The Lunchbox
"You're awake."
The voice was low, yet elegant. Iseor surfaced from the memory of that night in the hospital—and immediately froze, unable to so much as twitch. Something grotesque hung in the air before her eyes.
She blinked.
There, beside the back of "Mother's" head—the creature still wearing an apron—something drifted in empty space. At first she took it for a red orb suspended from the ceiling. That impression lasted only until the nauseating membrane wrapping its surface split open with a wet sound, peeling left and right.
What emerged from within the shell was a pitch-black pupil.
An eye.
The shape of it was terrifying beyond reason. And then—
It's gone.
In the instant Iseor blinked, it vanished without a trace. In its place, "Mother" turned from the sink.
"Eat. A human child is supposed to go to school, I hear."
The tone was flat and dry. The content, though, was considerate to a fault. The gap between the two sent a shiver crawling down Iseor's spine.
A clink, then a clatter. Dishes settled onto the table. Iseor picked her way forward with careful steps.
The sight was almost impossible to believe. A monster that ate people, laying out breakfast as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And more than that—
...It looks delicious.
Iseor's eyes swept the table in a daze. Glossy steamed rice. Mackerel grilled to a perfect golden brown. An array of seasoned namul greens in every color, and freshly tossed geotjeori kimchi. A savory stir-fry of sausage and vegetables. Even a pot of soybean-paste stew sending up lazy curls of steam.
Iseor was no stranger to cooking. But that was something she had learned in her previous life, during the years she had lived as a man—the level of someone cooking for themselves, at best.
Not that I had much choice.
There was no one to blame, yet Iseor found herself making excuses. The truth was, her skills had been decent enough. With no one to teach her and no money for ingredients, she had still managed to keep two mouths fed. But looking at the spread before her, she couldn't bring herself to claim she was any good.
This was a proper Korean feast.
"How did you even...?"
The question slipped out before she could stop it—fear forgotten, if only for a moment.
"Some of it I ordered. Some I cooked myself, following videos online. Eat."
Her words hadn't even formed a complete sentence, but the monster—who could read its thrall's mind—answered as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
The answer was far from enough to settle her questions. Knowing how to do something and actually doing it were two different matters. Even if this thing claimed a "mother-daughter relationship," who would have expected it to take on household chores as well?
She remembered thinking, as she drifted off last night, that at least she wouldn't have to eat human food anymore—that she could just take care of her own meals and feel a little lighter for it.
Why go to all this trouble?
The question had barely begun to take root when the creature spoke again.
"The side dishes you prepared weren't complete garbage, I'll grant you. But I am a gourmet. You will never stand in this kitchen again."
"Ah... yes."
It was a stiff announcement, closer to a command. And yet, hearing the substance of it, Iseor felt more awkward than defiant. Unpacked, it simply meant: I'll do the cooking. Which was, in the end, not so different from declaring it would play the role of a mother.
...This is strange.
Her feelings tangled into something impossibly complicated. The only warm meals anyone had ever prepared for her were her grandmother's cooking from when she was very small, and school lunches.
Iseor sat in her chair and stared at the rice bowl for a long time.
On the surface, it was a perfectly ordinary meal. No fingers mixed in among the sausages. Nothing nightmarish like that.
But.
"Mother" was a monster. It called itself a gourmet, yet there was no guarantee its palate resembled a human's in the slightest.
She couldn't just sit there forever, though.
It's already half past seven...
Her gaze flicked to the wall clock. On a normal day, she should have already changed clothes by now. If she skipped this, she'd have to buy something on the way to school—and she didn't have the money for that.
She thought of the hidden space at the back of her closet. The money she'd saved from part-time jobs since becoming a middle schooler was in there—
Ah.
Come to think of it, she no longer needed that money for its original purpose.
Iseor's gaze brushed the side of "Mother's" face. This thing would never let her go.
Still, convenience-store food didn't appeal to her in the slightest.
It's expensive, and it's loaded with salt besides.
A shabby excuse. A rationalization. Without even realizing that's what it was, the girl reluctantly picked up her spoon.
And the moment she lifted a flake of the mackerel's white flesh and carefully placed it in her mouth—
"...!"
Iseor's eyes flew wide.
"I-I'll be back!"
Iseor hurried out of the house. One thing and another had delayed her far too long. If she wanted to arrive on time, she needed to move her feet.
There was a conspicuous incongruity in the clothes of the girl running, breathing hard. Neat gray slacks and a crisp short-sleeved shirt. She was still wearing the boys' school uniform.
For Iseor as she was now, it was the most natural choice in the world.
A skirt... that's too much.
Just because her body had changed didn't mean a mind that had lived as a man for over a decade would flip overnight.
Fortunately, the school had delivered uniforms for both genders to her home, tailored to the measurements sent from the hospital. There was no cost to her at all—a mandatory support benefit for those afflicted with TS Syndrome.
A small mercy: wearing pants, her appearance didn't look particularly out of place. The development of her transformed body wasn't conspicuously advanced. Her waist had slimmed a little and her hips had widened slightly, but her overall frame wasn't much different from her days as a boy.
My hair's the same length, too.
Her attending physician had explained that the hormonal changes would seep in gradually. She still couldn't feel it. Except for the hollow emptiness between her legs, and the sense of loss that came with it.
A click. Adjusting her bag strap, a thought suddenly occurred to her, and she lit up her smartphone screen.
"Ha."
A faint sound escaped her small lips. A sound thick with feelings she couldn't sort out.
The number on the banking app was a staggering 7.87 million won. A fortune larger than every last bit she had saved without rest since starting middle school. Compensation paid by the International Health Organization to those diagnosed with TS Syndrome.
I never thought I'd actually get to keep this.
A year and a half ago, she had been forced to hand over most of the first money she'd ever earned from a part-time job to her mother. That was the day she abandoned even the faintest scrap of hope she'd still been holding onto.
After that, she had explained her situation to her employers and had her monthly wages split between cash and a bank transfer. She let her mother see the account, and hoarded the cash separately. It had been possible thanks to the trust she'd built through diligence, and the boy's delicate looks.
That was why she had assumed she would never even lay eyes on this support payment. It was a considerable sum, and she had been certain her mother would have taken it already.
But "Mother" had not.
What is it really after?
Iseor thought about the creature. The monster that had taken her mother's body. When she realized it had bound her person and even seized her will, the girl had fallen into despair. She had assumed she was dropping into a deeper, crueler cycle of exploitation.
The reality she actually faced was different.
"They said not to strain yourself during recovery. Rest for a week. Take the medicine after meals."
"That money is yours to spend as you please. I am not so impoverished as to need the likes of what you have."
"I left a lunchbox on the table. Take it with you."
Living with the monster was far more comfortable than her old life. If she simply looked away from the fact that it wasn't human, both body and mind were at a peace so complete it was almost eerie.
No. I absolutely cannot let myself fall for this.
Iseor shook her head hard. It had only been one night. Trust didn't even come into it—they barely knew each other. And above all else, that thing was a monster that ate people. A being that might devour her at any moment.
It had told her to live as usual, but she couldn't take even that at face value.
"Just think about school."
The girl muttered weakly and kept walking. She had taken a full week off, so there would be quite a bit of homework piled up. The teachers had told her not to worry, but she couldn't help it.
Hannuri Middle School was prestigious. The finest private middle school in the area, in fact. Just keeping up with the curriculum was work enough.
The moment she turned into the alley that led to the school gates—
"Nabi!"
A fresh, bright voice sailed in from behind her. A clear, lovely sound that seemed to paint the speaker's entire nature just by being heard.
Iseor turned.
"...Hayan."
And she smiled. Naturally. And small.
A click. He set the last dish on the drying rack and turned. There was no need to shake or wipe his hands.
Quite excellent, if I do say so.
It had been a long time since he last cooked. Even so, there had been no mistakes. Memories related to this kind of knowledge were always precise. Even across different humans, semantic memory and procedural memory shared a great deal in common.
The troublesome parts were episodic memory and emotional memory.
"Still not back."
Ordinarily, he would only have needed to harvest recent memories. This time was different. He had to convincingly recreate the target's life—because the prey already had a family attached.
And so he had swallowed this foolish mother's brain and spinal cord whole. To absorb the entirety of her life, the full trajectory of it.
And yet.
Hardly worth the effort.
From what he had gathered so far, the bond between the mother and the young female had been wretched. The female's attitude at the table this morning alone made that clear enough. He had assumed risk for no gain.
"I'll need to go 'hunting' soon."
From within his shadow, an eye gleamed blood-red.
For one who prioritized safety, the current state of affairs was far from agreeable. He needed to consume high-quality nutrients to resolve this "indigestion." Human meals were of no help in that regard.
And yet the reason he bothered to eat human food was exactly as he had told Iseor.
He was a gourmet.
More precisely, he enjoyed stimulation. The exquisite kind that could awaken senses dulled by eons of existence.
In the same vein, living as a mother was proving quite interesting as well.
The act of caring for another individual, is it.
That young female—Chae Iseor—gave off a delicious scent. Simply keeping her close was rather enjoyable. Beyond that, the entire process of rearing a human was providing him with a peculiar kind of pleasure.
Especially those eyes. The ones that had been ready to throw away her own life to protect people she barely even knew. He had lived long and seen countless humans, but it was exceedingly rare for a young specimen to steel itself that way in the face of death.
Not that such things are entirely unheard of, if one looks. But not in this era.
She was worth keeping close and watching, for a while.
A deep curve rose at the corner of the woman's mouth in the mirror. Long fingers slowly traced the line of her jaw.
The opposite of that originally unremarkable thing. This body was still unfamiliar, but this elegant bearing, at least, pleased him. Proof that his aesthetic sense remained as sharp as ever.
"...She isn't coming back."
The black eyes with their crimson pupils slid sideways. There was a square box wrapped in a checkered cloth. The lunchbox Iseor had forgotten on her way out.
"The lunch hour is... typically noon, is it."
The school provided meals, but the quality of food he made couldn't begin to compare with that kind of mass-produced fare. The young female would be waiting, no doubt.
Still, there was no need to rush a delivery. He had time yet.
Lounging back against the sofa, he pressed a button on the remote. To watch a film and stave off the boredom.
...And he found himself face to face with a humiliating phrase. A phrase he had never once encountered, for all the countless lives he had absorbed.
He pressed a hand to his head. He concentrated, and the necessary memories surfaced. That clean brow furrowed.
This woman's—Chae Jian's—accounts were buried in debt. No matter where he dug through the memories, all he found was that there wasn't a single sound asset to her name.
"I'll need to build up some wealth first."
A bright, almost cheerful crack issued from the remote.