The Faith of Noah

In the Bible, Noah received a divine revelation and began building an ark. People must have called him crazy. An old man constructing a massive ship, claiming the world would be flooded, even though not a single drop of rain had fallen. And it wasn't for a day or two—he kept at it for years. If it had been me, I probably would have laughed. If the middle-aged man next door suddenly started building a boat in his yard, ranting that the world was ending, even I would have considered reporting him first. Still, Noah did it. For the single reason that God had told him to. Without any evidence, without anything happening right before his eyes. He prepared for the end of the world on faith alone.

Come to think of it, I wasn't all that different. Half belief that this was real, half denial that it was all fake. Those bizarre notification windows that refused to disappear from my sight. The claim that zombies would appear in a thousand days. The command to train a slave. The words sounded grandiose, but in reality, there was no substance to any of it. There were no zombies yet. The world was perfectly normal. Customers came to the convenience store, shipments arrived, rent was paid, and my older sister stayed holed up in her room, staring at her phone. The only thing that had changed was a single window visible only to me. That was all.

The internet. Movies. Comics. Novels. I'd seen plenty of them. The fact that someone like me—with almost no real human relationships—didn't feel particularly lonely was probably thanks to all that. Even without meeting people, there was plenty to watch and listen to, and meaningless videos flowed endlessly. In the process, I'd come across this kind of setup countless times. A system suddenly appears. Status windows become visible. The world is supposedly ending. The protagonist is a little surprised at first but quickly accepts it. Then they start moving like it's nothing. They analyze the status windows, utilize their abilities, gather people, and seize opportunities. Some of them even start out as pitiful, ugly virgins like me. They begin as pathetic losers, but the moment a system appears, they suddenly gain sharp judgment. Their fear disappears, they become decisive, and they even boldly approach women. It's a convenient, plot-armor kind of development, but when it actually happens to me, all I can do is scratch my head.

How can they be so certain? That this is real. That they haven't gone insane. That what they see before their eyes isn't a delusion. If everything happening is only in my head, then I should just live normally. Go to work. Come home. Eat. Sleep. Go to work again. That kind of routine. That would be better. Don't you see that kind of twist in movies sometimes? At the end, it turns out everything was a dream. Or the protagonist was actually mentally ill. Or everything that happened was just a hallucination. Maybe the status window I'm seeing is the same. Other people's personal information. Details that look like they'd be on an ID card. Number of times they've had intercourse. It looks like real data, but it could just be numbers my brain is making up on its own. I have no way to confirm whether it's real or not.

The part about turning women into slaves is ridiculous too. I have no idea what a socially awkward virgin like me is supposed to do. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠"Oh, a system appeared. Guess I'll start hitting on women now." This woman has this personality, this kind of past, so if I target these points it'll work. Listen to her worries, solve her problems. Easy to say. It works in novels. The protagonist approaches with unnatural calmness, strikes at the opponent's weakness, shakes them up just enough, and eventually brings them to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his side. Unlike the real me, he's incredibly calculated and brave. Some go even further. They think "screw it" and threaten or straight-up assault someone, then later it gets glossed over with lines like "she became enchanted by my power" or "it all worked out in the end." While reading, I just accepted it. But when I actually think about it, it's nothing but anxiety-inducing elements. What if she screams? What if she reports me? What if it's caught on CCTV? One wrong move and I'm behind bars. My life is over. The protagonists who believe in it like fanatics and actually carry it out suddenly seem impressive. I wasn't like that. I didn't have the guts. There wasn't a single woman who liked me. I didn't even have any female friends. The convenience store had a lot of solo night shifts, so there was little chance for deep human relationships. A quick greeting with the other part-timer during shift change. A few necessary words with customers while ringing them up. That was it. How was I supposed to develop anything from that?

The most horrifying possibility was something else. That all of this might really be part of a mental illness. They say some people with schizophrenia don't even realize they're crazy. Why would I be any different? I think I'm fine, but crazy people probably think they're fine too. Looking at it rationally, there was only one answer. Act like nothing's wrong. Live exactly as I always have. That was the safest option. The problem was that it wasn't as easy as it sounded. It wasn't urgently pressuring me to do anything, but ignoring it completely felt too uneasy. The notification window simply displayed the date and stayed quiet, as if waiting for me to figure it out and move on my own. That made it even more unsettling. There had to be a reason it told me to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠turn a woman into a slave. Maybe it was far more important than I thought. If this was real. If it was truly real. If I kept spacing out like this, I'd end up as the first extra to die screaming in the zombie outbreak the system mentioned. The kind of role that lets out one shriek and exits the stage. The kind whose name no one even remembers.

Right. Let's circle back to the story of Noah. If I twist it just a little, I can make this assumption. What if Noah had been incredibly wealthy? If he was the kind of person for whom building a single massive ship was no big deal? It would still look like madness. It would be treated as eccentricity, but honestly, that would be the extent of it. If a real flood came, great. If not, he could use it for something else. How convenient. In other words. If the risk was nonexistent. Or absurdly low. Then the situation flips entirely. That was exactly how I felt. Was there any reason not to do it?

Flying through the sky ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠is possible. Because we have airplanes. Going into space is possible too. We've advanced that far. Then what about traveling at the speed of light? Impossible. Well, it's not like I've read any related papers, and I don't have deep knowledge in that field. I'm just making a rough judgment based on things I've picked up here and there. Still, it seems unreasonable. Maybe it'll be possible someday. But not now. It's the same logic. A person can fly through the sky. Just get on a plane. But a person flying to the moon with their bare body is impossible. There are things in this world that are physically impossible. No need to even think about them. What can't be done, can't be done.

There were also things decided by other standards. Things the body could do, but the mind prevented. Or more precisely, the heart. Anyway, things like that. A prime example is morality. Is it okay to sacrifice others just to save myself? If someone paid me, could I stomp a kitten to death? If pressing a button killed one stranger and deposited a huge sum into my account, could I press it? I've seen it discussed a few times online. The comments were always similar. I couldn't do it. I would do it. It's a stranger anyway, right? What did the kitten ever do wrong? In my case, it was ambiguous. Sometimes it felt like I could, but when actually faced with it, I probably couldn't. Sometimes it felt like I couldn't, but maybe I'd do it surprisingly easily. Most ordinary people would probably feel the same. So I asked myself. Possible? Or impossible?

"……."

The answer came quickly. Possible. Not the obstacle of blood relation, nor the way my body froze up in front of women. The thought that came to me at that moment wasn't any of those. Should I give it a test run? Well, she's my older sister. The decision was easier than I expected.

“…, Hey. Come over here.”

A drier voice than I expected came from my throat. It wasn't like we had a humidifier in the house, and I'd been keeping my mouth shut for a while. The inside of my throat felt parched. The blanket beside me twitched slightly.

“Uh, uh…? Why?”

“Never mind that, just come here.”

I never called my older sister “Noona.” It was always “Hey.” “You.” Something like that. It wasn't so much a hostile sibling relationship as it was a long-established superior-subordinate dynamic. The fact that she was four years older than me held almost no meaning. It had been that way since we were very young. When I called, she came. When I ordered, she obeyed. That power dynamic had continued for a long time. These days it was even more so. Now it was closer to a relationship between a guardian and a dependent.

“Hurry up.”

When I spoke again in a low voice, the rustling from inside the blanket grew urgent. A moment later, my older sister slowly sat up.

“Y-yeah…”

Even as she answered, she hesitated and didn't come right away. I pushed myself fully upright from my half-lying position.

“What are you doing?”

“……”

My older sister approached cautiously, watching me like a criminal. Even though I couldn't see her face, I knew she was thinking all sorts of things. None of it mattered to me. Her characteristic hesitation irritated me, so I reached out, grabbed her forearm, and yanked her toward me.

“Ah!”

Her short yelp brushed past my ear, and the weight of her body delivered a dull impact, but I didn't care. This position was a bit uncomfortable.

“Turn around.”

“W-why…?”

She must not have understood my sudden coercive attitude; I could feel her body stiffening. Her voice trembled with fear.

Instead of answering, I pressed her.

“Are you going to keep annoying me? If I tell you to do something, do it.”

“…, Y-yes.”

A slightly raised tone. As always, that alone was enough to make her obedient. A chuckle almost escaped me, but I didn't show it. Not that she could see my expression in the dark anyway.

“……”

My older sister slowly turned and sat with her back to me. She was as large as a small mountain, but her frame was unmistakably that of a woman. Her shoulders were narrow compared to her height, which was slightly taller than mine, giving her an oddly frail appearance. The realization that this pig-like older sister was still a woman hit me viscerally, and without hesitation I stretched out both arms. I passed them under her armpits and wrapped around her upper body from behind, restraining her.

“Uh…? Uh, uh?”

Squish. Over her oversized free-size short-sleeve shirt, I grabbed her enormous breasts in one go. The F-cup listed in the status window. They really were big. It didn't feel like sagging from fat—it felt like real breasts. My hands weren't small, yet I still couldn't fully grasp them, which gave me a strange sense of awe. My entire palms filled with unbelievably soft, squishy flesh. The skin beneath the thin fabric felt unusually warm. She didn't seem to be wearing a bra. Did she take it off to sleep? I'd never seen her nipples poking through her clothes before, so I made that guess. Thanks to that, the full, heavy weight of her breasts rested completely in both my hands without any obstacles. Then I roughly grabbed the other one too.

“Hngh.”

“Oh.”

When I repeatedly squeezed and released her incredibly elastic breasts with moderate pressure, the soft flesh helplessly deformed every time my fingers sank in. So this is what breasts feel like. People say they're similar to the fat on the underside of an arm, and while that's somewhat true, it's also different. Maybe because the contact area with my palms is so large. “U-um…”

I buried my face in the nape of her neck as she fidgeted anxiously.

“Sssip.”

I took a long breath in. The faint scent of shampoo and body wash. Just because she didn't go outside didn't mean she lived filthily. Even though she stayed cooped up in the house, she washed herself properly. That made sense—she cleaned the house meticulously too. Of course she'd take care of her own body. It did mean extra spending on daily necessities, but I preferred clean over dirty too. As I kept pressing my nose against the skin of her neck and inhaling, her natural scent subtly mixed in beneath the soap. There was a stereotype that Westerners had strong body odor, but fortunately, my older sister had inherited our father's Korean blood strongly in that regard. Instead of an unpleasant sour smell, it was a cozy, comforting scent that pleasantly stimulated the brain.

“Ah, it hurts…!”

I must have gotten excited without realizing it and squeezed her breasts harder than intended. Because of the pain, both her hands hurriedly overlapped on top of mine. Even though she was taller than me, her hands were a full knuckle smaller. She didn't dare push me away with any real force; her delicate hands simply rested there anxiously.

“N-no…. Ah, uh, uh.”

“Shut up.”

“…, Mmm.”

She floundered, not knowing what to do, but there wasn't the slightest hint of resistance. Honestly, if she'd shown even a little rejection, I had been ready to stop. If she pushed me away saying she hated it. If she screamed. If she cried and resisted. I wasn't that much of a monster. Though that's not something a guy trying to rape his own older sister should be saying. I did have some boundaries. But my guess had been exactly right, so all I could do was let out a hollow laugh.

“That’s…, um, uh. Eh, eh?”

“Put your arms down.”

“…, Uu.”

Wondering what her bare breasts would feel like, I roughly shoved my hand under the hem of her t-shirt. My older sister reflexively grabbed my arm in surprise, trying to stop me, but she froze at my command, then slowly let go.

“……”

Was this really okay? Was this for real? Even as I groped a woman's body for the first time in my life, that was the only thought in my head. Isn't this too easy? As her younger brother, if nothing else, I was genuinely worried about her.