I Posted a Lewd SNS Bio and a Female Idol Trainee Messaged Me
The threshold to employment loomed impossibly high.
Four years of college, and I had thrown myself into it more fiercely than anyone else. Yet every place I applied demanded the same absurd nonsense—“experienced new hires”—and my resume came back stamped with rejection every single time.
“Those bastards. How the hell am I supposed to build experience if you never give me the job in the first place?”
I had believed that once I became an adult, my life would change dramatically.
Reality, however, was cruel.
The major textbooks I had poured blood, sweat, and tears into for four straight years were nothing more than useless stacks of paper in the job market. Or, more precisely, in the places where those skills might actually matter, someone like me wasn’t even on their radar. Substitutes were everywhere. To a company, I was just another interchangeable part they could pick or discard as they pleased.
“Haa…”
With the future tightening around my throat day by day, I sat in the corner of my one-room apartment once again, downing bitter soju and spitting out the same old complaints.
“Everyone else lands a decent company and starts acting like a proper human being. Why am I the only one stuck like this?”
I knew the answer. Better than anyone.
While my classmates had been sucking up to professors and seniors left and right, desperately grabbing at even the rotten lifeline of connections, I had fallen for corporate propaganda and wasted those years as an Anomaly Hunter.
That was the difference between the classmates who successfully secured “stable jobs” and me, who hadn’t.
“I used to mock them for putting on airs while kissing ass, but the real idiot was me. Damn it.”
I glanced sideways. The large number 7 printed on the soju bottle wavered like bizarre visual noise.
It was a commercialized anomaly product—a soju bottle that had successfully harnessed the power of a “safe” anomaly derived from ghost stories. Outwardly it looked like an ordinary 360 ml bottle, but the actual capacity inside was ten times that: 3.6 liters. In other words, the number on the surface meant I had already downed seven bottles.
Haa… when the hell did I drink this much?
I couldn’t remember. Looks like I had blacked out.
“Back in college I could knock back nine bottles without ever losing the film… my tolerance keeps dropping.”
After surviving countless anomaly incidents in the past, I had been thoroughly fed up. Once I graduated, all I wanted was a “safe” job and an ordinary life.
But when has the world ever gone according to plan?
Standing before that narrow, towering threshold of employment, I never imagined how hard it would be just to scrape together something ordinary.
“I really don’t want to risk my life as an Anomaly Hunter again…”
That made sense. In this line of work, the only ending waiting for you was getting swallowed by a ghost story and vanishing without a trace. Retiring on your own two feet before an anomaly ate you was the truly wise move.
“I’d rather live off passive income—money just rolling in while I do nothing…”
And if possible, rolling around with pretty women, pouring out every desire, a life completely steeped in pleasure… that would be perfect.
Lost in those delusional fantasies, I flopped onto the bed in a tipsy haze. Out of habit I opened an adult webtoon app, scanned the stimulating thumbnails, and tapped one that looked hot enough.
“Haa, they really draw this shit so fucking hot. But the story… does this even make sense?”
In the webtoon, the protagonist posts a recruitment notice looking for people to fuck, and beautiful women start contacting him on their own. I had wondered why a modern story carried the “fantasy” tag. Turns out they stuck it on because it dealt with things that could never happen in reality.
“Yeah, reality’s a shitshow. That’s why I seek comfort in hot porn webtoons, fuck…”
I must have been pretty damn drunk. That was the only explanation for why I started doing something I would never have attempted sober.
“Hehe… I’ll show you reality. The reality of just getting cursed out as a piece of trash.”
My thoroughly intoxicated brain finally caused an accident. I created a brand-new account on the SNS platform Tuwitter, where every kind of weirdo gathered.
“Name… roughly ‘Dr. Pleasure.’ Yeah. And the bio…”
“Perfect. It reeks of scammer at a glance. I love it.”
The moment I finished setting it up, reality suddenly crashed over me.
“…Fuck. What the hell am I even doing right now?”
Just go to sleep. What possible benefit could a grown adult get from this kind of stupid shit?
With that thought, I closed my eyes. When morning sunlight woke me again, hellish reality would be waiting to torment me.
“I want a job… damn it…”
If I failed to get hired this month too, financial limits would force me into part-time work. The “safe” gigs were already saturated and nearly impossible to land. For quick cash, the only positions always available were the dangerous ones—exactly like Anomaly Hunter work…
Haa… I really, truly did not want to do that crazy shit again. Damn it.
[Ding~!]
At that exact moment, a Tuwitter message arrived.
Not even five minutes since I created the account, and some attention whore had already latched on.
“Not looking, you bastard. It’s probably just insults from weirdos anyway.”
I tried to keep my eyes shut and drift off. But—
[Ding~! Ding~! Ding~!]
The Tuwitter notifications refused to stop, making sleep impossible. So I picked up my smartphone again, intending to delete the account I had made in a moment of pure idiocy.
That was when I saw them.
The unexpected Tuwitter messages burned the alcohol out of my system in an instant.
“Huh…?!”
My eyes went wide. It wasn’t simply because of the content of the messages. It was because of the owner of the account that had sent them.
@ARA_RA_ARA_RA_ARA07
An ID that was easy to remember yet somehow strangely familiar. And the woman in the profile photo… was someone I knew all too well.
“Is this real…?”
Her nickname was “Arara.”
A female idol trainee infamous as one of the Trouble Makers—a duo notorious for their constant physical fights and chaotic behavior on survival shows.