Butterfly
"All right. I'll see you in class later, Butterfly."
"Okay."
Once they arrived at school, Hayan offered her usual affectionate goodbye and turned away.
Left alone, Iseor directed her steps toward the faculty office.
"Ah, Iseor."
The moment she opened the door and stepped inside, a woman rose from her seat with a look of genuine delight.
A woman in her early thirties, her face marked by a tired gentleness.
Song Jieun, homeroom teacher of Class 2-4.
"Good morning, ma'am."
"Yes. Come sit over here first."
The moment they sat facing each other, Iseor felt Jieun's eyes carefully sweep the length of her body. Face, waist, hips, and down along her legs. Iseor caught her lower lip gently between her teeth.
Even when she had been a boy, she had been rather sensitive to other people's gazes — but now her skin itself seemed far more raw than it had ever been then.
Is this the kind of sensation women always talk about?
A peculiar discomfort. A shrinking inward. She was swallowing that bitterness when Jieun's lips trembled faintly.
"You really... have changed."
The rims of her eyes flushed red. It was a face that looked ready to crumble at any second. Iseor composed herself.
She must have looked into it.
Given Jieun's nature, she had almost certainly investigated the TS Syndrome her student had gone through in exhaustive detail. That it typically surfaced at the far end of extreme stress, too. The pity in her face would be an adult's guilt — the guilt of someone imagining the suffering her student must have endured.
But Iseor knew. Even that guilt was an emotion she could only feel because she did not know the truth. If she had properly understood Iseor's situation, the woman sitting across from her would have chosen one of two things. Report it to the police immediately — or run.
"Yes."
And so Iseor tugged the corners of her mouth upward. The expression she always wore. The one that said she was fine. She knew this thin mask could not lighten a teacher's burden of guilt. But it was the only kindness a girl like her could offer.
Jieun was a good person. Not a simply "kind" person — and not merely gentle, either. She was the one adult at this school Iseor could lean on, even a little. So she did not want to cause her any more worry.
"...Haa. I'm sorry. Here — would you take a look at this?"
The teacher collected herself and launched into what she needed to say. Most of it was information "Mother" had already passed along. That the World Health Organization would be issuing consolation payments every six months for the next three years. That for the coming year, any medical expenses above a certain threshold would be fully waived.
Once Iseor had tucked the supporting documents into her bag, Jieun clasped her hands tightly together and asked,
"Are you really going to be all right?"
Deep worry clung to the drooping ends of her brows. Iseor nodded calmly.
"Yes. Please don't worry."
She knew what Jieun was afraid of. But Iseor really was all right. The girl had already glimpsed the underside of the world. The existence of a predator that ate people from the inside out and wore their shells. Any evil this world could muster would be nothing but a plaything before that being. After living through that, the unpleasant parts of an ordinary day felt almost trivial. Her heart was harder than before — even if that toughness was nothing more than a scab settled over a wound.
"That's... haa..."
Jieun's lips moved several times, but in the end she seemed unable to find any words of comfort that would do.
"Wait just a moment. Let's walk to the classroom together."
That was the best she could squeeze out.
"Yes, ma'am."
Iseor sat quietly in the chair and waited for her teacher.
"That's Iseor?"
"He was always on the delicate side, but that's a complete girl. Why's she wearing the boys' uniform, though?"
"What, you'd throw on a skirt the second you turned into a girl, you sick gay bastard?"
"The fuck are you talking about."
The reactions poured out, loud and completely unfiltered. It had only been a week. But the change the other students saw in Iseor was staggering. The appearance of the boy who had become a girl was beautiful beyond any comparison with what he had been before.
Hair like black silk, swaying just above her shoulders. Eyes that caught a strange wash of red whenever the light found them. The overall cast of her features resembled a young Chae Jian — the face the Monster now wore. Which was to say she was beautifully, almost unnervingly well-proportioned. Originally, Iseor's face had carried her father's imprint strongly. Now that imprint was sinking away, little by little, beneath the shift in female hormones, and disappearing.
"All right, settle down. As I already explained, the syndrome that Iseor... experienced is an extremely rare case even worldwide. An international organization is monitoring these subjects' stress levels in real time, so if anyone so much as plays a mean-spirited—"
"That's really that loser?"
"Dude. I'm getting a reaction."
"Are you insane? This guy's a total animal."
As if to mock Song Jieun's careful introduction, low whispers leaked from the back of the classroom. Iseor flinched, her shoulders drawing in on reflex.
I can hear all of it.
The senses of her transformed body were painfully sharp. Even voices from the very last row — voices that would never have reached her before — arrived with startling clarity. She had spent the entire week lying in that hospital bed just trying to adjust to it.
"That face..."
"I thought an idol had transferred in..."
All morning, the air in the classroom was thick with curiosity. Dozens of pairs of eyes licked down Iseor's hair, her back, her arms. But not a single person came over to speak to her. Iseor did not bother to wonder why. There was no one in this classroom who did not know who she belonged to. The teachers included.
And then lunch.
The bell rang — ding-dong — and a bright, familiar presence drew up beside her at once.
"Butterfly. Let's go eat."
"...Okay."
Iseor closed the workbook she had spread open and rose slowly from her seat. Hayan slipped her arm through Iseor's as if it were the most natural thing in the world. A smile sat on that pale face, warm with easy familiarity. The rest of the clique fell in behind them in a chattering line.
"What's for lunch today? If it's fried fish I'm actually gonna puke."
"Did you see Unnie Yuina's airport look yesterday? That bag was so pretty."
"Dude, that thing costs over seven thousand dollars."
"That's why I want it, obviously."
The walk to the cafeteria, and the scene once they sat down, were the unbroken continuation of an ordinary day. Hayan's hangers-on complained about the texture of the side dishes, or talked without pause about some famous idol. Only Hayan, at the center of the group, and Iseor, seated beside her, said nothing at all.
The utensils clinked. Iseor kept eating. It was like chewing grains of sand — but she had to eat. Now, of all times, she had to eat.
After the meal, the group made their way to a vacant lot behind the school grounds, a place where almost no one ever came. Beside it sat an abandoned rabbit hutch, and the air hung thick with the acrid smell of cigarette smoke. Their hideout.
"Our Butterfly. Your hair really has gotten so much nicer."
Hayan stroked Iseor's hair. A touch of endless tenderness. The answer Iseor gave in return was a strange one.
"...Meow."
A dry, lifeless cat-sound. Butterfly. That was Iseor's nickname. The name Chae Iseor had reminded Hayan of the Cheshire Cat — and since she was a cat, Hayan had called her Butterfly. The pet name Hayan had pinned on her.
"Our Butterfly needs to eat, doesn't she?"
Hayan tossed a battered plastic bowl onto the dirt as if she had brought it along for just this purpose. Brown pieces that looked almost like cookies rattled into a pet-food dish. A fishy smell stabbed at Iseor's nose. Kibble.
Iseor bent her knees. She planted both hands on the cold dirt and lowered her head. She put out her tongue and swallowed the kibble using only her mouth. It was rank and nauseating. Dry, bland, flavorless. Bile surged up her throat, but the girl did not stop her "meal." Because right now, she was a pet.
One thing, though, sat wrong with her.
They usually start with something else.
Ordinarily the rest of the clique would have begun with hitting, or with curses. A way of establishing dominance, even knowing it would accomplish nothing. Today the pattern was different.
"What am I supposed to do with you?"
Hayan set her heeled shoe on Iseor's head. A pressure that bore down with just a little of her weight. A pained sound leaked through Iseor's lips, still buried in the bowl, but the one causing it turned her head away as if it were nothing.
"You all heard what they said at assembly, right? Some international organization or whatever is monitoring her."
"Oh, I saw that in an article too. The research institutes need to collect data on the biological mechanisms, so if any visible injuries show up, the police get dispatched immediately. What a pain, Hayan."
The one chiming in was Park Eunjeong, who wore silver-rimmed glasses. For the daughter of a respectable mid-sized company president, there was not a scrap of dignity in that face. She was only a well-trained hunting dog, watching her owner's expression.
"Is that so?"
Hayan nodded slowly and lifted her foot away. Iseor coughed, choked, and barely managed to push her upper body off the ground.
"Our Butterfly's gotten expensive. Is that why you've been acting so pretty?"
Hayan tilted her head and looked Iseor straight in the face. An expression of perfect, untroubled clarity. But her eyes were flat and flavorless. It was a look that, not long ago, would have made Iseor flinch even on the inside.
"How intriguing."
But what rose in Iseor's mind now was last night's "Mother." That monster's bearing had been truly, genuinely elegant. She had thought that if a noble from some fantasy world had stepped into reality, this was what they would look like. Before that real thing, Hayan's elegance faded to nothing. All that remained was the pitch-black malice nested inside a kindly-looking mask. And even that was clumsy and paper-thin.
Unaware that she was being measured this way at all, the queen of the school went on as if talking to herself.
"Your face got so much lovelier, too — and yet there isn't a single male around who'll love you. Isn't that right?"
"Meow...?"
Hayan lifted Iseor's chin with the toe of her shoe and sank into thought for a moment. Then she smiled. With that same innocent face she always wore.
"That's it. We should find our pretty Butterfly a nice, sturdy male."
Iseor's face went bloodlessly pale. There was no way she could miss what that sentence implied. Something close to what her mother had suffered, years ago.
The eyes of the flashy girl standing beside them — Sujeong — lit up.
"Oh my. We might even make some money off it. Hayan, can we use that for shopping?"
"Sure, whatever."
Hayan tossed the permission out carelessly, then looked down at Iseor again.
"You're looking forward to it too, right? I'll set you up with some strong ones, Butterfly."
Iseor closed her mouth. Everything that had happened until now was something she could endure. Violence inflicted on a boy's body had its limits. It would pass, and it would be over. But this was different. This was the kind of atrocity that carved its mark into an entire life.
"I don't want to."
Iseor shook her head. She surprised even herself a little. She had not expected those words to come out so easily.
"...Huh?"
Eunjeong made a stupid sound and then clapped a hand over her mouth in alarm. The air in the vacant lot froze over. All seven of the people ringing them stared at Hayan's face in open fright. The smile was still hanging there. A pure white smile. A smile of boundless gentleness.
"Looks like we didn't quite finish your manners training."
A low, tranquil voice. Instantly, a large shadow that had been standing quietly at the back of the group lunged forward.
"You fucking bitch."
"...Ngh!"
A pain as if her entire scalp were being torn out by the roots. A thick hand had seized Iseor by the hair.
"Doheon."
"Yeah, Hayan."
"Don't touch anywhere that shows. You know that."
"Don't worry."
A short order, a short answer. Iseor closed her eyes in resignation. The beating would start any second now. It was all right. She hated it — but she was used to it. She could endure it. Physical pain was nothing compared to a life coming apart at the seams.
And then, immediately after—
Iseor had no choice but to open her eyes again.
A tranquil voice. But the girl's pupils trembled.
"What the hell?"
"Who's that lady?"
Beyond the commotion of the boys and girls, a woman was watching them.
Her crimson pupils gleaming.