Morning light spilled across Minji’s floor like some kind of joke. A reminder that the world still turned. That people still got up. That breakfast was made in warm kitchens. That someone somewhere was being hugged right now.

  Minji pulled the blanket over her face. The cyst had now crusted over, cracked at the center. It oozed slightly when she moved her jaw. But she didn’t wipe it anymore. What was the point?

  She hadn’t brushed her teeth in three days. Didn’t feel like it. What was the point of smelling nice when people already held their breath around you?

  She whispered, “God, if you’re there, blink twice.”

  Nothing.

  “Didn’t think so.”

  She sat up. Her back cracked like a dying branch. She glanced at her reflection in the window. The cyst was monstrous now—more yellow than red. It had doubled in size, pushing her cheekbone down like it was claiming territory.

  “I should name it,” she muttered, forcing a dry laugh. “Maybe it’s the only thing that’ll stick around.”

  She padded into the kitchen. Her mother glanced up from her coffee and immediately looked back down.

  "Still here?" she asked, not cruelly, just… tired.

  Minji stared at her. “Would you be happier if I wasn’t?”

  Her mother didn’t answer.

  Minji sat down slowly. The chair creaked. The silence between them had stretched into a permanent wall. No small talk. No ‘how are you’. Not even a glance.

  Her mother sighed. “There’s rice on the stove. You know where the kimchi is.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  She looked at her finally. “Then don’t sit there.”

  Minji got up and left.

  Later That Day

  Minji walked through the crowded streets of Busan, eyes down. Her hoodie was pulled tightly over her head, the fabric pressing painfully against the cyst. But better pain than stares.

  She walked past couples holding hands. Friends sharing laughter over street food. A little girl skipping in front of her mother.

  Something cracked inside Minji.

  She paused in front of a glass storefront. Her reflection was faint, distorted in the glass, but still visible. She saw the uneven shape of her face, the way one side bulged grotesquely. A man inside noticed her looking in and instinctively stepped to block his child’s view.

  Her breath caught.

  She turned quickly and walked away.

  Two Hours Later

  Minji sat alone on a park bench. A group of college students were taking selfies nearby.

  “Hey,” one of them said to the others, “take one with her in the background. It'll go viral.”

  They snickered.

  “Don’t,” another said, half-laughing. “She might infect the camera.”

  Minji stared at the ground.

  One of the girls walked up and dropped a 500-won coin into Minji’s lap.

  “You’re doing great, sweetie,” she said sarcastically, before skipping back to her group.

  They laughed.

  Minji held the coin in her palm.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “I’m not even worth a dollar,” she whispered.

  Flashback: 4 Years Ago

  Minji had once tried to date.

  His name was Junho. He wasn’t particularly handsome, but he had kind eyes. He worked at the library and once helped her reach a book. That small act of decency had been enough for her to start building castles in her head.

  One evening, she gathered her courage and asked him for coffee.

  He smiled awkwardly. “Uh… with you?”

  “Yes,” she said, too quickly. “Just as friends, maybe?”

  He hesitated. “Minji, listen… You’re nice, but… Look, I’m not trying to be mean, okay? But when I look at you, I just… I can’t eat for hours.”

  She blinked.

  He continued, “It’s not just the face. It’s your vibe. You feel like… sadness.”

  She hadn’t spoken for a full week after that.

  Present

  Minji didn’t feel sadness anymore.

  Sadness was a feeling. Feelings had shape, rhythm. You could cry them out, or scream them away.

  This was emptiness.

  No tears. No rage.

  She just existed. A shell that walked. Slept. Breathed because it had to.

  Later That Night

  Minji sat in the bathroom. The lights were off. Only the faint glow of a flickering streetlamp through the window lit the space.

  She stared at the scissors in her hand.

  She wasn’t thinking about death. Not really.

  She just wondered what it would feel like to cut the cyst off.

  Would it bleed? Would she scream?

  Would people finally stop staring?

  Would she, finally, be clean?

  She touched it gently. It pulsed.

  She whispered, “You’ve won.”

  Then threw the scissors into the sink and curled up on the cold floor.

  To You, Reader

  Maybe you're expecting a twist.

  Maybe you think someone will appear and save her.

  Maybe you think the world has a heart buried deep beneath its rot.

  I’m sorry.

  That’s not this story.

  Sometimes the world doesn’t hate you.

  It just… doesn’t care.

  And Minji?

  Minji had stopped caring too.

  But there's one chapter left.

  And what’s left of her?

  It’s about to change everything.

  To You, Reader

  You're still here?

  I wonder why.

  Is it curiosity?

  Is it pity?

  Or maybe you just want to see how far someone can break before they finally stop breathing.

  Let’s continue, then.

  Minji’s still alive. Technically.

  But if you looked closely, you'd realize—

  she already died.

  People just didn’t throw the funeral yet.

  Morning – Her Room

  The room stank.

  Not the usual stink of teenage laziness. No.

  It smelled of rot.

  Of unwashed bedsheets. Of ointment. Of band-aid wrappers and dried pus and the faint scent of decaying dreams.

  Minji blinked at the ceiling. She hadn’t slept much. Not because she was crying. That stopped weeks ago.

  It was the pain.

  The cyst—yes, that same grotesque, veiny bulge on her cheek—was now infected again.

  Yellow liquid oozed in her sleep. It hardened into a crust on her jawline.

  She picked at it with a shaking hand.

  “Maybe if I dig deep enough, I’ll disappear,” she whispered to herself.

  She laughed.

  No one heard.

  Later That Day – The Living Room

  Minji walked in.

  Her father was slouched on the couch, scrolling through his phone.

  She stood there for a moment.

  He didn’t look up.

  Finally, she said, “Appa... do I look human?”

  He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

  “No,” he said, “you look... tired.”

  She nodded. Sat down.

  Silence.

  Then, with the cruelty only indifference can carry, he muttered,

  “Even dogs look better when they’re taken care of.”

  She turned away. That was enough.

  A Week Later – Family Gathering

  Her relatives had gathered for her cousin’s university admission party. Seoul National University, full scholarship.

  Minji had barely passed her last exam.

  “Minji, you’re 21 now,” her uncle said, half-drunk, “Your mom says you're not even trying to look decent anymore. Is that true?”

  She said nothing.

  He stared at her face. At the bulge.

  “Looks like someone glued a second nose on your cheek.”

  Laughter.

  One aunt choked on her rice.

  Seo-jin, the perfect cousin, tried to smile politely. She failed.

  Her mother nudged her. “Say something,” she hissed.

  Minji looked up. Her voice was hollow.

  “I don’t know why I came.”

  Her mother smiled at the guests. “Ignore her. You know how she is. Sensitive.”

  At Night – Bathroom Mirror

  She turned on the light.

  The cyst was bigger. It had started changing color. Almost purple now.

  She touched it.

  Pain shot through her skull like lightning.

  She stared at herself.

  “Do you think anyone will ever love you?” she asked the mirror.

  The mirror didn't answer.

  “Would you kiss this face?”

  Still no answer.

  She laughed again. The sound echoed.

  “Would you?” she screamed.

  Silence.

  Only the dripping tap replied.

  On Her Bed – That Night

  She curled up.

  No messages. No friends. No one.

  She remembered one boy from school who had spoken to her once. Just once.

  He said, “Hey, can I borrow a pen?”

  She gave him one.

  He never gave it back.

  That was three years ago.

  Still the most intimate interaction she ever had with a guy.

  To You, Reader

  Still here?

  You must be strong. Or bored. Or broken yourself.

  Let me tell you something no one tells girls like Minji:

  This world doesn’t want you.

  Not unless you're pretty.

  Not unless you're marketable.

  They say beauty is within—but try walking into a room with a cyst covering your face and see how much "inner beauty" people tolerate.

  Try smiling when even your smile disgusts people.

  Try living when every word you hear is, “Poop-face.”

  “Freak.”

  “Just go die.”

  Try it.

  Try existing like that.

  Minji has.