The Boy Without a Womb
When I arrived at Professor Seo's office, I noticed a bit of water puddled on the floor. Someone had been there. I knocked, and his distinctive accent came through the door. "Come in!"
Stepping inside, I was met with the same cramped, book-strewn office as always—nothing had changed. Professor Seo was slumped deep in his chair, tapping away at his smartphone. But what really caught my eye was the kid sitting on the sofa in the corner of the room. He looked like a high schooler at first glance. Even being generous, he seemed like a fresh-faced freshman who'd just graduated. He had a neat appearance that struck me as a bit too pretty-boy pretty, which didn't sit well with me. He gave a slight bow when he saw me, and I returned it casually.
"Come over here and sit down."
I obediently followed Professor Seo's instructions. He was playing a game on his phone, and it was clear he planned to keep me waiting until it ended. Luckily, it didn't take long.
"Is that a game?"
"Yeah. These days, it's all I've got."
"Impressive."
"You think it's weird for an old fart like me to be glued to this stuff?"
"That's not what I meant."
"Bullshit."
Grumbling, Professor Seo mercifully let it drop without picking at me further.
"Heard you won the Ji Kang Literary Award?"
"Yes."
"Good for you."
"Thank you."
It was his own crooked way of congratulating me.
"Those bastards, blind as bats, giving an award to a punk like you..."
Yeah, probably.
"So, uh, what did you want to talk about?"
"No need to beat around the bush. How about tutoring a kid? You interested?"
"Tutoring? You mean Creative Writing Department entrance exam prep?"
It went without saying—no one would ask a pure writer like me to tutor anything else, so I figured it had to be Creative Writing Department admissions. What surprised me was him asking me to do it. Sure, it wasn't hard, but guys without any real reputation like me didn't get those offers often.
But Professor Seo threw me for a loop.
"Nah, not Creative Writing Department prep. Who the hell gets private tutoring just to get into that major these days?"
His knack for trash-talking his own field was still top-notch. But if not that, what kind of tutoring was he asking me for?
"Then...?"
"Ahem."
Uncharacteristically, he cleared his throat. "I've got a son. The kid writes a bit. But in my eyes, it's no good. No good at all. I tried working with him myself, but I'm getting old, and he's my late-in-life youngest, so we just don't click. Can't force him to write it my way, you know."
"You did that to your students, though."
"You think students and sons are the same?"
Got it. The tyrant of the Creative Writing Department, Professor Seo Jae-hak, was alive and well. Even he couldn't go full drill sergeant on his own kid. And letting his child write in the first place? That was pure Professor Seo. No wonder he was still teaching there.
"Anyway, I looked for a disciple who writes well, gets along with kids, and has that MZ vibe."
"And I got picked."
"Nah, everyone else turned me down, so I called the one who seemed most free."
"..."
"So, mind sticking with him a bit? Can you handle it?"
"What's the pay?"
"You little shit, picking up bad habits..."
"Don't be such an amateur, Professor."
"No disciple of mine ever refused an old master's request. Get out."
"Yes, sir. Off I go, then."
I pretended to actually stand up and leave, and he finally relented, grabbing at me like he couldn't help it. No matter what, I wasn't a grad student anymore—I couldn't work for free.
"Tch. I raised a real tiger cub."
"Dragon at worst."
"Loach, more like."
We both chuckled a bit, trading barbs. Our version of a joke.
"Alright, here's the deal. Tutoring pay or a TTBS interview spot—which you want?"
"Pardon? An interview?"
"They're rounding up young novelists for an interview and some promo stuff. They asked me for recommendations. Weren't you into that kind of thing?"
"I am, but..."
"Perfect timing, right? I recommend someone without showing my face, you get the interview. Way better than tutoring cash."
"Stingy with your own disciple, huh?"
"You think a professor's salary is some bottomless pit?"
He had a point, anyway. An interview gig beat tutoring pay by a mile. Novelists didn't exactly run out of time from one side hustle like that.
"Fine, I'll take it. That's your son back there, right?"
"How'd you know?"
"You wouldn't talk about this in front of some random kid."
"Fair. Jae-a, come here."
At that, the pretty boy—no, Seo Jae-a—shuffled forward hesitantly.
"Say hi. This is my youngest son, Seo Jae-a. And this is my disciple, Seol-guk."
"Hello, I'm Seol-guk."
"Oh, hi... I'm Seo Jae-a. High school sophomore."
High schooler confirmed. Skinny and scrawny—not my type at all. But he didn't react much to my name, which was a pass. Any Creative Writing Department kid would've gone, "Whoa! Yasunari Kawabata! You know him!" One hundred out of a hundred. That's why I hated my name. If Seo Jae-a had mocked it, tutoring would've been a nightmare.
"Shall we set a schedule? Once a week sound good?"
"Once? Make it twice."
"Twice is a bit..."
"You're a jobless bum who does nothing but write—what else you got going on? Trying to coast? Twice a week!"
"Fine... an hour a day?"
"Two hours!"
Professor Seo bellowed with no room for compromise. No helping it—his logic held up, so I'd bend this time.
"So, what now?"
"Grab some food. Think of it as orientation."
"You footing the bill with a card?"
"You freeloading punk..."
"Kidding."
I backpedaled quick. Even I wouldn't mooch that far. Glancing out the window, the rain was letting up. The dakgalbi joint near campus would do—high schoolers love that stuff. And I wasn't complaining.
"Let's go, then?"
"Uh, yeah."
The kid lacked guts, which wasn't ideal, but from here on, I was his teacher. First step: get friendly. A drink would've helped, but sadly, he was underage.
Heading out with Seo Jae-a, the sky had cleared. Walking, I tossed him a line.
"So, how come you're here instead of school?"
"I don't go."
"Truant?"
"Something like that."
I didn't know what was up with a high school sophomore skipping school, and it wasn't my business. Made scheduling easier for me, anyway.
"Pick a time that works and text me. Not mornings or too late—say, after lunch when you're hungry again. No weekends; I need my rest. Tuesdays and Fridays at 4 p.m. sound good."
"If you're deciding everything, why ask?"
"Then name your time."
"Tuesdays, Fridays, 4 p.m."
"..."
Cocky little shit.
"Where we meeting?"
"Here, obviously?"
"Nah, I hate it. Feels weird coming to college. And... what do I call you?"
"Just 'hyung'."
"You're graduated now. Keeps coming back looks bad."
"What's the big deal?"
Jae-a shut up at that. Knew my rep around the department? Not surprising—Professor Seo must've spilled.
"My place and Professor Seo's are far. Meeting here's easiest. Free study rooms, too."
"Cheapskate."
Hoo, craving a smoke. We got to the dakgalbi place and sat. Seo Jae-a set the table naturally—polite in that sense, at least.
"Orientation time?"
"Just us two, though."
"Anyway. Got anything you're writing now? What do you wanna write?"
"...Do I have to say? Just critique and edit what I show you."
"How can I teach without knowing? This ain't exam prep."
"Whatever."
"Name some authors you like, then."
"Don't wanna."
"You sure you want tutoring?"
"Dad forced me. I'll just kill time."
What a brat. Playing along would be easy on me, but Professor Seo would chew me out later. Needed to draw him out, but this prickly teen punk wouldn't budge.
Surprisingly, Jae-a spoke first.
"Hyung, I read your novel."
That caught me off guard. I got decent reviews, but I wasn't some rich, famous success story. Hard to imagine a kid this young picking it up.
"Yeah? Which one? What'd you think?"
"The Boy's Womb. Can I be honest?"
"Shoot."
Whatever trash a kid talked, it wouldn't hurt. I'd heard worse from Professor Seo.
"Honestly? It was fun. Well-written, strong themes. I liked it."
"Better than expected."
"But kinda uncomfortable."
"How so?"
"Side characters were flat. Too inhuman."
"Inhuman?"
"Yeah. Especially the women."
"Fair enough."
I smirked wryly. Might rub a young kid the wrong way. But better he knew upfront.
"One tip, Seo Jae-a."
"Yeah?"
"I don't call it inhuman. I call it feminine."
"...What?"
"The protagonist of The Boy's Womb calls himself a 'byproduct of a failed abortion.' Know how many successful abortions happen in the world every year?"
About forty million.
"Forty million women killing their own kids."