Gu Ji-ye Wasn't Entirely Wrong
Gu Ji-ye, for all that she wasn't a woman, wasn't entirely wrong. But admitting that outright? My pride wouldn't allow it. A writer was something else entirely. Sure, in the end, we might all be selling our talents, but a writer was different. A writer wasn't just someone who polished their skills and hawked them off. A writer had thoughts. A philosophy honed through their own reflections, pain laid bare, art on display—that was what made a writer. It was worlds apart from peddling technique or peddling your face.
"Writer, times have changed. These days, writers are celebrities too. Don't think of it negatively. Honestly, aren't things tough right now? You can't even go out, the hate comments are piling up, your body's changed, and it feels like there's no one around to help, right? Think about it. Just bow your head for a little while—a tiny bit—and everything will turn around. Of course, the hate won't vanish completely. But most celebrities live with that level of backlash. If it gets bad, just sue the hell out of them! Your novels will sell like hotcakes. Or you could try internet broadcasting or something. Debut as an entertainer—why not? You could be rolling in money! Donate big to the orphanage too!"
Gu Ji-ye was a snake. Her slippery, itching tongue was luring me down a wicked path. A path I absolutely shouldn't choose. Truth be told, it wasn't without appeal. But for me to pick it? It was far too much like the devil's road.
Things were honestly rough right now. If this solved it all, that'd be great. Getting revenge on the haters? Nice. Novels flying off the shelves? Even better. Internet broadcasting or showbiz? I'd die before touching that. But donating big to the orphanage? That pulled at me.
But no. No meant no. I wouldn't take that path. Wisely speaking, maybe I should. It was evil, slippery, devilish—but smart. Just bow once, and gain everything. More convincing than anything my editor had said, more sensible. Sure, there was some exaggeration, but no lies in it.
But in the end, I couldn't choose it. My noble spirit wouldn't let me. Hadn't I chosen the hard road without even identity laundering, all to preserve this spirit? My armor was sturdy, unyielding. Unless I removed it myself.
"Who knows—maybe going viral on this broadcast will bring your parents looking for you."
I... unless I removed it myself.
~
I gave Gu Ji-ye the editor's number. He wasn't exactly my manager, but close enough in position, so I shoved it off on him—told her to talk it over. In the end, I couldn't voice my refusal. And it wasn't because of that last thing she said. I was just so damn tired, I picked the easy road for a breather. My noble spirit just needed a little rest from its wounds. I still had time to think. I'd just postponed the choice. I hadn't actually made it. Not that choice.
I kept making excuses like that for a while, and a wry laugh escaped me. They wouldn't fool anyone. I knew it best. What noble spirit? It was no different from stripping naked and hurling myself into the flames. I'd stripped away my ironclad reason myself, left bare. In the end, I was just human. I'd thought I'd realized that long ago, but apparently, I was even more arrogant than I'd believed.
Yeah, that was it. Gu Ji-ye's final words had shaken me. The bit about my parents maybe coming looking. That shook me. A goddamn human, pathetic reason.
I had no father. My earliest memory was huddled with my biological mother in a tiny one-room, surviving a freezing winter. She hated me, always whining that I'd ruined her life. Beatings were daily routine; verbal abuse, standard fare. The words that stuck were gems like these.
"Should've noticed sooner and aborted you."
"Shouldn't have had trash like you."
No final memory of her. When I came to, I was already at the orphanage. In stories, mothers at least turn kind at the end—buy you something tasty, hand you a toy. She hadn't even done that much.
Maybe that's why. No lingering fondness or love for her left. But one thing I wanted to ask. Really, truly—was it that hard? To leave even one last memory for that little kid?
Mother.
~
It was from the editor. Long-winded as hell. I hadn't properly replied, but somehow things were moving forward without me noticing. Should I stop it now? But my body felt limp, so I ignored it. In the end, I'd given passive consent. By not refusing.
I could've stopped it anytime. Just yell I wasn't doing the damn broadcast. Keep living like this, no big issues. But no drive rose up. Had Gu Ji-ye's words shaken me that much? Was I still hung up on that woman?
I was more disappointed in my own weakness than accepting the absurd proposal. I'd thought I'd forgotten, given up—but crumbling at those words? Pathetic. Agonizing. Had my spirit already shed its armor? Laughably, right then, I was glad for the TS syndrome. I could blame my frailty on the disease. I'd grown weak as a woman, dumb as a woman, nostalgic as a woman... for that cold, frigid one-room memory.
I hadn't told any acquaintances. Not Muk Ha-neul, not Seo Jae-a. Not even Kang Hwa-won. They might not see it anyway. Told Seo Jae-a personal issues, skipped tutoring for a week. Ignored Muk Ha-neul's texts. But I called Ham Ye-jin. Told her everything (except about mother).
She sighed. "You're really choosing that path?"
"…."
"That reporter made it sound appealing, but it's just as grueling as now. Unlike hunkering down till the buzz dies. You might suffer forever, or it might never resolve. Her talk's all overly optimistic. I can't recommend it. And if you go that route, NIS support gets tricky going forward."
"Anyway…."
"Pardon?"
"Anyway, you're not helping much. If I'd asked to move again, would you have?"
"That's... a stretch. You ignored advice not to go out in the first place."
"I know NIS provided conveniences. I know my solo outing caused issues. If I'd laundered my identity from the start, it'd be easy. Sorry. I don't even know why I'm like this. But with how things are, I doubt NIS can protect me more, or that I'd want it. Thanks for everything."
"...You're really doing this?"
"Sorry."
Apologizing to a woman was rare for me. Didn't want to. But it was all I had.
Ham Ye-jin went silent. Then, unbelievably:
"Actually... you're not wrong, Seol-guk."
"About what?"
"That NIS can't help more."
"What do you mean?"
"Truth is... the place you're living isn't NIS-provided."
"What?"
"It's mine. Inherited personally, rented to you on my own."
"The rent from support funds...?"
"That was the amount from the start. My house—no rent needed."
"Then... ."
"NIS support is pretty lacking. Even with identity laundering, aftercare wouldn't be perfect."
"Why...?"
"I've handled two prior Sudden Gender Transformation Syndrome cases. Both chose laundering. Guess where they are now?"
"…."
"Both took the extreme way out."
"…."
"If NIS had supported better, maybe... I just didn't want you on that path."
Ham Ye-jin had helped with no gain? Most aid was her personally, not NIS? I was speechless, purely stunned.
"Oddly, those two were like you. My take, anyway. They hated their changes, found them horrific. One fled the hospital. One tried jumping from a window. I stopped them; both got laundering. Seemed to adapt at first, but no. Living with sudden gender shift in unfamiliar settings? Never easy. Poor support made it worse. They both ended extreme. Hearing of a third case, I feared repetition."
"But... ."
"You were different. No laundering—you fought. Under far tougher, more painful conditions. So I... just wanted to help a bit."
"The house...?"
"Minor help, maybe. But the best I could."
What to say? What emotion was this? Should I rage at her using me to atone for past patients? Projecting others onto me? Or feel gratitude for her care, driven by guilt? Because she saw others in me?
I didn't know. Hardest puzzle I'd faced. But one thing was sure. Right then, Ham Ye-jin wasn't a woman to me.