Real Doll (2): Trauma Confectionery

Lee Beom-su, the chairman of Trauma Confectionery, was a man who had devoted his youth to work. The small shop his father left behind wasn't much—just a bit larger than a neighborhood corner store with around twenty employees. But Lee Beom-su used it as his foundation to grow the business. He hadn't learned much in his impoverished early days, but he worked tirelessly. His twenties and thirties flew by in a blur, and before long, Trauma Confectionery had become a reputable company well-known to the public.

Turning forty, Lee Beom-su reaped the rewards of his sacrificed youth: ownership of a company with annual sales in the billions. "I've succeeded. This is the payoff for not wasting my prime."

Of course, he took pride in his achievements. But one day, he collapsed from high blood pressure and teetered on the edge of life and death. That's when the thought struck him: "If I die now... what happens to my company?"

It wouldn't simply vanish into thin air. He pictured the faces of his vice president and executives one by one. Not a single one inspired trust. No... handing over the company he'd poured his life into to his subordinates was unthinkable!

"I need to have a child. An heir to inherit the company."

At the late age of forty-two, he married. His bride was a refined, composed noblewoman five years his junior. Yet the heir he so desired didn't come easily. She got pregnant soon after the wedding but miscarried shortly thereafter. Three years later, they finally had a son, only for him to die suddenly from respiratory failure at seven months old.

Amid despair, Lee Beom-su kept building the company. Burying himself in work seemed to dull the grief. "What if we can't have kids? As long as we're happy together as a couple, that's enough. Haha."

"Darling..."

She knew his words masked his deep longing for an heir. By then, Lee Beom-su had passed fifty, and the company had expanded overseas, hitting sales of one trillion won. But the child he yearned for still eluded them.

"I'm sorry, but given Madam's age, pregnancy carries a high risk of difficult labor." To make matters worse, the doctor even suggested infertility treatments.

Yet his wife was determined to fulfill his wish. Having lost two children to miscarriage and illness herself, she too burned with the resolve to bear and raise one. So, in her mid-forties, she boldly pursued pregnancy. With utmost care, she successfully gave birth, but complications from hemorrhage and pregnancy-induced hypertension claimed her life.

"Our baby... please take good care of our child, darling. Our daughter... Isia..."

With her dying breath, she named their daughter and gazed one last time at the face she'd longed to see, tears in her eyes, before slipping away forever.

Lee Beom-su's grief over losing his beloved wife was beyond words. This hard-won child was Isia. From birth, she was destined to be the heir to Trauma Confectionery.

"Isia, your father will protect you no matter what."

He vowed at her mother's grave to love the girl enough for both parents. True to his word, Isia grew into a healthy, intelligent child. She inherited her mother's beauty and her father's brilliance. By elementary school, everyone acknowledged her talents. Perfect in every way, she was sociable too—always the leader and center of her friends' circle.

But not everyone looked kindly on such a perfect Isia. There were those who resented her—namely, the executives who would naturally inherit the company after Lee Beom-su's death if she weren't in the picture. Vice President Kim Wan-yong chief among them.

"What are we going to do, Vice President? Are we just going to let that brat steal the company?"

"Why not just kill her? Make it look like an accident..."

"Hold on. That's too risky. Let's handle it legally."

"Do you have some plan, Vice President?"

"The key is her inheritance ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠rights. If we nullify those, we're golden."

"Is there a way?"

"We need to contact Blackstars. I have some connections there."

"Blackstars

The cornerstone of the Real Doll system was the trust that selections were truly random. If they weren't, it would become a terrifying law allowing anyone ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to turn desired women into Real Dolls at will. But in the shadowy underbelly beyond the reach of ordinary folk, filthy conspiracies festered.

That dark hand reached Isia on her twentieth birthday. She was a college student enjoying her youth in the land of the free, America. That day, like any other, she walked the streets surrounded by friends.

"Isia, it's your birthday today, right? We're partying!"

"Hmm~ What should we do?"

"Obviously party! If a social butterfly like you skips her birthday bash, who won't? James and Lily are dying to come!"

Isia's charm had already ensnared foreigners too. The girls flanking her were less friends than followers. Word of her status as a chaebol heiress was already juicy gossip. Even among seemingly equal friends, hierarchies existed—and Isia always reigned at the top, the pinnacle of the caste.

"Still... it's your twentieth, right?"

"Yeah, twenty by international age. Though America doesn't use that."

"Doesn't the twentieth feel... kinda scary?"

"Scary how?"

One friend twirled her hair nervously and dropped the ominous bombshell.

"You know... the age for Real Doll selection."

"Real... Doll? Oh, that system run by the big corp Blackstars? Pfft~ They pick fewer than ten worldwide. Worry about winning the lottery instead. Haha!"

"But my cousin got dragged away during her home birthday party at twenty, turned into a Real Doll, and came back. My dad resisted and got his bones broken."

"Th-that happened?"

Hearing a real victim's tale made the urban legend chillingly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠real.

"Being a Real Doll is miserable. My cousin's engagement was annulled, her ID confiscated, kicked out of home. Too pricey for an owner, so she's homeless now, gangbanged in shelters. Her recognition glitched—calls every bum 'Master' and services them sexually."

"That's horrific... How could they do that?"

Rumors were one thing, but confirming it existed was incomprehensible. Why did international law permit it?

"Hey, hey! Why worry about that? Isia's not like us—she's a big corp heiress. Upper crust like her won't get picked."

"Exactly. Even if her name pops up randomly, they'd be like, 'Wait, Trauma Confectionery chairman's daughter? Swap her out!'"

"They protect their own. Jealous~"

As friends joked around, the Real Doll topic faded, envy of Isia taking center stage.

"Isia's pretty, rich... Life's so unfair."

"Aw, come on. What'd I do?"

"It's true. Winners and losers are decided at birth. Know what? James from the football team plans to confess at your party!"

"For real? That star quarterback locked for the NFL?!"

"Different worlds. So jealous. I'm killing myself over GPA for jobs~ Wish I had a chairman dad~"

"Seriously! Quit it, you guys. I'm just an ordinary person like you!"

Just as Isia snapped in mock frustration at their envious teasing, a black limousine pulled up. Suited men disembarked, surrounding the coeds.

"Wh-what is it, mister?"

"That's her."

They compared a photo to Isia and nodded. The friends except the cousin's storyteller didn't grasp it, hugging Isia protectively. She was just as baffled.

"What are you doing to our Isia?!"

"Yeah! Don't worry, Isia. We've got you! We're friends!"

"She's not a friend. She's a Real Doll."

"...What?"

The arms around her loosened. Friends subtly distanced themselves. International law declared: Real Dolls are not human. Treating or defending them as such brands one mentally ill, subject to special protective measures. Euphemism for imprisonment.

"G-guys? We're friends, right?"

"........."

"........."

They who'd been arm-in-arm chattering about parties now averted their eyes. Refusing reality, Isia resisted—a common scene during Real Doll enforcement, met with indifference. But she was desperate.

"M-my dad's the chairman of Trauma Confectionery. H-he has connections in media and politics... D-Dad won't let this slide!"

"Escort Real Doll Isia."

"Let go! Let me go! What did I do wrong...? I'm human! I'm human! I'm not some Real Doll...!"

She thrashed to escape. If she could just reach Dad, it'd be okay. Worst case, hide in the basement. He'd protect her.

"Kidnapping!! This is kidnapping!! Help!! Somebody!!"

"Real Dolls have no rights."

"Mmph...!!"

A handkerchief clamped over her mouth from behind weakened her struggles. It was laced with sedative for subduing.

"Is-Isia..."

"Are you Isia's friends?"

"Uh, w-we..."

"She's a Real Doll now. Act wisely. Overprotecting one might get you modified too."

"Y-yes, sir..."

After stern warnings, the Blackstars mega-corp employees vanished with Isia, trunk-loaded like luggage to the modification facility.

"...Ugh... uuu..."

Awakening, her limbs were locked to machines, immobile. A metal helmet pinned her head; wires snaked into every crevice.

"Wh-what?! Where am I?! Get me out! Let me see my dad! Dad!! Daaaad!!"

Be careful in America, okay? Dad lives for you alone. You're my daughter, destined to inherit Trauma Confectionery someday. His parting words before her studies abroad brought tears. That gentle father—she'd felt guilty leaving for four years. Now, only cold machinery touched her skin, stark reality.

"You bastards... filthy bastards. Kidnapping innocents... hooking them to freaky machines...! You're demons... I won't forgive you. Never!!"

Isia's screams fell on deaf ears. Automated surgery ignored tears.