His reflection confirmed his worst fear. His manhood was gone. In its place was something entirely different—a female reproductive organ.
"What… what… what?!" Beom's voice rose to a panicked shout, his mind struggling to comprehend what he was seeing. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!" His scream echoed through the bathroom, raw and guttural, fueled by disbelief and rage. He stumbled out of the bathroom, his movements frantic.
"Where is it?! WHERE IS MY DICK?!" he yelled, his voice cracking as his hands clutched at his stomach and sides, his breath coming in short, erratic bursts. His eyes darted around the room as if the answer might somehow materialize before him. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?!"
At that moment, the door to the bedroom creaked open. Yaroslav stepped inside, a calm, almost serene expression on his face. In his hands, he carried a tray with a bowl of steaming soup, the aroma wafting through the room.
"Oh, you're awake," Yaroslav said, his voice smooth and casual, as if nothing unusual had happened. He placed the tray on the table near the bed, ignoring Beom's wild, panicked state. "You should eat. You'll need your strength."
Beom's gaze snapped to Yaroslav, and a surge of fury overwhelmed him. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. He took a shaky step forward, his voice trembling with rage. "YOU BASTARD! WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?!" He pointed a trembling finger at Yaroslav, his entire body shaking. "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"
Yaroslav merely raised an eyebrow, his calm demeanor unshaken by Beom's outburst. "Kill me?" he repeated, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "How, exactly, do you plan to do that in your current state?"
Beom's vision blurred with tears of rage and humiliation. His mind raced, filled with a cacophony of emotions: betrayal, confusion, fury. He lunged toward Yaroslav, his fists raised, but his movements were clumsy, and the ache in his abdomen sent him stumbling. Yaroslav caught him effortlessly, gripping Beom's arms tightly and pinning him against the wall with one swift motion.
"Calm down," Yaroslav said, his voice cold and commanding. "You'll hurt yourself."
"LET ME GO!" Beom shouted, struggling against Yaroslav's iron grip. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?!"
Yaroslav leaned in closer, his smirk turning into a more sinister expression. "I gave you a gift, Beom. One that you'll come to understand in time."
Beom's chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, his fists trembling at his sides. With a surge of desperation and anger, he swung his arm back and punched Yaroslav squarely in the jaw, the impact echoing in the room like a thunderclap. "You bastard!" Beom shouted, his voice cracking with a mixture of fury and despair. His knuckles stung from the force of the punch, but the pain felt insignificant compared to the storm raging inside him.
Tears welled in his eyes, threatening to spill over, but he clenched his teeth, refusing to let them fall. He wouldn't give Yaroslav the satisfaction of seeing him break. Still, the lump in his throat grew unbearable, and his vision blurred as the tears fought their way through his resolve.
"Why...?" Beom choked out, his voice trembling with raw emotion. "Why are you doing this to me?" He glared at Yaroslav, his eyes burning with both defiance and pain. "Why did you do something like this to me? I never asked for it... I never asked for any of this! Why?!" His voice rose with each word, the weight of his anguish pouring out like a dam breaking.
Yaroslav, unfazed by Beom's outburst, straightened his posture and casually wiped the corner of his mouth where Beom's punch had landed. His smirk was gone, replaced by a look of cold detachment. "Didn't I say one day I'd reopen it?" Yaroslav said calmly, his voice devoid of remorse. He stepped toward the tray he'd brought in earlier, adjusting the bowl of soup and the glass of water next to it. "You should drink the soup and take your medications," he added, his tone almost clinical, as though this were a routine matter. "It'll help the soreness heal faster."
With that, Yaroslav turned on his heel and walked out of the room, leaving Beom standing there, his fists still clenched, his body trembling. The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence that followed was deafening.
As the room closed in around him, the tears Beom had been holding back finally spilled over, hot and unrelenting. He sank to the floor, his legs giving out beneath him, and pressed his palms to his face as the sobs wracked his body. "Why?" he whispered between gasps, his voice breaking. "Why me? Why is this happening to me?"
He felt utterly powerless, his mind spiraling into the depths of despair. He thought of everything he had endured up to this point—the betrayals, the pain, the humiliations—and it was too much. His fingers clawed at the plush carpet beneath him as if trying to anchor himself to reality, but the ache in his chest only grew heavier.
"I can't... I can't deal with this anymore," Beom muttered through his sobs, his voice barely audible. "I can't do this. I can't deal with this... anymore..." He repeated the words like a mantra, each one laced with despair, his shoulders shaking as the tears continued to fall.
His gaze shifted to the bed, and he forced himself to crawl toward it, his limbs feeling like lead. He climbed onto the mattress and curled up into himself, hugging his knees tightly to his chest as if trying to shield himself from the world. The sobs continued, muffled by the pillow he buried his face in, but they refused to stop. He felt small, broken, and alone, trapped in a nightmare he couldn't wake up from.
Beom's mind raced with questions, each one more tormenting than the last. Why did Yaroslav do this? Why would he take away my identity, my dignity, like this? What does he want from me? The uncertainty gnawed at him, adding to the suffocating weight pressing down on his chest.
He thought of the life he had before all of this—his freedom, his sense of self—and it felt like a distant memory, a life that no longer belonged to him. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, and fresh tears spilled down his cheeks.
"I'm not even me anymore," he whispered into the darkness, his voice hoarse. "He's taken everything... everything..." His fingers tightened around the sheets as his sobs grew quieter, exhaustion finally beginning to overtake him. The weight of his despair remained, but his body, drained of all strength, could only collapse further into the bed.
As he lay there, the tears still streaming down his face, Beom's mind drifted into a haze of anguish and exhaustion. The fight within him had been snuffed out, replaced by an overwhelming sense of defeat. For the first time, he felt like a prisoner not just in this room, but in his own body.
Beom lay motionless on the bed, staring blankly out the large window. The snow fell softly, blanketing the outside world in a serene white glow. Despite the sun shining through, the sight did little to comfort him. His body felt heavy, his mind clouded with a whirlwind of despair and anger. Every fiber of his being ached, not just physically but emotionally. The room around him, luxurious as it was, felt more like a gilded cage than a sanctuary.
He heard the door creak open and knew who it was before he even looked. Yaroslav's presence was palpable, his footsteps deliberate as he entered the room. Beom didn't bother to turn his head, instead keeping his gaze fixed on the snowy horizon outside.
"You still haven't drunk the soup," Yaroslav's voice cut through the silence, calm yet laced with an underlying command.
Beom didn't hesitate, his voice sharp and filled with venom. "Leave me the fuck alone. I'm not hungry, bastard."
Yaroslav didn't react immediately. Instead, he silently picked up the bowl of soup from the table and placed it on the small drawer beside the lamp. The clink of the bowl against the wood seemed unnaturally loud in the tense silence.
"Pick up the spoon and drink the soup, Beom," Yaroslav said, his tone firm but almost casual. "Don't be stubborn."
Beom finally turned his head, glaring at Yaroslav with pure hatred. His voice trembled slightly, but his defiance remained clear. "I said no. Don't you get it? Are you that deaf?" His words were a mix of anger and pain, his eyes blazing with fury.
Yaroslav tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a cold, almost mocking smile. "Oh really?" he said, his tone dripping with amusement.
He dragged a chair to the foot of the bed, the legs scraping against the floor with an irritating screech. Beom watched warily as Yaroslav sat down, leaning back with an air of authority. The calm before the storm. Yaroslav reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, tapping the screen a few times before holding it up for Beom to see.
The image on the screen made Beom's blood run cold. It was a live video feed of his twin sister, blissfully unaware as she moved around her home, humming softly while folding laundry. The innocence of the moment was like a knife to Beom's heart, knowing she was utterly oblivious to the danger lurking just out of sight.
"Who is this?" Yaroslav asked with a smug grin, though he already knew the answer. "Your twin sister, right?" He leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering as if he were sharing a secret. "I bet you don't want to be going to her burial in the next 24 hours, do you?"
Beom's heart pounded in his chest, each beat like a drum signaling his growing panic. His fists clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms, but he didn't feel the pain. His mind raced as he stared at the screen, torn between rage and helplessness. His breath came in short, shallow bursts, his throat tightening as he fought back the rising tide of tears.