Just Didn't Feel Like Playing
“Haneul’s been acting different lately. Did she get a boyfriend or something?”
Mom’s chuckling words threw me into a panic. I’d been careful not to let anything show on the surface, but deep down the fear that she might have noticed the swap was eating away at me.
Was it that obvious?
Of course it would be different. I wasn’t Song Haneul, after all.
Even occupying Song Haneul’s body, I couldn’t perfectly copy the way she usually moved and acted. I told myself it was inevitable, yet at the same time the worry that Mom might catch on surged up like some genetic predisposition kicking in.
“W-what boyfriend…? I just stay home all the time.”
“True enough. You should get out more, though. That face of yours is wasted, honey.”
“Yeees…”
Since we didn’t run into each other often, she let it slide with a vague acceptance. If something had changed a little while she wasn’t looking, she just figured something must have happened—and that was a relief, if you could call it that.
I’d cleared the hurdle, but my heart was still pounding wildly. Even if I’d managed to look like Song Haneul, going through this in front of the body’s original owner left me feeling embarrassed.
“Natural?”
“When you’re cornered, you’ll do anything, right?”
I pushed the awkward feeling aside and let out a sigh of relief.
“But tone it down a bit when you show off like that.”
“It’s just for Mom. If I don’t show her, she’ll think I didn’t put one on.”
Song Haneul clutched his head and groaned. After confirming Mom had left, he pulled open the top drawer within arm’s reach. It held underwear, socks, and frequently worn clothes—and he emptied it completely.
“I’ll clear out this dresser for now, so stash your stuff here and use it.”
“Oh, thanks.”
Even after filling it with the clothes and underwear he’d bought, he still packed in more wearable tops and pants for me.
“I should do something for you too.”
“Nah. You don’t care about that stuff anyway.”
“True enough. Just wear whatever.”
But why are you the only one being so picky about this? The words rose to my throat, but I shut my mouth. There were plenty of things men could be dense about while women reacted sensitively. As the guy here, I should just be big about it and let it go.
Mom’s stay was extremely short. It felt short simply because she came and went quickly. There was no deep affection or anything to feel, so my impressions weren’t profound.
“Mom couldn’t look after you much this time.”
Was feeling guilty even while knowing that a parental trait?
“It’s fine.”
“We’re doing well, so don’t worry.”
Song Haneul and I each chimed in to support Mom’s work. If you said the wrong thing at times like this, the guilt would keep her from even going to work. Meanwhile Song Haneul’s glare for overdoing it made me flinch.
Damn, I thought I was being Haneul-like.
There was bound to be a disconnect between the Song Haneul I’d observed and the Song Haneul I had to perform myself. Like how your own singing sounds different from someone else’s. And even when you think you’ve managed your expression, the other person has already picked up on the emotion. Thinking about that, I still had a long way to go. I didn’t want to practice in front of a mirror or anything, but I wished he wouldn’t grade every little thing like this. I’d been trying in my own way.
“Alright then, you two take care. Don’t fight. And… the bankbook’s in the master bedroom drawer, so Hamin, use it when you’re living on your own.”
“Yes.”
Thud. The door closed, and without either of us saying who first, we both heaved a deep sigh. Mom was someone we should have been happy to see, but given the situation we couldn’t properly welcome her. In fact, feeling this relieved when she left made me feel guilty.
“You, come here.”
“Ah, wait a sec, seriously.”
“I’ve been waiting for this. Held back ’cause Mom was here, but no, for real. You know that, right?”
We’d been standing close, so I was caught right away. Even if the house was big I couldn’t have run far, but getting grabbed without taking a single step felt a little unfair. With all the karma I’d piled up in less than two days, I had nothing to say.
“I know, I know!”
“Aha, so you know you did wrong? What did you do wrong? List them.”
It was the classic trap women set by asking “what did you do wrong?” This kind of story was widely known through communities and videos, so there were countermeasures. Plus we weren’t even dating—just siblings who’d swapped bodies—so the counter was even easier. Not being in that special boyfriend-or-husband relationship meant I could approach it a bit more objectively.
“Going to the bathroom without asking, sleeping without a bra, finding out the underwear size, and making a scene outside that ruined the image. Right?”
If you give the exact answer and show proper remorse, they let you off. Of course that remorse has to be sincere. Even if you know your sins well, if you skimp on the reflection you won’t escape the wrath.
“I really am sorry about that… thinking about it… will you spare me?”
“You know it so well? And yet a guy who knows does that?”
“Aaagh!”
He even put me in a full mount—nowhere to escape. Pinned down, my stomach was pressed hard. My guts felt crushed; breathing turned labored. If I hadn’t changed the bra, my chest would be getting squeezed to death right about now.
“It hurts, my chest hurts…”
I instinctively raised my arms to protect my face, but the pain was in my chest, not there. The straps fixed by the underwear dug tightly into the contours of my breasts. With Song Haneul pressing down from above, the pain hit even harder. Why buy something like this just to hurt people.
“Stop whining.”
Missing the chance, he moved aside with regret. I finally caught my breath and sighed in relief, but I couldn’t dodge the knuckle to the head.
“Whoa, is that a bump forming?”
“You’re so hyper, seriously.”
“…Honestly, moping around doesn’t change anything.”
“Looking at you now, you’re just a T-type bastard. Body’s already swapped and you’re saying nothing’s different, this bullshit.”
“Your speech got real rough after the body swap. Already feeling the hormone effects?”
“Just take the hits, take ’em. It’s my body, so a few bruises are fine!”
I chimed in unnecessarily and got grabbed and beaten. It looked like he was slowly smacking with his palm, but the thwack-thwack sounds came with the pain of my back shell being peeled off—why was that? I had to experience this unsolvable mystery with my body.
“It really hurts!”
“I’m hitting you so it hurts, so of course it hurts!”
“Aaagh!”
Every time I screamed, a high-pitched sound that made my eardrums ring came out. I wondered if I’d get used to this voice, but the unfamiliar feel still startled me myself.
“My shoulder’s gonna come off…”
Tears welled up. I’d never just freely hit Song Haneul, so why was he hitting me this hard? A frail body taking hits from hands tempered by military exercise made everything throb. This pain lingered quite a while.
“Hey, Mom’s gone now, so let’s switch rooms for daily life.”
“…What?”
“We can use the rooms except for sleeping, right? Let me use the computer. You can use the laptop.”
“Use my laptop.”
“Isn’t your laptop just for office work? I wanna game a bit.”
When I grumbled, Song Haneul seemed to agree it wasn’t right and sighed.
“Fine, fine.”
“Yay.”
Did he know how itchy my hands had been those two days Mom was here, stuck only to my phone without gaming? Killing free time with just phone or TV wasn’t proper living. Passing time with YouTube or whatever wasn’t bad, but lately nothing interesting showed up, so I needed games for time to fly by.
I sat in the good chair and straightened my posture. I stretched my back and tilted my neck back, seeking the feel of proper form so I wouldn’t get turtle neck. I rubbed my hands together, steeled myself, and placed them on keyboard and mouse.
Bring on the games. AOS, FPS, battle royale—I’ll conquer them all. This body, with overall high game IQ that hit high tiers the moment it touched anything, was stepping out.
“Huh?”
But before long I felt a sense of dissonance.
In an instant I’d become the punching bag of the chat, and I panicked without meaning to. My aim had turned to shit. My body wouldn’t keep up. The sensation wasn’t the one I knew.
Normally when I held the mouse and turned a little here, there was a stopping point, but it didn’t go as far as I thought. If I tried to send it further, it overshot way past the sensation I knew. I felt betrayed by my hand senses that exceeded the margin of error.
I couldn’t even touch FPS, and in AOS the macro worked but the physicals lagged, so I kept putting out performances that didn’t match the tier.
Two hours into gaming. I turned off every game and just stared blankly at the desktop before shutting down the power. Reflected in the blackened monitor was not Song Hamin, but Song Haneul.
In a way it might have been a body that simply couldn’t do it. Still, I’d thought that if the insides were different it wouldn’t matter. I wanted to believe that “of course” was just prejudice. But like this, I couldn’t even enjoy it.
“Doesn’t feel like playing.”
Even if friends asked to game, I didn’t think I could turn it on. Maybe I should just play indie games. I even started thinking of switching to a completely different genre.
“You said you were gonna game? Why are you watching TV?”
Song Haneul ambled out to the living room where I was watching TV and looked at me with a strange expression. Remembering how I’d whined to switch rooms so I could game made my face burn hot.
“Whose body is trash-tier so I don’t feel like gaming.”
“Lucky you can blame someone else for sucking ass.”
He just snorted a laugh and turned away, leaving me speechless. My insides hurt so much I couldn’t even find a retort. I’d snarked for no reason and got nothing back but a beating—it was pitiful. The fact that I’d thrown the first punch and had nothing to say was even more pitiful.
“Ugh!”
I just flung the remote onto the sofa for no reason. The sound of it hitting the leather was buried under the TV volume.