Rain's coming down, drip-drip.
Droplets splatter the ground, slow and annoying.
Too light for an umbrella, too wet to skip it.
I pop open a small one, glaring up.
Dark-ass clouds churn, crawling by.
Cherry blossoms are dropping like flies.
The last stubborn petals get blown away, piling into sticky, wet clumps in puddles.
A weird vibe hits as I pass the school gate.
Hype for the festival coming up.
Bit of a bummer as April fades.
Both mix and bleed into the rain.
Feels extra damn dreary today.
Ye-young…
Why'd she get all pissy and not even glance my way at the end?
Thinking of her twists my gut like a bad burrito.
She's not the type to shut up if she's mad…
Was she freaked by my giant-ass junk? Kinda cute, not gonna lie.
If she knew I thought that, she'd kick my ass like a stray dog in summer.
I shake off the dumb fantasy and climb the stairs.
I'll deal with her later… not the main shit now.
Today's the final cross-dressing check.
After hours of work, it's time to see the damn result.
Seniors are waiting with brushes and powder, ready to fuck me up.
My heart's thumping like a bassline.
What's gonna greet me?
Some new me I don't recognize?
Or a crazy-ass, cross-dressing, homo nutcase?
No clue. Just pray it's not a shitshow.
I creak open the department clubroom's metal door.
The harsh white light hits me.
Seniors' chatter cuts off as they stare like I'm an alien.
"Yo… I'm here, damn it."
---
Inside a small room in the clubroom.
Seniors hustle, getting to work like they're on a mission.
No full wig—too fuckin' awkward.
Instead, they stick hairpieces to my bangs and braid the back like some chick's extensions.
It's temporary for now, but on festival day, some pro stylist chick's gonna do it right.
"Look up, asshole. Yeah, like that," a senior says.
They slap in contacts and glue on fake eyelashes.
One grabs my eyelids, curling the lashes with a curler.
A weird heat brushes my lids.
Some wild shit… they light a stick and shape my lower lashes like artists.
"Close your damn eyes," another snaps.
Each time I do, the fake lashes weigh heavy, feeling weird as hell.
This gonna be okay?
"Don't open your eyes, dumbass."
They fill in my patchy eyebrows, making them neat as fuck.
I peek and see my black eyes, calm behind the contacts.
Chin, cheeks, forehead.
Lifting tape gets slapped on and ripped off a million times till they nail the angle.
My skin's pulled tight, uncomfortable but kinda soft.
"Hold your breath, idiot."
Brushes sweep my face, over and over.
Powder piles on, endless dabs.
Fix, draw, erase, fix again.
More lashes, curling, lifting.
Sweat's dripping from my hands, nerves on edge.
I sit like a statue, letting them beat my face into shape.
My head's a mess.
Is this right? What if it's a disaster? What if I look like shit?
Nervous hype makes my fingertips slick.
"Lips. Pout, you moron," a senior barks.
Last step, I guess.
Cool tint slides over my lips, smooth and slick.
"Mmm."
I purse and relax them, over and over.
A senior's soft fingers tap my lips, gentle but firm.
"Almost fuckin' done," she says.
They fix my bangs, braid the back, and a curling iron hums like a chainsaw.
My heart's pounding like crazy.
A memory from when I was eight hits.
Back at church, I cross-dressed for the kids' group.
My family was happy then.
Heavy thoughts flash through.
"Joonhyung."
"Open your damn eyes."
I liked it back then, I think.
Kinda suited me.
The memory blurs, heart racing.
Opening my eyes feels like stepping back in time.
I open them slow, hoping it's a good vibe…
---
"Huh?"
I freeze.
The mirror should show me, but there's some chick instead. Where the fuck am I?
My brain short-circuits.
Panicking, I grab the mirror.
My reflection waves back.
"Ha… shit…"
Thought I vanished… it's me.
I chill and look again.
Long, dark hair falls soft.
Black eyes sit calm.
Sharp-ass nose stands out.
Glossy, pouty lips shimmer like they're begging for attention.
Not a hint of the old me.
The back hair covers half my face… I'm a whole new person.
Like some random girl chilling there.
Up close, you might spot some guy-ish awkwardness, but under normal light, it's not screaming "dude."
"Get up, Joonhyung," a senior says.
She drags me to a full-length mirror.
I'm in a lacy top and navy skirt.
A legit schoolgirl stares back.
"Uh… what the…"
This is me? No damn way…
Even with stockings and hair hiding my build, how's this real?
I keep reaching for the mirror, mind blown.
The seniors grin like they just won the lottery.
"Take pictures, yo!" one yells, but others shush her.
"Wanna step out, asshole?" another asks.
Show this off? Kinda fucking embarrassing.
Can't I just pop up on festival day?
They pull me out, and a breeze slips under my skirt, cool and teasing, brushing my thighs.
I shrink, walking all careful.
Why… why am I moving like a chick? Does looking like this really fuck with your head?
The door creaks open, and every eye locks on me.
Gasps slip out like I'm a damn ghost.
Kim Myung-jun, glued to his phone, stares wide-eyed like I'm a freakshow.
Time stops, no one moves.
Just gaping mouths.
"Is… that really Joonhyung, for real?" a senior stammers.
Shit… my face burns, can't look up.
Wasn't shy with the girls, but now? Fuck me…
"A mask would make him look even more like a chick," one says.
"Slap a mask on him, quick!" another yells.
"Quit screwing around, the makeup's a damn masterpiece," a senior snaps.
I shuffle forward, legs shaky.
Their shocked stares burn holes in my back.
Each step feels like knives in my spine.
I stop in the clubroom's center, on display like a damn trophy.
Regret and shame hit like a truck.
Fuckin' hell…
I flop onto the couch, silence thick as mud.
I grip my skirt, breathing hard.
The stares are crushing.
My ears are burning red. Can't breathe, damn it…
A senior takes a deep breath. "Joonhyung? The cross-dressing god Joonhyung?"
"Y-Yeah… it's me, damn it…"
"Holy fuck!" she screams.
"That's his damn voice!"
The skeptical seniors lose their shit, chaos exploding.
"No way this makes sense! How the fuck?!"
"I wanna cross-dress too, damn it!"
Reactions go wild, room turning into a madhouse.
Please, chill… I'm already freaking out!
"Yo, take pictures!" someone yells.
Pictures? Hell no…
I can't say no, though.
The girls lead, snapping shots like paparazzi as I barely sit.
One senior, staring hard, asks dead serious, "Can I lift your skirt?"
"Hell no!" I yell.
Don't even think about it, you damn perv!
I clutch my skirt, and silence drops again.
Why…?
A senior, stone-faced, says, "Just one peek, man."
What the fuck kinda nonsense?!
The others go nuts, rushing me.
"I can't hold back, shit!"
"Line up, you assholes!"
Stop, you crazy bastards!
---
In-ha slams a shot.
"Fuckin' hell…"
The burn rips through her throat, torching her stomach.
"Goddamn it…"
She ain't a total moron.
If it's shady or illegal, she'd bounce.
If anyone tried creepy shit, she had self-defense gear ready to shove up their ass.
Recorder, phone set to call cops—she was ready.
But nothing went down.
Interview was normal, no weird vibes.
Just some odd-looking dudes.
Day one, secretary work.
More like errands—grocery runs, sorting papers.
Mostly bullshit chats with office guys.
Pay was 100,000 won. Probation rate, they said. Full hire's 200,000.
Day two.
Day three. Day four.
Shockingly fuckin' good.
Ten days for a million won? Trip money's nothing.
Why get a real job? This gig's pure gold.
That's what she thought.
Day five fucked it all up.
A big shot needed an escort for a business meeting, but someone bailed.
They asked her to tag along.
She said yes without thinking.
She'd gotten chummy, guard down.
Just part of the job, right?
She followed, no big deal.
But heading down the basement stairs, shit got weird.
This right? Sure, deals happen in sketchy places, but… it's deep as fuck underground.
Seen it in dramas, but for real?
She asked a bunch, but they swore it's just drinks.
Maybe she's tripping? They seemed cool.
No sketchy tattoos, no gangster shit, just office dudes.
If it's bad, she'll run.
A massive basement karaoke room.
Through the window, women in gaudy clothes hustle.
Karaoke hostesses, like in stories. Kinda cool, kinda gross.
"Come on, cheers, damn it!" someone yells.
"Hey, get the secretary a drink, yo," another says.
…Fine.
She wasn't gonna drink.
But the other table's secretary chick chugged like it was nothing.
Didn't wanna kill the vibe. Tons of people here, what's gonna happen?
She downs a few shots.
Feels a bit buzzed.
Then a weird-ass feeling creeps in.
"Huh?"
A normal college girl wouldn't notice.
But In-ha's been through this shit before.
That familiar buzz.
Her vision blurs, body sways.
"Whoa, easy there," someone says, grabbing her shoulder.
A big dude's arm…
Her pupils dilate.
"Fuck me…"
I'm screwed.
She's floored.
They went *this* far?
More shocked than pissed. They really did this?
"I… gotta hit the bathroom…" she mumbles.
"Yeah, go for it," they say.
They let her go, no fuss.
A chance. They didn't think she'd catch on. Probably planned to fuck her over after.
She stumbles out, playing drunk.
Her "I can't handle booze" lie paid off.
Out of the room, she bolts like hell.
Cold sweat pours like a damn river.
Flashy women jump aside, startled.
"Ha… shit…"
Her vision flips.
Same damn feeling.
She grabs the wall, forcing her eyes open.
No… not here…
"You okay?" a hostess asks.
In-ha shoves her away.
Dizzy as hell, she stumbles up the stairs. It's pitch black outside.
"My… car…"
Karaoke joint's near the office.
She parked close.
Hands shaking like crazy, she digs through her memory. Where… where'd I park, damn it?
"Where's that fuckin' bitch?" a voice yells.
She freezes.
Not close, but sounds like they're after her.
"Ha… shit…"
Found it.
She scrambles to her car, yanking the door open.
They're close—she feels it. The drug's screwing her head, heart pounding like a drum.
The engine roars.
Wait…
Can I drive?
Should I… not?
She's driven after a beer or two.
But this… ain't that.
If she stays, they'll nab her…
Her arm moves slow.
She hits the pedal, turns the wheel.
Just… get outta here. Not far.
The second she floors it, the drug hits harder.
Her vision flips like a bad trip.
A blaring horn tears through her ears.