Chapter 1: The Seedless Truth

Gidung husband, shutter man, parachute.  

I didn’t care what the world called me.  

After all, I was the youngest writer of a drama who had married the youngest daughter of the huge conglomerate Oh Group.  

Thanks to my wife’s overwhelming investment, I went from being the youngest writer to the main writer in an instant.  

The scenarios I had thrown out as drafts became mini-series dramas without any worries about investment money.  

For me, who had lost my parents early and grew up as an orphan, my wife gave me a miraculous opportunity and a happy family.  

For her, I didn’t care what I was called.  

No, I was actually ready to fulfill the role to the best of my ability.  

But I couldn’t properly perform as Gidung husband.  

Because after marriage, my wife avoided sleeping with me.  

At first, she used the excuse that her body was not well after giving birth to our daughter.  

Later, she said it was because she was tired from work, or it was her period, or she just didn’t feel like it.  

For all sorts of reasons, she avoided sleeping with me.  

We were newlyweds of only five years—not a middle-aged couple married for decades.  

Recently, I had prepared thoroughly and pushed proactively…  

But it didn’t work out.  

So to solve the problem, I came to the urology clinic run by an old acquaintance.  

“Hey, Lee Junghyuk. Don’t be discouraged. Erectile dysfunction is a common issue any man can face, buddy.”  

“Is erectile dysfunction common at thirty-five?”  

“Well, it’s not very common.”  

There was sympathy in the eyes of my primary doctor and longtime friend of twenty years, Kim Changsu.  

It seemed like there was indeed a problem.  

“First, let’s figure out the cause. Like a comprehensive check-up, okay?”  

“Hmm.”  

“Yeah.”  

“I’m Kim Changsu, a urology specialist. I’ll definitely get you back on your feet.”  

“As expected, only a friend can say that.”  

After two hours of detailed examinations including urine tests, prostate ultrasounds, and male hormone tests, it was over.  

When I returned to the consultation room, Changsu spoke in a calm, professional tone.  

“The blood work and other detailed tests will take about three days.”  

“As of today, I want to figure out the cause of your erectile dysfunction.”  

Suddenly, Changsu’s expression froze stiff.  

“Huh? Why is this happening?”  

“What’s wrong? What’s abnormal?”  

“No, it’s not supposed to be like this.”  

“What isn’t supposed to be like this?”  

Dressed in his white coat, Changsu hesitated and nervously bit his lips.  

I sat with my hands clasped on my knees, like a serious patient awaiting a cancer diagnosis, and silently ran through the list of potential misfortunes approaching me.  

Prostate enlargement, urinary incontinence, overactive bladder syndrome—those three major urology diseases?  

Or could it be a sexually transmitted disease?  

No, that couldn’t be.  

I have a cunning wife and a pure daughter; I wouldn’t have done anything reckless to catch an STD.  

“This isn’t an erectile dysfunction problem.”  

“Then what is it? Don’t drive me crazy, just tell me quickly...”  

“Junghyuk, you have azoospermia. Did you know?”  

W-what? I was so shocked I couldn’t even speak.  

“You have congenital azoospermia. A seedless watermelon.”  

“Congenital azoospermia? What does that mean...?”  

My mind went blank.  

If I’m congenitally azoospermic, meaning I can’t father children...  

*Could the test be wrong...?*  

“From what I see on the current results, it’s clearly confirmed. It’s unlikely to be a mistake.”  

“Does that make sense? Then what about Sooah?”  

If that’s the case, my daughter Sooah—whom I loved more than anything—where did she come from?  

I immediately stormed out of the hospital.  

I had to meet my wife.  

I drove home without remembering the details, lost in a daze.  

When I arrived at the underground parking lot, my wife’s car was parked in the usual spot.  

“Why are you home at this hour?”  

I called her several times while waiting for the elevator, but she didn’t pick up.  

Her secretary only parroted, “The director has left the seat,” without revealing her schedule.  

That was my situation.  

A husband with no clue about his wife’s whereabouts at 3 p.m. on a weekday.  

An ominous thought kept spinning in my head.  

Why is Minjeong’s car in the underground parking lot at this time?  

It took a long time to ride the elevator up to the 68th floor.  

It was the first moment I regretted moving into Lotte Tower, a skyscraper located in Songpa-gu, Seoul.  

*Click-*  

From the moment I opened the front door, my memory blurred.  

I had heard that when a person is too shocked, their brain temporarily stops.  

Near the doorway, there were black leather shoes neatly lined up, and scattered in the hallway leading to the master bedroom were a white shirt, dress pants, and my wife’s underwear.  

*Gasp-*  

And the rough moaning of two people panting like beasts.  

When I opened the master bedroom door, I saw my wife’s back—she was wearing nothing but a thin silk robe.  

I didn’t even have to see her face to know who she was.  

And then.  

“Brother-in-law, you’re here?”  

My wife’s younger brother, Vice President Jeon Youngjun, greeted me arrogantly with a smug grin.  

*…*  

After going through an ordeal worse than any ridiculous drama,  

the kind-hearted Vice President Jeon Youngjun gave me two choices.  

Either live pretending to not know.  

Or get a divorce.  

Moreover, if I chose the latter, I had to sign a non-disclosure agreement about the dirty and disgraceful secret of their long-standing affair.  

They said it was to protect the group’s image, but it was clear they didn’t care about tarnishing humanity’s image.  

Without a second thought, I said,  

“Of course I want a divorce, you filthy bastards.”  

The divorce process wasn’t as complicated as I thought.  

There was no guarantee I could win by fighting.  

No matter how much I exposed the horrifying affair in the media, Oh Group would never let it slide.  

“Raising kids is love, they say.”  

I didn’t want my five-year-old daughter Sooah to be branded with the stigma of incest.  

And above all, I couldn’t live with Jeon Minjeong any longer.  

So when the legal team from the media division came to me with a confidentiality agreement regarding Minjeong’s divorce, I said,  

“If I sign the non-disclosure agreement, I want a settlement.”  

“A settlement? How much are you asking for?”  

“Not cash. Shares. 0.01% of Oh Media’s stock. That’s the settlement I want.”  

Oh Media, which controlled Korean movies, dramas, and even YouTube, was worth over 1.5 trillion won.  

0.01% of that alone was worth about 15 billion won.  

At this point,  

this must have been within the expected range for Oh Media, because their legal team surprisingly responded that they would accept it.  

After that, I never saw Jeon Minjeong or Jeon Youngjun again.  

The divorce with the group’s legal team, not with my wife, proceeded quickly.  

Packing my things took months.  

I was a nobody from the start.  

Now, all I had left was about 50 million won saved during my youth and 0.01% of Oh Media’s shares.  

After the divorce, rumors and speculation about the reason for it exploded.  

[Entertainment Director Jeon Minjeong divorces husband Lee Junghyuk.]  

[What is the reason behind the divorce of the chaebol daughter?]  

[Lee Junghyuk’s chilling private life that drove Jeon Minjeong away revealed!]  

[“Please refrain from speculation about my ex-husband,” said Director Jeon Minjeong, making headlines!]  

Though part of it was because a penniless writer married into a chaebol family,  

Oh Group’s media division controlled the press so well that everything flowed so naturally, it felt like watching a well-written script.  

“I’m sick of it all.”  

I wanted to leave Seoul.  

I returned to my hometown of Sangju, Gyeongsangbuk-do.  

Before returning, I met Changsu at the izakaya we used to frequent and had a last drink.  

Even though there was a confidentiality agreement, Changsu, who already knew about my azoospermia, sensed the truth behind my divorce—that it was because of the affair.  

“Reality is harsher than drama. Am I right? Who was it with?”  

“If you find out, you’ll get hurt. It’s too filthy to say.”  

Remembering that day made my head burn again.  

I took a cold sip of sake from the brass cup that kept the temperature cold.  

“Still, you did well to use the confidentiality agreement and get the shares. After the divorce news broke, the media stocks dropped a bit. Why not sell before it drops further and start fresh? Even after taxes, you’d get about 10 billion won.”  

“That’s tempting, but the market will rise again. I’ll think about the shares then.”  

As far as I know, Oh Media was one of the three most fail-proof companies in Korea.  

If I had received 10 billion won cash as a settlement, things would’ve been simpler.  

But neither I nor they wanted that neatness.  

“Well, I’m not broke right now, so I’ll rest in the countryside for a while.”  

“I guess I can’t even say ‘stay strong’ anymore. Sigh, don’t push yourself too hard. Just live. If you just live, you’ll survive.”  

“Yeah, I’ll contact you when I come to Seoul.”  

I packed my things hastily and left Seoul.  

I bought an old farmhouse in Oeseo-myeon, Sangju, my late parents’ hometown.  

The farmhouse was deep in the mountains where hardly anyone came by.  

Under the starry night sky, listening to the chirping of insects, I planned to recuperate.  

Before I knew it, half a year had passed.  

*…*  

“Damn it... those filthy bastards worse than Jim Seung...”  

Calm down? No way.  

My chest still burned with anger, and curses kept flowing from my mouth like a chant.  

Looking at the green soju bottles filling the cramped countryside room, I thought I couldn’t live and die like this.  

“There’s no reason to live anymore.”  

I decided to write a will.  

Who would know the death of a man who died alone in some backwater room?  

After tidying my body with a clean bath, I took out the old notebook tucked away in a corner.  

It was the same worn notebook I had used since my student days, dreaming of becoming a drama writer.  

Inside were countless drafts, and full scripts of dramas and movies I made through ㅇ Entertainment.  

I had suffered a terrible divorce, was living a life of failure and alcohol, and seemed doomed to a tragic death.  

Yet, I still wanted to leave a final record with a will.  

Maybe a writer is a writer after all—I smiled bitterly.  

I connected the barely working laptop charger and turned it on.  

But then, as if infected by malware, a strange illegal advertisement page popped up on the screen.  

[Congratulations] 

[You have  earned the chance to join Godflix!]  

[Join our platform right now!] 

[A new happiness and joy you’ve never had in your life will come to you!]  

[Join now!]

[Join now for a new member event!]

It was a cheap page that only amateur voice-phishing scammers would use.  

Normally, I would have closed it instantly without hesitation.  

But maybe because I was about to write a will and put my life in order, the phrase “a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity” caught my eye.  

Even this cheap ad tempted me—it seemed that deep down, I still wanted to live.  

I guess I didn’t want to die just yet.  

“Right. Why the hell should I die?”  

I was frustrated and angry.  

Why, what had I done wrong to deserve this? If there was a god, I wanted to grab him and curse him in every way.  

Who were they to make me end up like this and force me to decide whether to live or die?  

With that stubborn will, I clicked the sign-up link.  

Immediately, a heavy alarm sounded, and a big question mark appeared on the black screen, followed by a system window.  

[Start screen- Would you like to begin the new sign-up procedure?] 

[When ready, please click the link below!]  

[Start!]

[New sign-up procedure?]  

I didn’t know what kind of procedure it was, but if it was a test that could change this crappy life, I was all for it.  

At the bottom of the screen, a small text guide read:  

[Even preschoolers can pass this easy process!]  

[If you pass, you’ll receive tremendous benefits!] 

When I clicked the start link, a new window with a timer appeared.  

[You must type the example sentence below without errors within 1 minute]

[Success reward: 10 million won in cash]  

[Failure penalty: extreme pain]  

The full text of Kim Cheomji’s short story “A Lucky Day” was written below, and beneath it was a square white blank space.  

As the cursor blinked once in the blank space, the timer on the laptop screen started counting down by one second.  

[00:59]  

[00:57]  

[00:56]  

Seeing the timer count down, I grew impatient and hurriedly started typing.  

It had been so long since I touched the keyboard that I kept making typos.  

Before I could even type half the text, the one-minute time limit ended.  

[FAILURE!]

[Penalty imposed!] 

“Ah, too bad. I haven’t typed much lately. I think I could do it with a little practice...”  

Just as I thought that,  

“Ugh—*”  

A stabbing pain pierced my left side like my internal organs were exploding.