They say a man only cries three times in his life, don't they?
When he's born, when he goes to the military, and when his parents pass away. That's the saying, right? But if you have to cry at both your mom's and dad's funerals, wouldn't that make it four times, not three? Anyway, that's not important, so let's move on.
To get to the point: I cry a lot.
If the idea that a man only cries three times and crying more makes you a woman were true, I'd probably have turned into one back in elementary school.
Maybe I'm just weak-willed, or maybe I'm too sensitive. Whenever someone scolds me, I burst into tears. One hit, and I'm bawling on the spot. My older brother took care of me a lot when I was younger because of this. Sure, when we were alone at home, he'd rough me up out of boredom, but honestly, it's fine. Now that I'm in my twenties, I don't hold any grudges against him.
Like my brother or sister used to say, I'm spineless. Whenever something unexpected happens, I just cry without even trying to deal with it. That's about seventy percent of my childhood memories.
Moving out to Seoul on my own was one of my attempts to toughen up my fragile personality. I figured if I faced enough trials and errors alone, my tofu-like mentality might harden a bit. So, I left home impulsively and settled in Seoul.
Life was tough, no doubt, but I managed to get by somehow.
Sure, I naively applied for that brutal delivery loading job through a part-time app, but I gritted my teeth and got through it. My house disappearing? Fine. Falling into a gender-reversed world? Okay. Being dragged by the wrist by some woman I don't know? Alright.
It's fine. I can handle it.
But no matter how many times I told myself it was fine, this situation was not fine.
My emotions surged, my breathing grew ragged, and before I knew it, my eyes reddened, tears streaming down my face.
Why, out of all the people in the world, was this happening to me?
What did I do wrong? What made me so different that I was suddenly thrown into this gender-reversed world without any warning?
No matter how much I tried to brush it off, I couldn't. A wave of frustration and injustice crashed over me like a tsunami.
I clenched my fists, trying to hold back the tears, but once they started, they poured out like water from a broken dam, unstoppable.
Sighing, I wiped the tears from my eyes with my hand. My sleeve soaked up the moisture, and my blurred vision, like a watercolor painting smeared with water, cleared up.
The first thing I saw clearly was Yejin, staring at me from inside the elevator.
"Why are you suddenly crying…?"
I must've looked ridiculous to her. A grown man sobbing out of nowhere? I'd think he was pathetic too. She probably saw me as some spineless loser.
Just as Yejin opened her mouth to say something, the elevator chimed.
Ding.
With a clear, melodic sound, the elevator stopped.
"Let's go home. And stop crying—people might get the wrong idea."
Yejin grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the elevator.
Home? I'll say it again: I don't have the money to live in a fancy high-rise like this.
Yejin unlocked the front door at a steady pace, neither fast nor slow. The passcode was 0605.
0605… A trivial detail, but June 5th is my birthday.
"Come in," she said, stepping inside first and holding the door open, looking at me as if waiting for me to follow.
I stared at her for a moment with my now-dry eyes, then decided to enter. For some reason, I felt like she'd keep holding the door open, staring at me, until I did. No logic, just a gut feeling.
Inside, I saw a spacious shoe closet, about the size of a bathroom with a shower stall. Despite its size, there were only a pair of dress shoes and some indoor slippers—nothing else. What a waste of space. Another notable feature was the ceiling, which seemed twice as high as a normal house's. Whether it was an optical illusion or not, the place felt wide and airy.
I put my shoes in the closet and slipped on a pair of soft indoor slippers, likely prepared for guests. Following Yejin, I noticed the interior was as neat as a model home. The cushions on the sofa, the remote and magazines on the table—everything was perfectly arranged.
I thought you only saw this kind of interior in showrooms, but someone actually lives like this?
As I looked around, I noticed a slightly open door. I debated whether to close it or just sit on the sofa and ignore it when Yejin spoke.
"I need to change the water in the master bedroom's plant."
"Oh, okay."
The master bedroom's plant? I had no idea where the master bedroom was. I'd never been here before—how would I know? Still, I made a guess: the master bedroom's probably the most private spot, deep inside the house, right? It's called the "inner" room for a reason. Based on that, the slightly open door I saw earlier must be it.
With that in mind, I walked over and fully opened the door.
Inside was a spacious room with one wall made entirely of glass. Neon lights from outside shimmered into the room, illuminating a massive bed in the center. Above the headboard hung a large framed photo.
I looked up at it. There I was, dressed in white, standing next to Yejin in a black suit.
I stepped closer to read the photographer's note in the bottom left corner of the frame:
May 3, 2020 – Congratulations to Han Areum and Lee Yejin on their marriage.
Photographer Ko Young-woo, Baek-
May 3, 2020? What kind of nonsense is this? I shook my head and looked at the photo again.
There I was, wearing some kind of robe-like outfit, my cheeks flushed like I'd had blush applied, my lips red as if coated with gloss. Nausea hit me. Is it normal for men to wear makeup in this world?
Suppressing the urge to gag, I studied the photo closely. No matter how I looked at it, it was undeniably me.
May 3rd… What was I doing that day?
I tried to recall, but nothing specific came to mind. One thing was certain: I didn't get married to some stranger that day. It's absurd. Yet here was this absurd reality staring me in the face.
Did I get transported to a parallel universe?
In sci-fi shows like Doctor Who or Star Trek, this kind of plot is so overdone it's practically cliché. But no matter how I thought about it, there was no other explanation for my situation.
So, in this gender-reversed world, Han Areum is already married, but for some reason, I—the non-gender-reversed version—swapped places with him?
Even Bernard Werber would slap his knee and call this ridiculous.
"Still not done?" Yejin's voice called from afar.
"I'm working on it!"
My head was a mess, filled with all sorts of thoughts, but I decided to deal with them later.
I picked up the plant pot from the bedside table and started pouring water into it from the showerhead in the master bedroom's bathroom. Changing or refilling the water—same difference, right? After, I placed the pot back and headed to the kitchen.
Yejin was sitting at the table, hands neatly placed on top, staring at me. I sat across from her, unsure what else to do, and just looked at her.
As I observed her silently, she seemed older—not in a wrinkled, aged way. Her skin was flawless, without a single blemish or wrinkle, so calling her "old-looking" would be rude. But her aura, her calm and mature demeanor, made her seem more adult-like. Her long hair, neatly tucked behind her back, reminded me of the polished, high-earning professional women you see in dramas.
As I kept staring, Yejin furrowed her brows.
What's her deal?
"I changed the plant's water. Anything else you need?"
"I'm hungry. Make me food."
Oh, that's what it was. She was waiting for dinner. Why didn't she just say so?
If someone asks for food, it's only human to make it, right?
Sure, you could argue why I'd cook for a stranger, but let's not forget: in this parallel world, Han Areum is married to Lee Yejin.
If I suddenly said, "Why should I cook? Am I your maid? I've never cooked in my life," wouldn't that seem suspicious? Of course it would.
I don't want to start a fight over something so ridiculous. So, I got up and opened the fridge. Fine, I'll cook. Luckily, I'm decent at cooking.
Inside the fridge were meat, potatoes, carrots, milk, garlic—everything I needed, neatly arranged in rows.
Status window.
User: Han Areum.
Or should it be my original world's name? User: Kang Areum.
"What are you doing with the fridge door open?" Yejin asked.
"Nothing, I didn't do anything."
"No, I heard you say something."
"You must've misheard."
In web novels, people dropped into gender-reversed worlds often get perks like a status window. So where's mine? I was kind of hoping for one. You know, like in cooking novels where you click the status window, and it tells you, "This potato is a five-star ingredient," or "This curry is a three-star dish."
So, I ended up in a gender-reversed world as someone's husband, with no cheat abilities? If my life were a novel, that'd be the title.
With those thoughts swirling, I scanned the fridge's contents and made a rough plan. Something simple would do.
I grabbed potatoes, carrots, onions, and beef, then headed to the sink. I put a pan on the stove to heat up and started peeling the vegetables with a peeler.
I decided to make katsu curry.