Chapter 2
Chapter 2
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: Just Survive VS Ditch the Dick and Escape Disability
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Can someone born colorblind ever truly understand the reds and blues of the world?
Can a person without wings perfectly sense the flapping of a bird's wings in the sky?
Even with the power of modern science, it's damn near impossible.
That's why I couldn't help but fidget with my right hand, fixated on the two new fingers that had appeared out of nowhere.
A dainty little hand, much smaller than my original one.
And on that hand were five perfectly intact fingers.
The congenital deformity that had left me with only three fingers per hand was completely cured.
How the hell...?
And it wasn't just my hands sending weird signals.
My body felt way too light, my chest was tight, and the hair cascading down to my waist tickled my arms.
Without thinking, I reached out with my fingertips to touch those strands.
Of course, using only the three familiar fingers—thumb and pinky excluded.
Soft, glossy silver hair danced at my fingertips.
"What the... huh?"
I jumped at the sound of my own voice.
A delicate soprano tickled my inner ear through bone conduction.
This was wrong.
Way too wrong.
I bolted out of bed and headed straight to the tiny sink in my studio apartment's bathroom.
The mirror there reflected a girl with half-lidded, sleepy eyes.
"What."
As my eyes widened in shock, beautiful blue irises came fully into view.
I raised my hand, and the girl in the mirror did the same.
I stuck out my tongue, and she poked out a cute, pink one in response.
I slowly scanned my features.
Gone was the tanned skin weathered by sunlight; now it was soft, pale flesh that looked like it'd bruise if you pressed too hard.
My shrunken height was definitely under 160cm.
Plump cheeks, protruding tongue, wide sparkling eyes.
Anyone with a standard sense of beauty would agree this girl was seriously cute—no arguments there.
The problem? That girl in the mirror was me.
"Ah... aaa... what the fu...?"
Dizzy, I stumbled back to the main room.
With trembling hands, I reached for a cigarette.
Just like how I guessed my parents had ditched me at the orphanage the moment they saw their freak baby, I too was a heavy smoker thanks to my genes.
But the spot where I used to keep my smokes was empty.
In its place sat a cute sky-blue wallet that screamed "girl."
Click.
I opened it and checked the contents.
Found an ID right away—no trouble.
The photo was obviously the woman I'd seen in the mirror.
"Yoo Seo-ha?"
That was this body's name.
Only then did I start slowly taking in my surroundings.
Everything had changed.
Furniture, cosmetics, bedding, wallpaper—all of it.
Everything had gone full feminine.
If the layout wasn't the same as I remembered, I'd have worried I'd wandered into the wrong apartment.
Parallel world? Dream? Or had I finally snapped after being unsatisfied with just my physical disability?
I tried to bend my finger backward for a reality check.
But I flinched and stopped when my perfectly functional pinky screamed in pain.
I'd end up disabled again at this rate.
Slapped my cheeks a few times—reality didn't budge.
Splashed cold water on my face, talked to the mirror, even groped the modest-but-insistent chest—same result.
Reality refused to change.
After freaking out for a good while, I finally admitted it.
Whether I'd possessed a parallel-world version of myself named Yoo Seo-ha, or the entire reality had flipped...
Assuming I wasn't crazy, I'd become a woman—thoroughly, perfectly.
"This is insane..."
First things first: smokes.
I'll think while having one.
I threw on some outerwear from the closet (picked the most neutral-looking coat), grabbed the wallet, and headed out to the convenience store.
*
I flashed my ID confidently at the suspicious part-timer and scored my cigarettes.
According to the ID, I was 22.
Lucky or unlucky, my age stayed the same even after turning into a girl.
With shaky hands, I peeled off the pack's cellophane and slipped one between my fingers.
Nestled it snugly between index and middle, went to light up—then realized no lighter.
Back into the store for a lighter, then lit up quick on the street.
Street smoking?
Sorry, but in demon-haunted Incheon, law-abiding citizens don't survive.
I usually stuck to designated areas and avoided roadside puffs, but after this freakshow? Rules be damned.
Couldn't hold back after something this bizarre.
"Cough! Hack! Ack... hurts!"
My high school lifesaver, Bohem Cigar Caribe, rejected me violently.
The smoke burned so bad, the moment it hit the back of my throat, I exploded into coughs.
Couldn't take it—went to stub it out and toss it.
That's when:
"Miss, sorry, could you hold up a sec?"
"Huh?"
A guy in a fluorescent vest loomed over me.
Big letters on it: "Smoking Enforcement."
Oh shit.
"We're from the ward office's anti-smoking squad. You can't smoke on the street."
"Sorry..."
"Are you an adult?"
"Y-yes... yes."
I meekly handed over my ID, shrinking.
Suspicious glare, as expected.
But the ID proved I was of age.
"Yoo Seo-ha? Fine's 50,000 won. Pay within the voluntary period for 20% off—40,000. Transfer to the account on this violation notice."
Humiliated, hands shaking, I took the notice.
Bleeding inside, I dug out my phone from my pocket and fired up mobile banking.
Good news: even with the body swap, the PIN was the same as my old one.
Checked the balance—twitched.
Why the hell so little money?
"...Sent. 40,000..."
"Got it. Here's a portable ashtray—use it for butts from now on. Stay mindful."
A beat-up plastic butt holder stamped "Incheon City" landed in my hand.
I'd just paid 40,000 for this.
My fault—no one to blame.
The enforcer nodded politely and vanished.
Bet it's my first street-smoke bust ever.
And bam, caught red-handed, fined.
I kept my mouth shut and head down till he was gone.
Incheon, where order breathes down your neck.
Rule-breakers don't last...
"...Gone?"
Alone at last, I whipped out my phone.
Balance: measly 360,000 won.
"Wait, my money! Where's my cash!"
I'd landed a public corp job right after high school.
Truth? Rode the disability quota hard.
Got into a solid company my grades couldn't touch.
Saved a nice chunk over two years.
But now that I'd become a girl, it was like that never happened.
Hunted through contacts for Yoo Seo-ha's workplace—dashed hopes.
List was barren.
Just traces of short-term gigs to scrape by.
Boom—instant unemployed.
Honestly? Happier about ditching the disability than bummed about being a girl.
But this? No.
Stealing my once-in-a-lifetime luck? Tears welled up.
No point prepping for work today.
I trudged home.
*
Tiny studio.
Searched online via phone—no hits on my situation.
Hell, didn't even know what to search.
Woke up a girl?
Parallel world possession?
Fingers popped up overnight?
"No answers..."
Clues everywhere screamed "You're Yoo Seo-ha."
Address, phone model, bank PIN, even debit card number.
If I'd been born a girl, I'd have lived just like this.
Before raging against reality, better adapt—or I'd be the crazy bitch.
Kept searching to grasp the situation—nothing.
Switched to scouring the phone top to bottom.
At least learn who Yoo Seo-ha was.
.
.
.
.
Nothing.
So clean, you'd swear it was brand new.
No family, no friends—not even coworkers like my old self.
Photo gallery? Just blurry accidental shots.
Friends aside, no family contacts meant one thing.
Yoo Seo-ha was an orphan like me.
I got dumped for being a freak; she was pretty with all limbs intact—why?
Maybe her folks just lacked responsibility, plain and simple.
No one to call? Small mercy.
I had zero memories of Yoo Seo-ha's life.
If some stranger acted buddy-buddy, it'd be trouble.
Luckily, she seemed as shy as original me—no contacts.
So... I was me after all.
Grrrowl.
My small stomach grumbled.
Oh right—skipped breakfast in the chaos.
Fridge check: cooking habits matched—familiar side dishes stocked.
Set a simple table.
Body smaller, so half my usual portion.
Grabbed chopsticks and dug in.
But soon:
"Fuck this. Can't do it."
Chuck the chopsticks.
Asking a three-finger cripple from yesterday to master chopsticks overnight? No way.
Custom utensils? Gone.
First real chopstick try today—learned it ain't a one-two-day fix.
Felt what foreigners gripe about with chopsticks.
New thumb and pinky moved fine, but fine control? Nightmare.
Ended up spearing sides with one chopstick per hand.
Using 'em like forks.
Looks childish, but way easier.
Same with dishes.
Habitually used three fingers.
Hit me: this was serious.
"Gotta... rehab."
Thumb and pinky there but useless.
For me, more "learning" than rehab.
No way back to old body—this was permanent: live as Yoo Seo-ha.
But fingers exist yet unusable? Same as three-finger days.
Need normal hand use for jobs or whatever.
Leave it, it'll click eventually—but bank balance said no slacking.
22 years three-fingered; how to adapt ASAP?
Unemployed now—time aplenty.
Sat blankly on the floor, fiddling hands, pondering.
Honestly? Daunting.
Then my eyes caught the computer in the corner.