As If Transmigrating Wasn’t Enough, I’m Pregnant?!

Do Won-hyung didn’t spare another glance at Ryu Hae-sol, who stood there in a daze. He fastened the last button of his shirt and slipped the expensive watch resting beside the bed onto his wrist. Every movement was fluid, elegant, and unhurried.

He acted as though he had absolutely nothing to do with the sordid events that had taken place in this room. Having finished getting ready, he strode toward the entrance without a moment’s hesitation. His dress shoes casually trampled the fifty-thousand-won bills scattered across the floor.

The sight of the bills crumpling with a rustling sound was etched vividly into Hae-sol’s retinas. With his hand on the doorknob, Do Won-hyung paused for a moment. Without even turning around, he delivered his final words in a voice as cold as ice.

“Make sure you take care of it so you don’t get pregnant.”

It was an order, a warning, and the final nail sealing the true nature of their relationship.

Bang.

The sound of the door slamming shut echoed through the room. Along with that cruel noise, everything Do Won-hyung had left behind seemed to fade like a lie.

Ryu Hae-sol stood frozen in place for a long while. His gaze remained fixed solely on the crumpled banknotes that had been trampled underfoot. It felt as though what Do Won-hyung had just crushed beneath his shoe wasn’t those scraps of paper, but Hae-sol himself.

Humiliation and anger bubbled up from within him like scorching lava. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, but he bit down on his lips and forcibly held them back. Crying wouldn’t solve anything. He knew all too well that tears were merely the beginning of helpless submission.

He slowly bent his knees. His fingers touched the cold banknotes lying on the floor.

One bill, then another.

He began silently picking up the scattered money. His fingertips trembled ever so slightly with anger, but his movements remained as precise as a machine’s. This money was all he had right now. It was the only lifeline that could help him escape this humiliating situation.

His pride had long since been trampled into shreds. Survival came first now.

After collecting all the money, he stuffed it into the pocket of his worn-out jeans. The pocket bulged out awkwardly. The sensation of the bundle of cash pressing against his thigh was utterly repulsive.

He rose to his feet and looked around the room. The bed still bore the unmistakable traces of the previous night. The expensive furniture, and his own appearance, so utterly out of place among all these things.

Every last bit of it was horrifying.

But this was as far as he could allow himself to indulge in self-pity. He had to start thinking about what to do next, somehow. He needed to find a way to survive in this hellish novel.

The first thing he needed was a connection to the outside world. He looked around for his phone.

He lifted the bedsheets, felt around on the bedside table, and searched every inch of the floor. But the phone was nowhere to be found. He had no idea where Ryu Hae-sol had left it the previous night.

Anxiety began to creep in.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something sticking out slightly from beneath the pillow at the head of the bed.

At last, his fingers found the familiar feel of plastic he had been desperately searching for. It was an old phone with a cracked screen.

He hurriedly pressed the power button.

Please, turn on.

But the screen remained completely black, showing no response whatsoever. The battery must have died.

“Damn it. Nothing’s going right.”

Ryu Hae-sol muttered a brief curse and searched the room again for a charger. But this wasn’t his home. There was no reason for a charger to be lying around.

He let out a hollow laugh and sat on the edge of the bed, still holding his phone. Everything was a complete mess.

But he couldn’t give up. Somehow, he had to survive in this world and find his way back to his original one.

Just then, he spotted an old bag tossed beneath the sofa. It undoubtedly belonged to Ryu Hae-sol.

The worn-out bag shoved under the sofa seemed to reflect Ryu Hae-sol’s own circumstances. It was a shabby cloth bag, frayed and worn in several places, its original color faded beyond recognition. It was the kind of pitiful thing he would never have carried around himself in his previous life.

He hesitated for a moment before approaching the bag, then opened the zipper as though resigned to his situation. His hands rummaging through its contents moved with considerable urgency.

Please, at least let there be a charger. Please, let there be even a glimmer of hope that can help me escape this desperate isolation.

The bag was filled with all sorts of odds and ends. Several major-related textbooks, their covers worn from frequent handling, as though they had been bought secondhand; a notebook with ink smudged in places; a few cheap pens; and then, finally, his fingertips brushed against the familiar texture of plastic and electrical wiring.