Cash Cows Print Money for Mentally Unstable Stream

Chapter 1: Fetal Parasite

Once I finished grasping the general situation, a wave of intense hunger struck me.

While it was dinner for others, it was time for me to have breakfast.

The fridge, when opened, was crammed only with coffee and energy drinks.

Frozen fried rice was something I didn’t even want to look at for the time being.

I shut the fridge and glanced around the dim kitchen.

There they were—the remains of a cup of instant noodles abandoned on the sink before I went to bed and empty soju bottles left behind while using them as ashtrays.

“I guess I should clean those up too.”

The area around the sink was messy with damp cigarette ashes spilled from the soju bottles and torn medicine packets.

I had planned to wash the dishes before going to bed but had been too lazy and just laid down.

If I left it like this any longer, other trash might start piling up as well.

First, I grabbed a handful of crumpled-up medicine packets from beside the cup and tossed them into the trash can.

As I shoved the pills, still sealed in their packets, back into the medicine pouch, I stopped and took them out again, counting the pills one by one.

There were about a dozen or so pills left.

Thoughtlessly, I had downed a handful of them while drunk, and it hadn’t even been that long since I received them.

It looked like I’d need to go back for a refill soon.

“Ugh, so many notifications.”

Come to think of it, something about this felt off.

When it came to notifications lately, the only ones I got were either from a quiet group chat or new post alerts on my community app.

Those new post alerts were set to notify me only when a title or content contained specific keywords.

Unless something major happened, it was rare for posts with duplicate keywords to pop up in succession.

And it being the group chat didn’t make much sense either.

The group was made up mostly of crypto or stock addicts who only became active occasionally to gripe.

At this hour, they’d be too busy monitoring the market to check the chat.

In the end, I couldn’t suppress my growing curiosity and reached for my phone.

The screen lit up as I picked it up from the computer desk, illuminating the dark room.

—

Contrary to my expectations, something really had happened.

The identity of a Youtuber who’d been slowly gaining recognition in my community turned out to be a guy.

With a convincing avatar and a voice trained in female tones through voice chat rooms, they had been captivating their fanbase all this time.

[A lie… It has to be a lie… Just say it’s your ex-boyfriend trying to ruin your stream!!]

It seemed the Youtuber had a core fanbase here, as posts like this were going up at a rate of three per minute.

“Pfft!”

I couldn’t help but burst into laughter as I scrolled through the posts.

I guess I really enjoy watching other people’s misery.

No doubt, I don’t have the best personality.

Once, I shared the results of one of those “dark personality tests” that used to float around Google.

At least two people from my group chat freaked out when they saw it.

Two days later, I revealed that I’d deliberately exaggerated my answers for effect.

Anyway, after a short bout of browsing, I turned off the screen.

Messing around on my phone had delayed my morning routine more than usual.

By now, I was so hungry that it felt like my stomach was eating itself.

I decided to grab a convenience store lunchbox and slipped my feet into the pair of pants lying at the foot of the bed.

I wondered if they’d still fit after my body changed, but surprisingly, the length wasn’t much different.

I just rolled up the extra fabric at the cuffs.

The problem was elsewhere.

It felt tight below the waistline, around the hips, if I had to describe it.

Specifically, my stomach, which had been slightly protruding before, was now flatter, making the waistband loose in that area.

But below that, it felt tighter, creating an odd sensation.

The pants felt like they were about to slide off but never actually did—a truly awkward fit.

As I tried walking around, it felt like the pants were slipping down again.

I pulled the waistband up tight, but the snugness was short-lived.

Soon, I felt them sliding down again, though, looking in the bathroom mirror, they appeared perfectly fine—tight in the front with no visible issues.

Despite the strange sensation, there seemed to be no real problem, so I left the pants as they were and grabbed the bomber jacket hanging on the chair.

Luckily, my original body had been scrawny.

Other than feeling the shoulder seams pull and some tightness around the chest, there weren’t any obvious issues.

Someone might wonder—why go through all this trouble for a quick trip to the convenience store?

I’d call it “projecting inner thoughts.”

Since I have a habit of overanalyzing every word and glance, it’s only natural for me to make such a fuss.

—

When I stepped outside, the cold air of late December greeted me.

Frosty winds tousled my hair.

I should have worn socks.

My toes wiggled restlessly as I walked downhill, my feet freezing in the cold.

Fragments of asphalt slipped into the space between my slippers and feet.

After a few attempts at shaking them out, I gave up.

The warmth lingering on my cheeks vanished into the twilight along with the winter breeze, leaving my nose cold for no reason.

Under the flickering streetlight in front of my studio apartment, nameless bugs clustered.

The streetlight, clearly broken and on the verge of going out.

And the bugs, now lifeless, fallen beneath it.

Why would such a feeble light source become the life’s purpose for these insects, I wondered.

I hoped the goal of my own life, still undecided and causing me anxiety, wouldn’t turn out to be as futile.

Some might argue, “Does life really need a meaningful goal?”

After all, there’s no inherent reason for our birth, so there’s no need to set a goal.

Humans, often called the pinnacle of creation, aren’t particularly special.

Thus, they claim, a truly valuable life is one where we contribute to society responsibly and quantitatively, rather than chasing lofty, abstract ideals.

I once read an essay making a similar argument.

But it’s a sentiment I can’t agree with.

Yes, my desire for my life’s goal to be meaningful is merely my arrogance.

Call it childishness if you must; I won’t argue.

I want to be someone special.

I desperately wish there was a reason for my existence, and I’d like my goals to be grand if possible.

Yet, at the same time, I constantly imagine the worst about others’ intentions.

You could say I’m stuck in a self-contradiction.

Maybe it’s the lingering effects of the handful of pills I took.

Hunger gnawed at me.

I felt empty.

Strength drained from my limbs, and even my tongue felt sluggish.

It was as if my mind and body were sinking into quicksand.

I think the pills I used before were better.

Although they made my heart race a little, they brought a slight euphoria and a sense that I could accomplish anything.

This batch just leaves me feeling down.

Trying to draw parallels between fragmented bits of myself and the bugs that drift aimlessly in the night sky achieves nothing.

Though I felt some suspicion toward the hospital that prescribed me these pills, I decided to let it go.

Through the convenience store window, I spotted a couple of guys eating ramen.

I had planned to eat there too since cleaning up afterward felt like a hassle, but now I had no choice but to take the food home.

I intended to just buy a simple lunchbox, but as hunger took over, I ended up piling various items onto the counter.

The part-timer, who usually worked half-heartedly, seemed unusually efficient today.

“That’ll be 22,000 won. Would you like a bag?”

“Yes.”

They didn’t usually bother asking that. What’s gotten into them today?

As if hit by static electricity, our hands lightly brushed when I handed over my card, only for them to jerk back as if they’d touched a hot pan.

An awkward silence followed for a few seconds while we waited, but no receipt printed from the terminal.

“Um… it says you’re over your limit. Do you have another card?”

The part-timer hesitated, embarrassed, as they tried my card again, but it still didn’t go through.

It seemed I had run out of funds just as my rent was due.

“Wait here for a moment.”

I sighed, pulling another card from my pocket and handing it over.

“Okay… oh, this one works. Thank you. Have a nice day!”

“Yeah.”

“This one works?”

Were they implying they weren’t sure if it would? Was I really giving off such a broke vibe?

Usually, they’d be glued to their phone after finishing a transaction, but today they even gave a polite goodbye. It left me feeling uneasy.

I mumbled a brief reply as I took the bag they handed me.

Come to think of it, they didn’t even charge me for the bag. Do I really look that pathetic?

[Mom]

[Mom, can I get some money? I’m broke.]

The message was marked as read.

Now that I thought about it, it had been a while since I posted anything in the family group chat.

Except for my busy sister, who was tied up with her college life, and my father, who never wrote much to begin with, my mom and older brother were the only ones who regularly posted.

And here I was, breaking my ten-day silence with a request for allowance.

Talk about being a true fire-element filial child.

Or maybe I should say fire-element filial daughter now?

As I stepped out of the convenience store, I was reminded of the absurd event that had happened to me this morning.

How was I supposed to explain this?

“Posted a joke on a forum, and now my body’s changed!”

If anyone found out that I got fined 300,000 won for not using Tor (VPN) and promised to quit the forum, only to still be active, I might have to move back home.

Wait, on second thought, I should be grateful if they believe me at all.

Should I say I’m their daughter from Earth-2?

Or maybe I’m their son from the future who underwent TS surgery and came back in a time machine?

A sort of John Titor, TS version.

The more I thought about it, the more ridiculous my ideas became.