The Birth of a Beauty
For three days I was busy out of my mind. I went back and forth to the police station more times than I could count, and Attorney Park's help made all the difference. Fortunately, the woman who had nearly been sexually assaulted found the courage not to hide. She came to the station herself, and the perpetrator's crimes were proven far more clearly than the mere fact that he had swung a weapon. Hire as expensive a lawyer as he liked—he wasn't going to dodge actual prison time.
"Thank you... thank you so much. I was terrified. He said if I made a sound he'd stab me, so I just kept crying on the inside. Somebody, please help... I went on crying like that the whole time."
"It's all right. Just tell yourself it was the unluckiest day of your entire life, and forget it as fast as you can. Carrying a memory that rotten around only hurts you more."
I had no idea why I was the one offering comfort like that. Even so, the feeling of having saved someone warmed my chest in a way I couldn't quite name. Self-respect, maybe? That felt considerably fuller too, because I could feel, clearly, that I had made a real difference in someone's life.
I burned through a lot of points... but it couldn't be helped. Still, you did well. You did something that actually mattered.
Then how about an achievement? Special mission, hidden condition cleared! Something like that, and the mission completes?
Typical. Always paying me off with words.
Bickering with the Helper, I headed home. Today had been the last statement. From here on Attorney Park would handle things, so I wouldn't have to set foot in the station again. Already my heart was racing ahead of me. I had spent 910 points, and though what remained had crept back a little over the past three days, it was only 2,320. I needed at least 3,000 before Mia's birthday, and barely four days were left.
A murmur. Another murmur.
"Hm?"
I was on my way home, but the street in front of my building was far noisier than usual. I wondered what was going on, and the moment I peeked out, my eyes met someone's through the wall of people packed layer upon layer.
"There!"
"Huh?"
A middle-aged man jabbed a finger at me, and every head around him turned at once. Honestly, I jumped. They weren't zombies, but they came charging in a pack with shrieks, as if they meant to tear the flesh off me.
"Hankook Ilbo! We've been told you're the woman from the video that went up on YouTube recently. Could we get an interview?"
"Daehan Ilbo! We'd be grateful for a few words!"
"Channel B. We'd like a more detailed account of the moment you faced the violent offender one-on-one."
"I'm 2080, YouTube, one and a half million subscribers. I've prepared a groundbreaking concept—could we talk?"
"Uh, uhh? Waaah?"
The press mob flattened me where I stood.
"Hehe! The world really is a beautiful place."
"Hehehe..."
I couldn't stop laughing. When I had been clawing so desperately, it had felt impossibly far away—and then, after I spent 910 points and quietly gave up, I cleared the special mission just like that.
The Helper was right. The kid who had filmed my fierce grapple with the man that day uploaded the video to YouTube, the algorithm chose it, and it blew up into an enormous story. A beautiful young woman subduing an armed criminal with her bare hands? That was bait you couldn't keep from biting. News outlets that caught the scent, internet broadcasters, and YouTubers swarmed in staggering numbers for days. The incident became a scoop and then breaking news, an issue that set the whole country on fire, and because of it I was flooded with calls from people around me.
My three real-life friends, of course, and Mia, Yerin, Yoonjae, and Lac—and even people I had only recently grown close to, like Clemoomoo and Soldier, worried about me with complete sincerity. Worry was worry, though. I contacted the kid who had posted the video, got the source footage, edited it properly, and uploaded it again to my own channel. The channel exploded in a single day. Eighty thousand the first day, a hundred thousand the second, and today, three days on, the subscriber count stood at exactly 127,589.
A thousand points for clearing the special mission. On top of that, a subscriber count that had climbed even higher, and a one-on-one video against the criminal that hit 1.7 million views. The Water Balloons that poured in once I turned the broadcast on were staggering too. Concurrent viewers broke 2,500 for the first time, and fan-club sign-ups hit thirty thousand. In a single moment I had climbed to Lac's level.
Of course it was all from one issue, and the staying power, along with the fans' loyalty, would fade. What mattered to me was that I had smashed a pile of missions and taken in more points. So the points I currently held were, no less than—
"Success, success, a massive success!"
Pour every one of those points into my appearance, and I could obtain looks on a celebrity's level, past anything an ordinary person could reach. I already had more than a face: a mid laner's monstrous carry, and abilities tied to my figure besides. There would be nowhere I went where my looks left me feeling small.
"All right, then—shall we get serious about the customization?"
The looks I had waited so long to finish were finally right in front of me. All those sorrows from when my sex first changed—now, even if I couldn't reach white-haired magical girls or heterochromia or some non-human (?) race, I could still climb comfortably into the ranks of the overpowered.
Eyes, nose, mouth—elements of enormous weight in deciding a face. Then the jawline and the contour, the skin, the alignment of the teeth, the width of the forehead, the proportional lines set by where each feature sat. Factor in the final balance, and there was far too much to think about. But the ability the Goddess had given me was truly broken. Choose an ability, and a sample image rose right before my eyes. I could check it, and decide in peace.
The new abilities cost 3,810 points in all. Upgrading my existing Clear Skin from level 2 to 3 took another 300, for a total of 4,110 spent. What remained was 125. I had used them neatly, thriftily, down to the last scrap.
"......Is this me?"
In my head, the theme from 200 Pounds Beauty—Beautiful Girl—started to play.
I'm a beautiful girl.
I'm a beautiful girl.
These looks are my weapon~!
I looked in the mirror. The first thing to catch my eye was a pair of doe-like eyes that made the word lovely rise on its own, and beneath them, moist lips that stirred a desire to kiss them that very second. Teeth white as pure jade peeked out from under those lips. Above them, a nose bridge swept down clean and sharp. A facial line with not a single harsh angle, more admirable the longer you looked, and skin so clear it seemed you might see through it—the sort of face that would draw a flood of love calls from cosmetics companies begging to shoot just one ad. And the hidden twist of charm: dimples that folded in ever so slightly.
The finest of them all, of course, was naturalness, and the harmony that bound everything into one. A golden balance that restrained a rainbow of strong traits, refined them, and made them a single work of art. I couldn't tear myself away from the mirror for a long while. I tried an eye-smile for no reason, pushed my lips out, and indulged in my own charm. It was a beauty frightening in its degree. A demonic allure.
Until now I had only thought celebrity fangirls and fanboys were pathetic. Now I felt I could understand them. What it felt like for a person to fall for someone—I could understand that now, maybe.
"Huh? I mean, I'm allowed to look in a mirror. Why are you scolding me!"
"What kind of nonsense is— huh?"
I checked the time on my phone. The Helper was right. They say you lose track of time lost in an immortal's pleasures, and this beauty really did have incredible power.
"Ahem. Anyway, I should probably replace this phone. The screen's even cracked."
Embarrassed, I brought up the phone for no good reason. It was the one that had taken serious damage the day I struck the criminal in the face. I would have to swap it for a new model after the joint broadcast with Mia ended.
Or should I just change it first thing in the morning? No. No need to invent complications right before something important. It's going to be a ridiculously busy day as it is.
Mia's birthday broadcast was waiting—a truly important date I had looked forward to for a long time. Still, I felt a little sorry. With my name shooting up so fast, the public's attention was tilting toward my face, about to be revealed for the first time, rather than toward Mia's birthday.
I am sorry... but it can't be helped. I'll just have to pay her back some other way.
Business was business, and personal feelings were personal feelings. The face of mine that would be unveiled on Mia's birthday broadcast...
Time to make a legend.