A plump, pale thing came toddling toward him. Man, that looks delicious. His mouth watered immediately—it reminded him of cotton candy. The kind his dad used to press into his hand whenever they went to the amusement park. Normally, his dad strictly forbade it, saying it would give him cavities, but the amusement park was always the exception.

　　‘Just one?’

　　‘Two if you share with Daddy.’

　　He’d been happy. When other people heard someone lived alone with their dad, they usually pictured something gloomy, but Inwoo’s dad was a good, kindhearted man. He wished he could see him in his dreams more often. Was he too busy flying around on a cloud to visit? He could drop by once in a while.

　　Before he knew it, the cotton candy drifted closer. Looking closer, it didn’t seem edible after all—it was a cloud. How could a cloud be so tiny and pretty? Cupping his hands, Inwoo gathered the soft white lump onto his palms. As he watched silently, it squirmed and wriggled.

　　Then, with the soft popping sound of bursting water droplets, it began taking shape. Wait, was that… a hand? Feet? A head? The fluffy white thing took form in an instant, as if showing off, This is what I really look like.

　　In the end, what rested in his hands was a tiny, adorable baby. A naked newborn. It looks like a baby mandrake. Or maybe Baby Jesus?

　　As if scolding him for the sacrilegious thought, the newborn let out a cry. Cotton candy bubbled endlessly from its pea-sized mouth, and the moment one touched the tip of Inwoo’s nose, his shallow sleep lingering at the edge of dawn shattered completely.

　　“Ah…”

　　A low sigh slipped into the room steeped in bluish twilight. The dream had been absurd, ridiculous, and terrifying. Afraid he might unconsciously stroke his stomach if he moved, Inwoo stayed frozen for a long time, barely breathing. He had been like this several times this week alone. It had taken countlessly repeating the denial—that such a thing couldn’t possibly happen to him—only to reach the conclusion that even if it were true, he couldn’t handle it.

　　Slowly sitting up, he tidied his bedding. Maybe because of the unsettling dream, his body felt unusually heavy. He had practically skipped dinner last night, so there shouldn’t have been anything inside his stomach…

　　Well, actually, there was. Swallowing a sigh that felt like chasing away his own luck, he buried his face in the pillow.

　　Ten days had passed without going back to the hospital or visiting the center. Nothing had changed in the meantime—his belly button and waistline still looked exactly the same—but his heart felt crushed under a heavy weight. So this is what it feels like to ache inside.

　　It wasn’t surprising, really. There actually was something inside him. Cotton candy, a cloud, a pea-sized thing floating around in his belly… That’s what they said was in there.

　　But even if that squirming thing really turned into a human baby, he couldn’t raise it properly. Because he had no money. Because at twenty-three, he couldn’t even pull his own weight yet. All he had was a healthy body.

　　He didn’t have much saved up, he had a long way to go with his future and career, and above all, he had a man’s body. Giving birth as a man would take far more than ordinary determination. As the doctor who had examined him last time said, he would need help from the center, but that place wasn’t a charity handing out free mercy. It was a profit-driven organization that demanded what it wanted based on contracts.

　　The attitude of the researchers he met quarterly was routine, yet filled with earnest curiosity. A father who had given birth as a man despite having a faint trait; Inwoo himself, who had suddenly gotten pregnant with a man’s child without even knowing what the signs of fertility were; and the fingernail-sized life sprouting inside his belly. Of course they would find it intriguing—as a new research subject.

　　Using money as leverage, they would convince him to give birth to the child, while he persuaded himself that he needed money to raise it, until he eventually signed the contract… Then the child would grow up just like him. Giving blood every quarter, standing before sharp machines, subjected to loaded questions, feeling increasingly alienated and uncomfortable in their own skin. Harboring growing doubts and skepticism, no matter how much they tried to reassure themselves it was perfectly normal.

　　Why me?

　　Why those people? Why Dad?

　　What’s the problem? What answers do I have to give to meet their standards? What do I need to hide to protect myself and live as an ordinary person?

　　In such confusion, a person’s sense of self turns warped. The reason Inwoo had been unable to interact comfortably with girls his age, wandering the margins of adolescence before discovering a desire outside the mainstream, undoubtedly stemmed in part from that kind of deficit.

　　Regardless of his love for his dad, if he had a life that was entirely his responsibility, he didn’t want the child to grow up like him. So he wouldn’t go to the center. Nor could he make an irresponsible choice when he had nothing to offer.

　　The moment he first reached that conclusion, he felt suffocated, his lungs tightening of their own accord. It was late at night after working frantically all day. Unable to walk the short distance—less than a hundred steps home—in one go, he stopped in his tracks halfway. Thrown into the darkness, gasping for air, a sudden thought struck him:

　　I won’t get to meet this baby.

　　I guess I really can’t.

　　‘…I-I’m sorry,’

　　He barely managed to mutter through his tangled breath. They were words he never thought he would say. And once more,

　　‘I’m really sorry…’

　　As those words faded into the empty air, his ragged breathing settled, and for some reason, a wave of loneliness washed over him.

　　Beyond the alley came the sounds of young people wandering the late-night entertainment district, but Inwoo was alone on the deserted path. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry for coming to this decision… A hollow ache resonated in his chest.

　　The loneliness that clawed at him that night didn’t fade easily. It resurfaced when he lay down to sleep, when he walked down the street, and in the middle of busy work, causing a dull ache in his lower belly. Having made up his mind, he should have looked into a hospital as soon as possible, but his body stubbornly refused to move. Coincidentally, right around then, the slight fever, headaches, and nausea that had been lingering in his body began to subside.

　　Was the baby promising to be good and stay quiet, asking him… not to do it? Thinking like that made him feel strangely hollow, filling him with regret over that dreamlike, feverish night. Telling himself that tonight was his only chance, committing the stupidest act of his life.

　　Reaching out, he turned on the radio. He set about cleaning the room, opening the windows, sweeping and mopping, then organizing the fridge and sorting the recycling. After taking a shower and eating a light breakfast, he got up, but it was still too early to head to the restaurant.

　　“Let me go for a walk then.”

　　He spoke aloud on purpose before stepping outside. Next week, the calendar would turn to November. Time was flying by. He wanted to hold it back, to beg it to slow down and give him time to think, but he knew he couldn’t. Very few things went his way, and this was even less something he could control.

　　He walked down the stairs and opened the front door. He instinctively hunched his shoulders against the wind seeping through his collar. Once he finished work today, he would definitely look into things—figuring out how to say goodbye to the small, fluffy, and probably gentle creature he had seen in his dream.

　　No one at the restaurant realized he was suffering inwardly. Inwoo knew better than anyone that nothing was better than physical labor for dealing with unanswerable agony. On top of putting extra care into his usual duties, he spent his break time helping out with odd jobs in the kitchen or the storage room. Part of it was to get in their good graces in advance, knowing he might need to take time off soon.

　　Although he was practically the only guy working there, he wasn’t the type to draw attention. He had no family or partner, no real hobbies, and didn’t know how to be entertaining. Inwoo also preferred listening to the older women swap side-dish recipes, cooking tips, news about distant relatives, or complaints about their husbands rather than talking about himself. Since he rarely watched TV, those conversations were his soap operas—daily life stretching from yesterday to today, with follow-up stories coming tomorrow. Sometimes, at the end of a chat, they would drag Inwoo into it too:

　　‘Make sure you become a good husband, Inwoo. Don’t go making your bride cry her heart out.’

　　‘Just don’t go wandering off leaving a year-old baby behind. And don’t ever lay a hand on your family.’

　　‘Ah, look at you teaching a young guy such things! Who lives like that nowadays? Look at him—he’s so gentle and sweet. Does he look like the type to make his wife suffer?’

　　‘My old man was fair and handsome when he was young, too.’

　　Then they would clap their hands and laugh among themselves. Even though he couldn’t get a word in, Inwoo liked those conversations. They felt unfamiliar, mischievous, and hectic, yet at the same time normal and safe. They kept him from dwelling on other thoughts. Today, he listened with extra focus, but…

　　‘What would you like me to do?’

　　Because during the day, that man had suddenly crossed his mind.

　　In late summer, on a rainy day, a man with an elegant, cool demeanor who intimidated everyone around him had used a line that wouldn’t even work in the eighties to slip into his night. A man who shared responsibility for the fluffy little creature resting inside him, but had no intention of sharing the burden.

　　Saying they had slept together didn’t begin to capture it. His distinct touch, the moans brushing past his ear, the body heat and scent, the pleasure connecting them, and the melting gaze. The desperate movements pressing together, reaching to get closer.

　　He didn’t remember that night in its entirety, and he felt he shouldn’t remember it either, but he knew something like that couldn’t be easily forgotten. Since he had gone through with it knowing it was a once-in-a-lifetime thing, it was only natural that it remained vividly etched.

　　It wasn’t that he liked him; he had just been captivated. It wasn’t love; the man was simply someone anyone would fall for… And the man had surely possessed an exceptional trait even among A traits. That was why such a thing had happened in an instant to Inwoo, who had lived without even keeping basic medications on hand.

　　Did he do it on purpose? Knowing what would happen?

　　His doubts didn’t last long. Of course not.

　　‘We’re both adults, so what does it matter? It’s a one-time thing.’

　　The man had already proven those clean, concise words. Forget leaving a note at his place; he hadn’t even visited the restaurant again.

　　He had wanted only one night and had taken what he wanted with mutual consent, so there was no further business between them. If the man was at fault for anything, it was merely that he hadn’t imagined for a single moment the nature of Inwoo’s trait, which stood in opposition or symbiosis with his own.

　　So every lunch break, the way his heart fluttered at every tall man in a suit passing in front of the restaurant, only to sink in disappointment at the unfamiliar side profile of a stranger yawning, was his own foolish doing.

　　‘The procedure can be done on the same day. However, considering the precautions before and after, it’s better to schedule an appointment in advance. Especially for patients who prefer privacy. Give us a call back once you’ve made up your mind.’

　　What he would face at the place he was about to visit was a task left solely to him, with no need for anyone else to know.

* * *

　　Checking the next stop displayed on the monitor up front, Inwoo stood up. It was a neighborhood he had never visited despite living in Seoul, a place where he had no connections and would likely never return to. As the bus slowed to a stop, rocking back and forth, he felt slightly nauseous. It was because he was extremely tense on an empty stomach.

　　‘Have fun, Inwoo. It worked out great.’

　　When he said he wanted to swap shifts to take two consecutive days off, the boss nagged him, while the older women eagerly stepped up to cover for him. After he barely managed to come up with a lie—that a friend living in Busan had invited him over and he couldn’t refuse—the boss just tsked. Beside him, the older woman slapped his back, saying it had worked out for the best.

　　‘Don’t you feel bad seeing him wandering around so weak and lifeless lately? Go eat plenty of seafood and meat and have a good time. Young people get better from being sick once they go out and play!’

　　It was logic he had never heard before, but Inwoo smiled. And just like that, his two-day vacation was set. He was relieved, but the moment he turned around, his fingertips felt ice-cold.

　　The realization that he had nowhere left to run hit him. That very day, he booked an appointment at the hospital where he’d had the phone consultation. He couldn’t remember what frame of mind he’d been in over the past few days leading up to today.

　　Although the field of rare traits wasn’t widely established, rare traits were an undeniable reality, so minimum regulations and systems were in place. After searching high and low, Inwoo found a specialist at a private clinic who held a degree specializing in men with rare traits. When he called for a consultation, a young nurse answered, and before he could even stammer out a few words, she said, “I’ll transfer you to the director,” and put him through.