own blood to save you...”
After the 'That Finger' controversy erupted, Hayan had poured out all kinds of vitriol on her private social media account:
“I wish all those fucking Hannam losers would just drop dead.”
“Look at those pathetic Hannam losers throwing a tantrum just because of a finger.”
She had spewed endless abuse like this.
She had even targeted specific employees within the game companies to talk trash about them behind their backs.
She had even gone so far as to use her private account to attack users who left appreciative comments on her illustrations, such as "Whoa, hot":
“Die, you leftover Hannam losers who only know how to sexualize women.” She had spared no hesitation in hurling such insults.
Yet, these very "Hannam" men were not letting her die.
As if following the words of Jesus Christ to 'turn the other cheek,' they were willingly offering their own blood to sustain the feminist Hayan.
How incredibly merciful of these men.
“Listen up, you bastards on the other side of the camera.”
Seongcheol stood in front of the camera, pointing his finger directly at the lens.
Or perhaps, at whatever lay far beyond it.
“You fuckers who defended this cunt, whining about 'misogyny' and all that shit... the politicians, the trashy civic groups... you better remember this clearly.”
He paused for a brief moment of silence.
“Misogyny? Aversion?”
He glared into the camera and continued.
“Do you think men are as petty as you bitches? Huh? Fuck no. Men don't do 'aversion.' We aren't so small-minded and pathetic that we waste our time on mere dislike.”
“Instead, we harbor hatred.”
“The difference between aversion and hatred?”
“You’re about to find out.”
“Or maybe you’ve already realized it.”
A journalist had once commented on the civil unrest as follows:
“The difference between aversion and hatred lies in whether action is taken on the motive. Aversion is an attitude of avoiding what is disliked, whereas hatred entails active behavior to eliminate the object of dislike.
...[omitted]...
The boiling point of hatred has been reached. The males of the Republic of Korea have finally escalated their hatred into war. The only thing left is to not stop. This is what war is, and this is how men and women differ.”
In any case, the world of Yeochuk, where the men have seized absolute power, remains peaceful today.
A short while later,
The transfusion was completed, and Hayan’s lifespan was extended just a little bit longer.
“Kyaah?!?!”
The men untied Hayan and hauled her up from the chair.
Dragged by the men, Hayan was brought before a stainless steel tray.
Where surgical tools would normally lie, there was only a pen and a sheet of paper.
“...?”
“Draw something.”
“A... a drawing?”
Jiseong sneered as he gave her the order.
“Yeah, a drawing.”
“What... what kind of drawing should I make?...”
Hayan asked, trembling violently.
“Just draw some random weeb shit... actually, no. A magical girl would be good. A magical girl holding a wand. Let's go with that.”
“A magical girl...?”
“You don't want to? Do you want to keep getting tortured instead?”
“No! No! I’ll draw it! I’ll draw a magical girl! I’ll draw it right now!!”
Hayan hurriedly picked up the pen and began scratching out lines.
She held the pen with her right hand and pressed down on the paper with her left.
Yellowish fluid oozed from the cracked, charred skin of her left hand, staining a corner of the paper a dirty blackish-yellow.
“...”
Because her mind and body were completely shattered, the lines were messy and the proportions were off, but Hayan did her absolute best to draw the magical girl.
The magical girl Hayan chose to draw was a heavily deformed chibi character.
It was her best option to finish before Jiseong and his crew lost their patience.
“Make sure you draw the hands well, too.”
“Yes. Yes.”
Jiseong’s demands continued.
With great difficulty, Hayan finished the drawing of the magical girl holding a magic wand.
A short while later,
“I... I'm done drawing...”
Hayan offered a weak, trembling smile as she held up the drawing.
“Hmm...”
“See? I told you.”
“Of course.”
Jiseong and the others scowled as they examined the drawing.
And then—
“You fucking cunt, is this drawing supposed to be correct?”
“You call yourself a professional illustrator, and you can’t even draw a single fucking picture right? Huh?”
The men began shouting aggressively.
“Hieek?!?!”
Hayan let out a sharp, terrified shriek and collapsed to the floor.
“I'm thorry! I'm thorry!! P-Please tell me! Tell me what's wrong with the drawing!!!”
Hayan performed a desperate Dogeza, slamming her forehead repeatedly against the tiled floor with loud thuds.
The men looked down at her humiliating prostration, sneering.
“You retarded bitch. The hand. Look at the hand.”
They pointed it out coldly.
“Th-The hand?”
Hayan looked up, utterly bewildered and clueless.
“Sigh...”
Seongcheol scowled in frustration.
“The fucking hand! The hand, you brainless bitch!”
Seongcheol rolled up the paper and tapped it roughly against Hayan’s head.
“You fucking cunt. Didn't you bitches claim that a hand holding a wand naturally forms 'That Finger' gesture? Why the fuck didn't you draw it that way, huh?”
“Are you mocking us? Huh?”
“This fucking bitch was lying to our faces all along!”
As the men’s shouting grew louder—
“I'm thorry! P-Please forgive me! Let me draw it again! Let me draw it again!!”
Hayan begged for her life, slamming her head down in dogeza over and over.
Given a fresh sheet of paper, Hayan painfully drew another magical girl.
This time, she drew it properly, incorporating 'That Finger' gesture.
And the men’s response was—
“We told you to draw it, and you actually fucking drew it?”
That was it.
“Kyaaaaah!! No!! Not my right hand!! Not my right hand!!!”
Hayan screamed at the top of her lungs, trying to resist, but the men coldly pinned her right hand flat against the floor.
“Why not?”
“What use is a hand that only draws retarded garbage anyway?”
“I'm an illuthtrator... I make a living with thith... *sob*... with thith... please, my right hand... please thave my right hand...”
Hayan thrashed wildly, pinned beneath the heavy grip of the men.
But the men had absolutely no intention of listening.
“Fuck, this bitch is already thinking about making a 'living' and surviving.”
“Do you honestly think you have a future? Let's just make this easy for both of us, alright?”
They kept Hayan pinned firmly to the floor, and—
“Alright, here it comes! Watch out!”
Seongcheol swung the sledgehammer with a massive *whoosh*.
“Kyaaaah!!!!”
The heavy head of the sledgehammer slammed down, crushing two of Hayan’s fingers completely flat against the floor.
“Ah, fuck, I told you not to flinch...”
“It only hurts more when you do that.”
The men scolded Hayan as she shrieked at the top of her lungs, staring at her flattened fingers.
“Alright, this time I'll get it right. One... two.”
Seongcheol swung the sledgehammer again with all his might.
With a sickening *crack*, Hayan’s right hand was crushed flat.
With a wet, splintering *crunch*, every single bone in her right hand shattered and shifted into grotesque, unnatural angles.
And—
“One... more... time!”
*Thud.* The sledgehammer swung down once more.
This time, it made a squelching, wet *splat*.
Several shattered bone fragments tore through the side of her flattened hand, bursting out like the filling of a ruptured dumpling.
“Kk... kkyah... kku-gu-gu...”
Hayan’s consciousness hovered on the absolute brink of blacking out.
Then—
“Kk-eulk... kk-eulk...”
Accompanied by a bizarre, bubbling sound of bloody foam, dark, concentrated bloody urine from her ruptured kidneys and bladder leaked out weakly, spreading across the floor with a soft *hiss*.
“We’ll need to inject her with more stimulants,” Director Kim clinically remarked.