Jin-ho's life wasn't always a total dumpster fire. Back when Grandpa was around, things made sense. The old man was like a one-person army of love, cooking up spicy kimchi jjigae that could wake the dead, folding Jin-ho's laundry into perfect squares, and slipping him extra cash with a wink and a "Don't tell your future wife about this." Grandpa taught him everything: how to tie a tie for that one job interview he bombed, how to shave without looking like he lost a fight with a cheese grater, and even how to haggle at the market like a pro. Birthdays? Grandpa turned them into events, with cake from the corner bakery and stories about his wild youth in the army.
But cancer doesn't care about good guys. It took Grandpa slow and painful, leaving Jin-ho with an empty apartment, a stack of hospital bills, and a hole in his chest bigger than Seoul's skyline. At twenty-two, he was officially alone. No parents, he never knew them, just vague stories from Grandpa about a car accident. No siblings, no aunts or uncles popping in with awkward sympathy casseroles. Just him, the silence, and the crushing weight of "What now?"
Work became his escape, or more like his prison. Two part-time gigs: mornings at the convenience store, stocking shelves with energy drinks and instant ramen while dodging chatty ajummas; nights at the warehouse, hauling boxes until his back screamed for mercy. Fourteen hours a day, seven days a week. Paychecks barely covered rent and food, but it kept his mind off the emptiness.
Social life?
Ha. Who had time for that? Friends from school drifted away like smoke, busy with college, jobs, girlfriends. Jin-ho? He was the ghost in the group chat, the one who "liked" posts but never commented.
And let's be real: the loneliness hit hardest at night. That's when the "stress relief" kicked in. Three times a day, like clockwork. Morning: quick and efficient, to shake off the grogginess.
Afternoon: sneaky break in the warehouse bathroom, pretending to scroll his phone. Night: the grand finale, under a thin blanket on his lumpy futon, staring at the ceiling cracks that looked like judgmental faces. It wasn't addiction; it was survival. The only spark of joy in a gray world.
"At least I'm consistent," he'd mutter to himself, chuckling weakly. But deep down, it felt pathetic. Twenty-four years old, and his longest relationship was with his right hand. No dates, no crushes, no awkward first kisses. Just fantasies about the cute barista at the coffee shop who smiled at everyone, not just him.
That fateful morning started like any other. Shift ended at 4:30 a.m., body aching like he'd run a marathon with bricks in his shoes. The harbor path home was his ritual, salty air, distant ship horns, the faint glow of dawn painting the water in pinks and grays. It was peaceful, almost poetic, if you ignored the occasional drunk stumbling by or the seagulls fighting over trash.
Then he heard them. Voices, low and urgent, like bad guys in a K-drama.
"Oi, rookie! You tie ropes like a toddler. If she gets loose, the boss lady will skin us alive!"
"But hyung, I swear I double-knotted it!"
"Double-knotted? That's what you call this mess? Boss, why'd we bring this clown? He's gonna get us caught!"
The boss's voice cut through, gravelly and annoyed. "Shut your traps and load her up. We ain't got time for chit-chat."
Jin-ho crept closer, heart pounding like a drum solo. Peeking around a rusty container, he saw it: three sketchy dudes in black hoodies, one woman in rumpled office attire, skirt, blouse, heels kicked off, tied up and gagged on the dock. She looked knocked out, hair a mess, a bruise blooming on her cheek. Gangsters. Kidnapping. Right here, in this boring harbor.
His brain screamed, 'Run, idiot! Call the cops!' But his phone was already out, fingers dialing 112. "Emergency? Yeah, harbor district, kidnapping in progress, hurry!" The operator asked for details, but Jin-ho hung up. At this hour, cops would take forever. These goons would be on the boat and gone before sirens even wailed.
Stall them. That was the plan.
Stupid? Yes. Heroic? Kinda. Grandpa would approve, he always said, "Stand up for the weak, even if it means getting your ass kicked."
Jin-ho stepped out, channeling every action hero he'd seen on Netflix. "Hey! What the hell are you doing with that woman?"
The trio froze. The rookie, skinny kid with acne, panicked first. "Boss! Witness!"
"I got eyes, moron," the boss growled, a beefy guy with a scar across his jaw. He sized Jin-ho up like a bug to squash.
Jin-ho puffed his chest, ignoring the sweat trickling down his back. "I said, let her go. This is illegal as shit. She's not going anywhere with you creeps."
The boss smirked, cracking his knuckles. "Kid, mind your own business. Walk away, or we'll make you swim with the fishes."
"Kid?" Jin-ho bristled. Only Grandpa called him that, and with affection. These punks? No way. "I'm not a kid, and this is my business now. Untie her, or I'll… I'll make you regret it."
The thugs laughed. Boss nodded. "Boys, educate him."
Thug #1, greasy hair, gold chain, lunged with a sloppy haymaker. Jin-ho, fueled by warehouse muscles and basic fighting sense(learned back in high school Taekwondo club), faked a punch to the face. The guy guarded high. Rookie mistake. Jin-ho grabbed his collar instead and hurled him sideways, straight into the icy water.
SPLASH!
"Hyung!" the rookie yelped.
"One down," Jin-ho muttered, adrenaline buzzing. That felt good. Too good.
Thug #2, limpy guy who walked funny, pulled a switchblade, twirling it like he thought he was in a gangster flick. "You're dead, punk!"
Jin-ho didn't wait. He charged, kicking the guy's knee with a satisfying CRACK. The thug howled, dropping the knife as he crumpled like wet paper. "My leg! You broke my damn leg!"
"Will make it two if you don't shut up," Jin-ho snapped, feeling invincible. Warehouse work, built legs like tree trunks.
Now the boss. This guy was a tank, broad shoulders, fists like hams. He didn't rush; he stalked forward, eyes narrowed. "You got balls, kid. Too bad I'm gonna rearrange 'em."
The fight was on. Boss kicked Jin-ho's chest, sending him staggering. Pain exploded, felt like a truck hit him. Then a punch grazed his jaw, stars bursting. Jin-ho swung wild, missing mostly, but landing a lucky elbow to the gut. Boss grunted but kept coming.
"You're fighting like a drunk chicken," the boss taunted, landing another hit to Jin-ho's ribs. Crack, maybe a bruise, maybe worse.
Jin-ho's plan? Gone. He was winging it now, throwing punches like confetti. One connected with the boss's nose, blood sprayed. "Ha! Take that!"
But the boss grabbed his shirt, slamming fists into his face. Left, right, left, Jin-ho's world spun.
Nose broken? Check.
Lip split? Double check.
He tasted blood, vision blurring.
The boss paused, smirking at his handiwork. "Not so tough now, huh?" He glanced back at the rookie, who was yelling from the water: "Throw me a rope, boss! It's freezing!"
Distraction. Golden.
Jin-ho gathered every bit of strength, every frustrated jerk-off session's worth of pent-up rage, and launched his foot upward.
THUD.
Bullseye. Right in the family jewels.
The boss's eyes crossed. He let out a high-pitched wheeze, like a balloon deflating, and collapsed, curling into a fetal position. Face purple, hands clutching his crotch, silent except for whimpers.
Jin-ho stood there, panting, bruised, victorious. "That's… for calling me kid."
He turned to the woman. She was stirring, eyes fluttering open. Relief washed over him.
She sat up slowly, ropes loose, 'wait, how'd they get loose?' No time to think. He reached to help untie her gag.
Her hand flashed. Something cold and sharp pierced his chest.
The knife. From the thug. She'd grabbed it while he fought.
Jin-ho stared down, blood blooming like a bad tie-dye shirt. "Wha… why?"
She blinked, confused. "You… you're one of them?"
"One of them?" He coughed, legs wobbling. "I just beat their asses! For you! I was the hero here!"
Her eyes widened. Horror dawned. "Oh god… I thought you were reinforcements! You came out of nowhere, yelling!"
"Yelling at them!" Jin-ho sank to his knees, world tilting. Blood soaked everything. "Lady, I saved your life… and you stab me? That's… that's some rom-com plot gone wrong."
She yanked the knife out, 'ow, that hurt worse', and pressed her scarf to the wound. "Hold on! Don't die! What's your name? I'll call an ambulance!"
"Jin-ho… Park Jin-ho." He lay back, staring at the fading stars. Pain ebbed, replaced by cold. 'Twenty-four… worked my ass off… for nothing. Grandpa gone… no friends… no girl… died a virgin. Universe, you owe me big time. At least… let me haunt a hot tub or something.'
She was crying now. "I'm so sorry! Stay with me!"
But his body was already feeling cold from the pool of blood loss. He was drenched in his own blood. His vision was blurring out. Her sounded like it came from a distance.
The darkness swallowed him. Last thought: 'What a lame way to go. Stabbed by the damsel. Virgin forever.'
*******
Time passed.
He didn't know how long.
It felt like floating in thick, endless black, no body, no pain, no anything. For the first time in years the loneliness didn't hurt, because there was no "him" to feel it.
Then, CRASH.
Everything slammed back into him at once. The cold hit like ice water poured straight into his bones. The stink, piss, blood, rot, punched him in the face. His skin crawled with damp and filth. Every muscle felt like it had been hammered by a drunk giant.
CLANK.
The spiked collar bit his throat. The chain yanked him short. He almost threw up from the shock.
He forced his eyes open. A dripping, stinking cell. Rats everywhere. Six other bodies chained around the walls, barely alive. Their skin was gray-blue, ribs showing, rags hanging off them like wet paper. One woman's torn shirt had given up completely; her breasts were just… out, pale and bruised, swaying a little when she breathed. Nobody had the energy to cover anything anymore.
Jin-ho's hands shook as he touched his arms, same bruises, same cuts, same hell. But his chest… nothing. The place where the knife went in was smooth, perfect, like it never happened. His breath hitched. Tears stung his eyes without warning.
He had died. He remembered the warmth leaving, the girl's crying face, the stupid last thought about never getting laid. And now this.
Then he saw the ears.
Long, sharp, beautiful pointy ears on every single prisoner.
Real elves.
Jin-ho stared until his eyes burned. Something cracked open inside his chest, not pain this time, but a raw, ridiculous ache that was half laugh, half sob.
He let his head fall back against the wet stone, chain clinking, and whispered to the dark like it was an old friend who'd played the cruelest prank ever.
'I spent two years jerking off in a moldy apartment because I had nobody. I finally tried to be a hero… and the girl I saved killed me. Still a virgin. And this, this is what you give me?Some budget LORD OF THE RINGS setting?! For real? Elf jail? With the collars and the rats and the tits just hanging out like nobody cares anymore?'
His voice broke. A single, wet laugh escaped.
"You're not even being creative, you bastard Universe. You're just being mean."
Author: Well, that was a bummer. Imagine getting killed by a woman you saved. But your misfortune didn't end there. You got Isekaid as a High Elf, only to find out you are a slave here.
But you know the drill. You won't sit still after getting Isekaid in a freaking fantasy world. You will get past this. Maybe not now, not today, but you will for sure break these iron chains and hold your head high in this world of Magic(As realistic as possible) and sword.