I woke up to the sound of birds chirping. My head, pickled in the haze of a hangover, throbbed as if someone were driving an axe into it. Ignoring the pain, I half-rose from the bed and lifted my arms in front of my eyes.
They were pale. As pale as someone who'd never seen sunlight their entire life. Staring at my arms, I quietly got out of bed and headed to the bathroom. The mirror told me everything.
Last night wasn't a dream.
My body, which had never known a single tattoo in its life, was now covered in them. A fox stretched from my upper chest to the center of my neck, its muzzle reaching up as if to kiss my chin, surrounded by black flowers that seemed to embrace it. The design continued along my left shoulder, extending to the edge, where it gave way to more artwork. A wolf's face covered my entire left arm, reaching the bone of my wrist, with clouds swirling around it and strange, curling letters that looked like some kind of alphabet.
I touched the tattoos on my body, then looked at my face and let out a bitter laugh. A face like a gigolo's, with golden eyes.
"Hey, with this face, Mom and Dad won't even recognize me. There's still… something I haven't done."
I ran my fingers along my sharp jawline, chuckling softly, then extended my left arm and threw a punch at the idiot staring back at me in the mirror.
*—Crash! Crack.*
The mirror shattered as I watched my reflection break into pieces. Shards of glass dug into the knuckles of my punching hand. Staring at my mangled fingers, I saw red blood trickling down my pale hand, mingling with the tiny glass fragments embedded in my skin. The sight, along with the pain pulsing through my hand, cooled my head and brought me to the most urgent realization.
What happened to my parents?
I couldn't be sure this surreal transformation becoming someone else had only happened to me. Leaving the bathroom, blood dripping from my hand, I tore through the house like a madman, searching for my phone, which I couldn't even remember where I'd left. When I finally found it, my heart pounded as I hesitated to dial.
The horrifying thought that neither Mom nor Dad would answer my call froze my fingers. As I wavered, blood from my hand dripped onto the phone, staining the screen red.
But I had to muster the courage. For myself, and for my foolishly kind parents. I wiped the blood off the screen, smearing it roughly, and dialed Mom's number.
"Please pick up… Please, just answer…"
I waited, anxious. But my hopes were brutally betrayed as an unbearable sound came through the phone.
"The number you have dialed does not exist…"
I stared blankly at the number I'd entered, wondering if I'd misheard.
It's definitely Mom's number. When did she change it? Without telling me?
My mind was spiraling, but before I could lose myself to denial, I mechanically dialed Dad's number. It didn't exist either.
I stood frozen until the call disconnected on its own.
---
Ryu Sehwa. From a young age, he had a prodigious talent: fighting. Thanks to that, he ruled the streets until middle school. In high school, he stumbled into mixed martial arts and dreamed of conquering the world.
At 22, hailed as a monster and a top prospect, he crushed every opponent in his path, on the verge of entering an American MMA competition. The night before, after training, he was heading home, craving his mom's kimchi stew, when he saw a woman being assaulted by four men in a dark, narrow alley, crying out in desperation. It was late, and the streets were nearly empty. Sehwa rushed in, took down the bastards, and was about to help the limp woman when a searing pain hit him from behind. Something struck his shoulder, shattering the bone.
He spun around and kicked the attacker's head with all his might, sending the man crumpling like a broken kite, his weapon falling from his hand. Sehwa took the woman to the police station, then went straight to the hospital for emergency surgery on his shoulder. But the doctors told him his fighting career was over. Ignoring their words, Sehwa returned to the ring after his shoulder healed, but he could never reclaim his former glory. The dragon poised to soar had its wings clipped, reduced to a mere serpent crashing to the ground.
The people who'd flocked to him, drawn by his potential, vanished like a mirage. The rivals he'd once crushed swarmed him like hyenas tearing at a wounded lion. Awe turned to disdain, and jealousy morphed into mockery, each jab piercing him deeper.
Day by day, Sehwa realized his broken body could no longer survive in his world. Fighting was his entire life, and without it, he was lost. He turned to alcohol and cigarettes, his body deteriorating until he had no choice but to retire.
A flower crushed before it could bloom.
Sehwa thought to himself, (Who was it that said to leave when the applause is loudest?)
(Fuck, I didn't even get to hear the applause before I was forced out.)
His mounting emotions turned to rage, and he ended up doing something unforgivable in front of his parents.
*—Crash!*
"That damn bitch, whether she lived or died! I should've just walked away, fuck! Why did this happen to me?!"
Deep down, Sehwa knew it wasn't the woman's fault.
His parents, watching him in the wreckage of the house he'd trashed in his blind rage, simply looked at him in silence, tears streaming down their faces. He wished they'd yelled at him, called him crazy. But in their tearful eyes, he saw only worry, guilt, and a desperate wish that they could take his pain instead. They were foolishly kind, and so was he. Overwhelmed by self-loathing and guilt, Sehwa fled the house.
He couldn't face them again.
At first, he'd felt proud after receiving the woman's gratitude. He'd clung to the idea that he'd done the right thing, consoling himself like an idiot. But what came to him wasn't reward it was his ruin.
Burdened by guilt, Sehwa wanted to return home and apologize to his parents, but he lacked the courage.
Even as his phone filled with their worried messages every day.
---
Holding the phone in a daze, something welled up in my eyes, hot tears streaming down my face.
I should've apologized before it came to this. I wanted to say I was sorry, to beg for forgiveness, but it was too late. The people I needed to ask for forgiveness were gone. Where could I even turn to say it now?
As I sat on the floor, unable to contain the sobs bursting out of me, my phone rang.
Clinging to a foolish hope, I answered.
"Mom?!"
"Hello, this is Officer Lee Sin-cheol from the Foreign Policy Division. I'm calling regarding the mother-son immigration application your mother filed, which has been approved. You can come by in a few days to pick up your ID. Do you have any questions? …Are you hearing me?"
"Haha… yeah."
I laughed at myself for being such an idiot, still holding onto hope after everything. I hadn't even noticed he called me Sehwa.
I responded, and the officer rambled on about various things before ending with a final remark and hanging up.
"Alright, I'll assume you understand. I'll hang up now, and we'll meet next time."
*Click.*
I felt a burning flame swirl through my emotions like a vortex.
Stupid me, hoping until the end that it might be Mom.
My parents were gone, and this bastard was about to live happily ever after.
My eyes grew cold, and a bitter laugh escaped me.
"…You took away my parents, and now you're going to live happily with your mom? I won't let that happen."
I put down the phone and stood up from the blood-soaked floor, trudging to the kitchen.
I pulled a kitchen knife from the holder by the sink, gripped it upside down, and prepared to end this body's life.
"You took my parents and my original body. So you deserve this too."
Just as the blade, held tightly in my trembling hands, was about to pierce my throat, my phone rang again. I'd long since abandoned any hope. It felt like fate was mocking me. In defiance, I tightened my grip on the knife, then sighed and set it down. As a final act of mercy for this body, I decided to answer the call.
Whether I died after answering or now, it wouldn't change anything.
I tossed the knife carelessly onto the counter, picked up the bloodied phone from the floor, and answered. Who could it be this time?
"Hey, my favorite nephew! It's your aunt. How's my pretty boy doing?"
I knew immediately it wasn't my aunt. Probably this guy's aunt. She wouldn't be speaking Russian otherwise. I was sick of this damn language, but I decided to dig for more information.
If I knew how happy this bastard's life was about to be, it'd make my revenge all the sweeter.
"Hey, Aunt. I'm doing fine. By the way, I got a call saying my immigration was approved…"
"Oh… you mean the application your mom filed for both of you? Congrats… Sehwa."
Her Korean was halting, but I heard it clearly. Did she just call me Sehwa? Thinking I misheard, I asked again.
"Aunt, did you just call me Sehwa?"
"Yeah, you're a Korean citizen now, so I should call you by your Korean name, right? Ryu… Sehwa? That's it, yeah?"
(Of all things, even the name he chose is the same as mine?)
what a ridiculous coincidence. But that didn't mean I'd feel any kinship or spare him.
I responded, "Yeah, that's right. By the way, I'm glad Mom and I can live happily together now."
She must've heard me, but there was no response. After a long pause, she finally spoke.
"What are you talking about? Your mom's funeral and cremation were already done a while ago."
"…What?"
His mom's dead too?
Hearing my shock, the self-proclaimed "aunt" grew worried, raising a fuss over the phone as if she'd come to Korea right away.
"Hey, Ryu Sehwa! Are you taking your meds? Should I come to Korea right now?"
"N-No, I'm fine. I forgot to take my meds, that's all."
"Phew… alright. If anything happens, call me right away."
"Got it. I'll call you later."
After reassuring her several times, I hung up and looked around, lost in thought. My rationality returned, and I abandoned the idea of killing this body for revenge. Honestly, I didn't even know who'd done this to me anymore.
It felt familiar. This house, the furniture it was definitely my home. The clothes I was wearing when I woke up yesterday were mine too. But something felt off.
Was it just my body that changed? Everything around me stayed the same? No, that couldn't be my parents were gone too. Then, a sudden realization hit me.
"…The phone."
A jolt of clarity shot through me like electricity. I opened the phone I'd just used. It wasn't locked.
The app names weren't in Korean they were all in Russian Cyrillic script. Even the date and weather. My body read them instinctively, as if it were second nature.
It was the same model as my phone, but the contents were different. Growing more certain of my theory, I went to the bedside and opened the drawer where I kept my underwear.
As expected, instead of my clothes, there was only a white envelope with the name of a psychiatric clinic and medication details. I recognized it as antidepressants.
I closed the drawer and opened the one below it. What I saw left me stunned, staring in silence without touching anything.
"…You were planning to kill yourself, huh."
---