It was Thursday. A common, gray, and boring day.
Lying on his bed, a boy was reading the new chapter of Lookism on his phone, with the same excitement as every week. His eyes moved quickly over the panels, the punches, those incredible action scenes. When he finished, he sighed.
"Damn…" he muttered, setting the phone aside. "Just when it was getting good."
He rolled over on the bed and stared at the ceiling. A white, silent ceiling, with nothing special about it. That was his life. A flat routine, devoid of emotion. So different from the worlds he consumed through the screen.
With reluctance, he got up and went to the bathroom. The mirror greeted him with an image he hated, a common, ordinary face, incapable of standing out. Neither attractive nor ugly, just another one among millions.
He spat the foam into the sink, clicking his tongue in frustration. "I wish I had a beautiful body…" he muttered under his breath.
As he brushed his teeth lazily, his imagination played a cruel trick on him. Suddenly, he saw himself transformed into someone else, a tall, perfect guy with a face worthy of an idol. He imagined himself shining under stage lights, posing in front of cameras, earning easy money without any effort.
For an instant, he allowed himself to smile. But the bubble burst quickly. He rinsed with cold water, spat out the last of the toothpaste, and looked into the mirror again. The same average reflection awaited him there, motionless, cruelly real.
He turned off the bathroom light and went back to bed, dragging his feet. He closed his eyes, thinking that tomorrow would be another identical day.
...
A noise woke him up.
He opened his eyes, dazed. His body felt heavy, the air smelled of iron and humidity. He tried to get up, but a sharp pain shot through his head. "What the hell…?" he murmured, reaching for the back of his neck. When he pulled his hand away, it was covered in dried blood.
His heart skipped a beat.
He looked around. He wasn't in his room. It didn't even look like his city. It was a dark alley, full of trash. The cold ground scraped against his skin. Confused, he crawled toward a puddle of water and leaned over it.
The reflection that stared back at him froze him in place.
He wasn't handsome. He wasn't perfect. He was… repulsive.
Black, long, greasy hair. Yellowish, dull eyes. Skin full of pimples. A soft, trembling body. A deformed face, marked by acne and sadness.
"Shit… shit…" he muttered, trembling. The reflection stared back at him with a grimace of pain and fear.
The boy stayed motionless.
The silence was heavy. The air smelled of rust and dried blood.
But then, something inside his head exploded.
An unbearable pain struck him. He fell to the ground, clutching his head as a scream tore from his throat.
"AAAAH!"
The memories came like an avalanche. Faces, screams, mockery, tears. Fists hitting him, dirty water, cruel laughter, teachers turning away, his mother yelling, his father silent, his brother ignoring him. Every image was a knife stabbing his soul.
The veins began to bulge under his skin. First on his neck, then on his forehead, then down his arms, as if something burning flowed beneath his flesh. His eyes turned red, full of fury but more than that, full of pain and a rage that wasn't his… but now possessed him completely.
He screamed again, this time punching the ground.
The echo resounded through the alley.
For a few seconds, the air seemed to vibrate with his breathing. Until, little by little, the pain began to fade. The veins started to hide beneath his skin. The crimson glow in his eyes dimmed, though a faint red shimmer still lingered.
He took a deep breath. His chest rose and fell heavily.
"What a shitty family…" he whispered through clenched teeth, voice hoarse. "Everything this poor guy had to go through…"
He stood up, staggering, and looked at his reflection again in the puddle. The water showed the face of the boy who had suffered so much Byeoto Han. An ugly body, covered in pain. And to top it off, now it was his.
He stared seriously at the reflection. "All you ever wanted was to be someone… someone in this world. Someone strong, admired, loved." He clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white. "But in the end… you got such a cruel fate."
Silence returned. A cold breeze swept through the alley, moving bags and papers.
Then, he closed his eyes. "Don't worry," he whispered firmly, placing both hands on his chest, as if speaking to the soul that had just departed. "I'll make your dream come true. You'll be recognized. You'll be what you always wanted to be."
He stayed like that for a few seconds, motionless. And when he opened his eyes… they were still red. His expression had changed. Fury, determination, and deep sadness mixed in his gaze.
The air seemed to grow heavier.
Then, as if the weight dissolved, the veins disappeared completely, and his eyes returned to their usual dull yellow hue. He exhaled deeply, exhausted, wiping the dried blood from his neck.
He looked around alleys, graffiti-covered walls, a dumpster at the end. There were no signs of life, not even the sound of cars.
"With that said…" he said with a hint of irony, looking up at the grayish sky. "Where the hell is this place?"
The echo of his voice faded into the night.
And so, under the flickering lights of the city, the new chapter of Han Byeoto began.
The distant sound of cars mixed with the night wind. He walked along the sidewalk with clumsy steps, the backpack hanging from one shoulder. Every so often, he looked around, trying to understand where he was. The store lights, the neon signs, the posters in a language he could now read perfectly.
"Is this… Korean?" he murmured, stopping in front of a convenience store. The hangul letters glowed red on the glass. "Incredible… I can read it like it's my native language."
He kept walking aimlessly. The air was cold, but not as cold as the silence that followed him. After a few minutes, he found a small empty park, barely lit by a streetlamp. He sat on a wooden bench, sighing.
"So this is Korea," he said, looking at the distant lights. "But why? Why am I here? Was it because I said I wanted a beautiful body? Or because I wished for a better life one where everything went right?"
He lowered his gaze to the ground, where dry leaves had gathered. The whisper of the wind reminded him that he was completely alone.
"So… is this one of those clichés?" he said with a short, disbelieving laugh. "When someone's reading their favorite novel or webtoon and reincarnates in that world… does that mean this is Lookism?"
He crossed his fingers in front of him, thoughtful. The gesture showed concentration, but also fear.
"It's very likely…" he whispered. "Based on the memories I saw, people treated others like trash depending on their looks. If it weren't that way, how else could you explain the extreme abuse he suffered… and how no one did anything?"
The thought made him frown. Then he shook his head, correcting himself.
"No, I can't jump to conclusions. That was too superficial. After all, it's like that almost everywhere even in my world, ugly or weak people are discriminated against. So… I can't be sure this is Lookism. It could be anywhere…"
He leaned back on the bench, looking up at the sky. The stars shone faintly, almost shy between the city's clouds. For a moment, it felt like they were the eyes of the real Byeoto, watching him from somewhere far away.
"Well…" he said with a forced smile, trying to sound positive. "Right now, it doesn't matter where I am only what I'm going to do next."
His expression shifted to a more serious one.
"The only thing I'm sure of…" he raised his hand and looked at it, trembling but steady. "is that I have to improve this body. Get stronger. If I'm going to live on the streets, I need to be able to protect myself."
He let his arm fall slowly and closed his eyes. The bench was uncomfortable, hard, and the cold seeped through the dirty, ill-fitting clothes of Byeoto's body. But he didn't complain. Not anymore.
Because this could be the opportunity he'd always wanted only he'd have to work hard, really hard. He'd have to improve in every way possible. With that decided, he moved forward.
And as the night wind whistled through the trees, the new Byeoto fell asleep beneath a foreign sky with a purpose that wasn't his own… but that now was all he had.