Shortcut to Chaos
The sun was shining, the air was crisp, and the universe itself seemed to be rewarding her for being a responsible, grocery-buying wife. She pulled out her phone, typing smugly, “Mission accomplished. Wife will be proud.” It felt good to be responsible. To prove, if only for today, that she was a mature, capable adult who could resist temptation and follow instructions to the letter.
As she prepared to head home, a thought crossed her mind. The usual route was longer. But if she took the shortcut through the park, she’d get back faster. Wonyoung would be even more impressed by her efficiency. Nodding to herself like a genius, Yujin adjusted the grocery bags in her hands and stepped confidently toward the shortcut—completely unaware of the impending disaster waiting for her.
The shortcut seemed like a brilliant idea at first.
A quiet, unassuming side street that sliced through the neighborhood, cutting her walking time almost in half. No traffic lights, no slow-walking pedestrians, just a quick, efficient path back home.
Wonyoung would praise her for her strategic thinking.
She was already imagining it. Her wife, looking up from her endless stack of legal documents, arching an eyebrow in mild surprise as Yujin casually mentioned how she optimised her time by taking the most efficient route home. Maybe, if she played her cards right, Wonyoung would even be impressed enough to give a kiss on the cheek for her efforts.
With this thought fueling her confidence, she adjusted the grocery bags in her grip and strode forward with purpose.
Nothing could go wrong.
…Right?
Wrong. So wrong.
Because just as she was mentally patting herself on the back, something caught her eye. Something that made her forget everything—the bags of groceries in her hands, the shortcut she had so brilliantly chosen, the concept of efficiency, responsibility, and basic self-restraint.
A puppy.
Not just any puppy.
A tiny, round, absolutely illegal level of adorable puppy.
It sat there on the sidewalk, completely unaware of the devastation it had just inflicted upon Yujin’s very existence. The first thing she noticed was its fur, a soft, golden caramel color that looked like it had been handwoven by angels themselves. Then came the legs—criminally stubby, like they belonged to a plush toy rather than a real, breathing creature. And the eyes—oversized, glistening, deadly.
Yujin’s brain short-circuited on the spot. She came to an immediate stop, nearly stumbling as her entire world narrowed to that one tiny creature. Her heart skipped. No, it fully malfunctioned. It was as if every fiber of her being suddenly vibrated with a singular, inescapable purpose— to pet that puppy.
A sharp inhale dragged into her lungs as her fingers twitched at her sides, the overwhelming need to squish, cuddle, and love overtaking her higher brain functions.
She barely registered the strangled, high-pitched noise that escaped her throat, but it was there. A sound somewhere between a gasp and a dying squeak, the unmistakable cry of a person who had just been defeated by cuteness itself. "Oh my God, LOOK AT YOU!" Her voice cracked with unfiltered delight as she practically lunged forward, groceries teetering dangerously in her grasp.
She didn’t even care.
The puppy blinked up at her, tail giving tiny, enthusiastic wags as it regarded her with that pure, unguarded curiosity only animals and toddlers seemed to have.
Yujin felt her soul ascend.
"Who let you be this CUTE?" she whispered, barely breathing, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile perfection of the moment. Her hands hovered mid-air, fingers wiggling in anticipation.
The universe had given her a gift.
A single, glorious opportunity to interact with this divine creature.
Her brain was already constructing plans—she would gently introduce herself, let the puppy sniff her hand, and maybe even earn a little boop on the nose if she played her cards right.
She was so close.
And then—
The puppy bolted.
Yujin froze.
For a long, agonising heartbeat, her body refused to process what had just happened. One moment, the puppy had been right there, a breath away from destiny. And the next, it was a speeding blur of fluff, scampering off as if she hadn’t just offered it her entire heart and soul.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Her body made the decision before her mind could catch up.
"WAIT, NO—COME BACK!"
And just like that, she was running.
The shortcut? Forgotten.
The groceries? Who cares?
Her original mission? Deleted.
Because this was no longer about getting home.
This was a rescue operation.
Her sneakers pounded against the pavement as she launched into full pursuit, heart hammering in her chest as she weaved through startled pedestrians. She ducked and dodged, barely avoiding a collision with an elderly woman carrying a potted plant. She side-stepped a bicycle, twisted her body to squeeze through a gap between two distracted students, and nearly tripped over a discarded soda can in the process.
But Yujin was determined.
The puppy was fast, but she had longer legs.
She could catch up.
She had to.
Her focus was razor-sharp, her entire world reduced to the bouncing ball of fluff ahead of her. She lunged forward, fingertips just inches from its tiny, wagging tail—
And then—
DISASTER.
Her foot caught on something.
A treacherous, uneven crack in the sidewalk.
She barely had time to process the betrayal before it was too late. Her entire body lurched forward. Her arms flailed wildly, a desperate attempt to regain her balance. And in the middle of this chaotic, airborne moment of sheer panic, her shoe gave up on life. A sickening rip echoed through the street. A subtle but unmistakable snap followed, the kind of sound that immediately told her something had gone horribly, irreversibly wrong. She skidded to a halt, breathless, pulse racing as she lifted her foot in slow motion, dreading what she was about to see.
And there it was.
The ruins of what was once a functional sneaker, are now a pathetic, half-destroyed mess. The front had completely detached, flapping open like the gaping mouth of a fish. The sight of her sock peeking through was almost worse than the damage itself—a humiliating betrayal, a silent declaration of her absolute defeat. She just stood there, panting, staring at her fallen footwear like it had personally wronged her.
The puppy?
Long gone.
This?
This was a crisis.
Dragging both hands down her face, Yujin inhaled deeply, trying to contain the spiralling frustration gnawing at her sanity.
Okay. Deep breaths. This was fine.
Sure, she could just turn around, limp home in disgrace, and tell her wife that the universe had personally conspired against her—that a tragic series of events had led to her current predicament.
But no.
No, that wasn’t who she was.
She was An Yujin, a problem solver, a quick thinker, a woman who absolutely refused to be defeated by a broken shoe and bad luck.
She could fix this.
She would fix this.
Because by some miraculous twist of fate, she had a tiny tube of superglue in her pocket. It was a sign, really. A message from the universe itself, whispering in her ear, "Yujin, my child. You are meant to handle this on your own." And so, with the unwavering confidence of someone about to make the worst decision of their life, Yujin marched over to the nearest bench—right beside a massive statue in the park—plopped down, and got to work.
With the concentration of a world-class surgeon, Yujin carefully uncapped the tiny tube of superglue, her movements precise, deliberate, the very picture of competence. She wasn’t just fixing a shoe, she was performing a delicate operation, an engineering marvel about to unfold in the middle of the park.
She squeezed just the right amount of glue onto the detached sole of her sneaker, watching as the clear, viscous liquid oozed out in a perfect, strategic line. She smiled to herself, self-satisfaction radiating from every pore. "Perfect. Genius. I should be an engineer. No—an inventor. A visionary."
She pressed the damaged sections together with steady fingers, applying firm but gentle pressure, ensuring the bond would hold. Now, all she had to do was wait. Give it a moment to work its magic.
And then—
Disaster.
A sneeze.
Not just any sneeze.
A catastrophic, body-wracking, soul-shaking sneeze.
The kind that sneaks up on you with zero warning, sending a full-body jolt through your entire system before you even register what’s happening. One second, Yujin was securing her masterpiece. The next, she was jerking forward with the force of an earthquake, the tube of glue sputtering wildly in her grip like a garden hose gone rogue. Her eyes snapped open, and for a moment, she just… froze. Her breath caught as she lowered her gaze in slow, creeping horror, tilting her fingers ever so slightly. A thick, gleaming glob of glue glistened in the sunlight, stubbornly clinging to her skin.
Her mind blanked.
Her soul left her body.
Oh.
Oh no.
Sticky. Very sticky.
There was a solid two seconds of absolute, ringing silence in her brain like her mind had hit a blue screen error before her survival instincts kicked in. "Okay, okay, okay. No big deal. Just don’t touch anything. Just keep your hands up, and you’ll be fine. Just—"
Her hand shot out. Instinctively. Automatically.
And landed directly on the cold, stone fingers of the statue beside her.
At first, the realisation trickled in slowly, like an incoming tide—gentle, unassuming, creeping up on her before she even had time to process it.
She blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Her gaze drifted downward, stomach twisting into something uncomfortably tight as she took in the sight of her palm—her very much glued palm—pressed flush against the cold, unyielding surface of the statue’s hand.
A shiver crawled up her spine.
It was fine.
This was fine.
Maybe the glue hadn’t fully dried yet. Maybe she could just pull away real quick and pretend this never happened. With the kind of careful, delicate motion normally reserved for defusing bombs, she gave her hand a gentle tug.
Nothing.
Her pulse jumped.
A little harder this time.
Still nothing.
Her fingers remained completely and utterly fused to the statue, as if the universe itself had decided she belonged to it now.
Her brain stuttered, gears grinding to a halt.
No.
No, no, no.
That wasn’t right.
That couldn’t be right.
She pulled again, harder, her breath hitching when her skin didn’t even shift. A thin, creeping sense of horror began to claw its way up her throat, cold and suffocating.
Her fingers were locked in place.
Oh.
Oh no.
Her stomach plummeted at the exact same moment a bead of sweat trickled down her temple. Her breathing stalled, lungs refusing to cooperate as she mentally scrolled through every single life choice that had led her to this exact moment in time. Was this karma? Retribution for something?
She should’ve known.
She should’ve known the second she thought, “I should be an engineer” that fate would personally smite her for her arrogance.
Panic bubbled in her throat, but Yujin was nothing if not delusionally optimistic, so she forced herself to casually glance around, lips twitching into something resembling a neutral expression, like she hadn’t just accidentally fused herself to public property in broad daylight.
Okay.
Okay.
This was fine.
This was fixable.
She just needed leverage.
If she could just push off the statue with her other hand, she could break free.
That was basic physics, right?
Simple problem-solving.
With surgical precision, she raised her free hand (her only free hand, at this point) and placed it against the statue’s forearm, fingers splayed out, prepared to give herself one good shove—
And then she felt it.
That same, sickening sensation of skin meeting glue.
Time slowed to a crawl.
A single, deafening thought screamed through her mind like an air raid siren.
WAIT.
NO.
SHE DIDN’T—
Her breath hitched. She froze mid-motion, paralysed in a half-crouched stance, her body going completely rigid as the full, soul-crushing weight of reality came crashing down on her.
Her other hand.
Was stuck too.
The universe, as a whole, seemed to pause in solidarity with her poor life choices. The birds stopped chirping. The wind stopped blowing. Somewhere, a child probably dropped their ice cream cone in perfect synchronisation with the utter disaster unfolding before them.
For a long, horrifically drawn-out moment, she refused to acknowledge it. Maybe if she stayed completely still, the universe would undo this mistake. Maybe she could just rewind time a little, go back to five minutes ago, when she was still a free, unattached woman with her dignity intact.
But then she tried to lift her arm.
And it didn’t move.
Her entire soul collapsed in on itself. A whisper—barely audible, cracked with pure horror—slipped past her lips. "...Oh no."
This.
This was not good.
Now was not the time to panic.
Now was the time for rational thinking.
For strategic planning.
For clever, calculated manoeuvring.
She was a problem solver.
She was smart.
She was resourceful.
She just needed a new plan.
A better plan.
One that didn’t involve becoming permanently affixed to this damn statue like some kind of tragic, avant-garde art installation. Alright. Think, Yujin. Panic was not an option. Not yet, anyway. She could fix this.
Plan A: Yank her hands free.
Simple. Effective. A classic brute-force approach, the tried-and-true method of idiots everywhere. She rolled her shoulders back, inhaled deeply, and braced herself. On three.
One.
Her fingers flexed as much as the glue would allow.
Two.
Her heartbeat ticked up, her muscles tensing in preparation.
Three!
With every ounce of strength she had, she yanked backwards—
And absolutely nothing happened. Not a twitch. Not a budge. Not even the tiniest mercy of movement. The only thing that happened was the faint, distant sound of her dignity shattering into microscopic pieces. Yujin let out a long, agonised sigh, staring blankly at the statue’s unfeeling stone hand. Her captor. Her enemy. Her doom.
Alright. Fine. New plan.
Plan B: Use her teeth to peel her fingers away.
Unhinged? Yes.
Disgusting? Absolutely.
Effective? Possibly.
At this point, pride had no place here. If she had to gnaw herself free like a desperate raccoon caught in a dumpster trap, then so be it. She hesitated only for a second, her stomach twisting in protest at the mere thought of licking industrial-strength adhesive. How toxic was superglue, anyway? Was this how she died? No. No, she refused. This was a temporary setback. She’d be out of here in seconds.
With grim determination, she bent forward, opening her mouth slightly, jaw hovering just over her glue-covered fingers—
And that.
That.
Was when she sealed her fate.
Because in her blind desperation, in her tragic lapse of self-preservation, she leaned just a little too far forward—
Her cheek landed flush against the statue’s unforgiving, glue-streaked surface. A terrible, unforgivable sticky sensation spread across her skin like death itself. For a long, horrifying moment, Yujin simply froze.
She felt it. Oh, she felt it.
The betrayal was instant and unforgiving, sinking its claws into her before she even had time to comprehend the full scale of her misfortune.
At first, it was just a strange sensation—a stickiness that felt unnatural, spreading across her skin with a horrifying finality. Then, like a delayed bomb going off in her brain, realisation dawned. Cold. Merciless. Absolute. Her stomach plummeted, a free-fall drop straight into the gaping abyss of despair, as if the universe had personally decided, "Yes, Yujin, this is your fate now. You are one with the statue. Forever."
A frigid chill slithered down her spine, curling around her lungs like a vice, leaving her with a crushing sense of dread so intense, so all-consuming, that she could practically hear the funeral march playing in the background.
No.
No, no, no.
This wasn’t happening.
This COULDN’T be happening.
This was a joke, right? Some cruel, warped prank by fate?
With painstaking, excruciating slowness, Yujin willed herself to move just a little, just enough to break free, to prove to herself that she wasn’t actually fused to this godforsaken sculpture like some kind of offering to the gods of public humiliation.
She tried to lean back.
Tried to correct her mistake before it became permanent.
Before—
She did not move.
The tiny breath she had been holding seized in her throat.
The world around her stilled.
For a fraction of a second, she dared to believe she was imagining it.
But no.
Her cheek.
Her actual, bare, stupid, traitorous cheek.
Was glued.
To the statue.
In broad daylight.
In a public park.
Yujin’s soul immediately detached from her physical form and ascended into the stratosphere, seeking asylum from the sheer, unrelenting stupidity of her current situation. For a long, harrowing moment, she simply existed in the void of her own catastrophic decisions, hovering between denial and the soul-shattering acceptance that she might actually have to live here now.
A permanent installation.
A cautionary tale.
A cursed urban legend that future generations would whisper about in hushed voices.
Her pulse roared in her ears, drowning out all logic, all hope, all possibility of escape. There had to be a way out. There HAD to be a way out. With a horrible, strangled whimper, she tried again—pulling, twisting, willing the laws of physics to have mercy on her very existence.
Nothing.
Her face remained plastered against the unfeeling stone, locked in a battle she had already lost. She felt her entire life flash before her eyes—every good decision, every bad one, every single moment that had led her to this exact point in time, where she had somehow managed to glue herself to a piece of public property with the grace and intelligence of a half-baked potato.
Her world crumbled in slow motion.
This was worse than failure.
This was a catastrophe.
This was how she became a historical landmark.
Somewhere in the distance, a bird cawed ominously, as if mocking her misery. A muffled, completely unintelligible shriek clawed its way out of her chest, the sound of a woman who had lost all hope, all dignity, all chance of a normal life.
"Mmhph?!??"
The noise barely escaped her lips, suffocated by the skin-to-stone horror show she had orchestrated with her own two hands.
No.
No, no, no.
This wasn’t real.
This couldn’t be real.
She squeezed her eyes shut, praying— begging —that when she opened them, reality would reset itself, and she would not, in fact, be permanently bonded to a hunk of decorative architecture.
She peeked one eye open.
The statue’s hand was still there.
Her hands were still there.
Her face was still there.
Still attached.
Still doomed.
She let out a weak, trembling breath, the sound of pure, undiluted suffering. Surely, SURELY , her day had not just progressed from "mild inconvenience" to "permanent fixture in the city’s modern art exhibit."
But it had.
And somehow, deep in her gut, she knew it was only going to get worse.
Much, much worse.
Yujin held her breath, squeezing her eyes shut as if sheer willpower could rewind time and undo the catastrophic sequence of events that had led her here. Maybe if she prayed hard enough, the universe would grant her mercy. A gust of wind might miraculously unstick her, or some kind soul would happen to be walking by with a perfectly timed industrial-strength solvent. But the universe, as always, took one look at Yujin and decided to make things worse. A voice—small, high-pitched, and far too loud for comfort—rang out like a death knell across the park. "Mom, is that lady kissing the statue?"
Yujin’s entire existence shattered into dust.
Her eyes snapped open, and though she couldn’t physically turn her head (what with her face being attached to a rock,) she could feel the weight of a child’s stare boring into her soul.
Absolute, unfiltered, innocent judgment.
Her breath hitched in sheer mortification. She could already imagine the look on the kid’s face. Wide eyes, a tilted head, perhaps even a disgusted little pout. It was the kind of unrelenting, brutal honesty only children and old women at family reunions could wield with zero remorse.
Oh god.
She needed to say something. She needed to fix this.
But what?
"No, I’m not kissing it. I just happen to be very, very, VERY attached to public art?"
"This is an interactive exhibit? A modern statement piece on the dangers of adhesive misuse?"
"Help?"
Before she could stammer out a single excuse, the child’s mother made a noise—a sharp, disapproving tsk—and yanked their kid away. Not just a casual, “Come along, sweetie” kind of movement. No. This was a full evacuation. As if prolonged exposure to Yujin’s stupidity might lead to permanent brain damage. Yujin could feel the secondhand embarrassment radiating from the woman as she quickened her pace, all but dragging her child away from whatever contagious idiocy they had just witnessed.
Her already crumbling dignity shrivelled up and died.
And then—
The murmurs started.
At first, they were little more than hushed ripples, whispers barely registering in the cool afternoon air, passing from one curious stranger to another like a secret too irresistible to keep. But secrets had a way of spreading like wildfire, especially when they involved something as undeniably ridiculous as a fully grown woman being physically fused to a public statue.
The energy around her shifted, the easygoing hum of the park replaced by something sharper, something charged. A rustling of movement. A faint giggle. The sound of shoes scraping against pavement as more and more people slowed their steps, drawn in like moths to the spectacle of human stupidity before them.
Yujin’s body tensed. A cold sweat prickled at the nape of her neck, dripping down her spine in slow, agonising beads. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. Maybe if she willed herself hard enough, the universe would grant her mercy. Maybe if she just stayed still, kept her breathing shallow, and avoided making a single sound, people would glance her way, squint in mild confusion, and then move on with their day.
Yes. That’s right. People were busy. They had things to do. Errands to run. Lives to live.
This wasn’t interesting enough to hold their attention for long.
This could still be salvaged.
And then—
Click .
The unmistakable, soul-crushing sound of a phone camera shutter.
Yujin’s stomach plummeted into the abyss.
The realisation came all at once, slamming into her like a freight train with no brakes. She felt the shift deep in her bones, a primal certainty that she was no longer just an unfortunate bystander to her own stupidity.
She was an entertainment.
Slowly—like a prisoner being forced to witness their own public execution—Yujin cracked open one eye.
And immediately wished she hadn’t.
Phones.
Dozens of them.
Pointed directly at her.
A sea of lenses, all capturing her misery from multiple angles. Some people had even tilted their phones for better framing. Yujin’s breath hitched, her entire body locking up in sheer, unfiltered horror. It wasn’t just a few curious onlookers taking a passing glance anymore. It was a full-fledged audience. Some were recording, their camera apps wide open, fingers hovering over the screen as if waiting for something even more spectacularly stupid to happen. Others were zooming in, adjusting their focus like they were documentary filmmakers capturing a rare species in its natural habitat.
And then—
Someone laughed.
Not a small chuckle. Not an amused exhale.
A full-on, wheezing, knee-slapping cackle.
It was a sound so loud, so shamelessly delighted, that it sent a ripple effect through the gathered crowd, unlocking a floodgate of barely contained snorts and giggles. Yujin squeezed her eyes shut, as if doing so would make the entire world cease to exist. Her fingers twitched at her sides, aching to cover her face in shame but of course, she couldn’t.
Because she was glued to a goddamn statue.
She swallowed hard, her throat dry, her pulse hammering against her ribs.
Okay. Maybe, maybe , she was overreacting.
Maybe this wasn’t as bad as it seemed.
Sure, a few people were laughing. Sure, there were some cameras. But people took random pictures all the time, right? They weren’t necessarily posting them. Maybe they would just send them to a friend, have a quick laugh, and move on.
This wasn’t some big viral moment.
It wasn’t like anyone was—
Oh no.
A fresh wave of terror slammed into her as her gaze landed on something even worse than the cameras.
A man.
Holding up his phone.
Live-streaming.
Her entire body went cold.
Her stomach twisted itself into knots, her breath caught somewhere between panic and despair.
No.
No, no, no, NO.
Not a live stream.
She forced herself to focus, her gaze snapping to the top of his screen. And there, in bold, mocking letters, was the title of the stream.
‘GLUED GIRL VS. THE WORLD’
Yujin made a noise. A noise that didn’t belong to this realm. It clawed its way out of her throat—a deep, guttural sound that could only be described as the spiritual embodiment of regret. She barely registered the fact that the chat was already exploding, comments flying in faster than her horrified brain could process. But unfortunately, some messages burned themselves into her retinas.
— LMAOOO SHE REALLY STUCK
— Someone get her a lawyer
— Bro what kind of glue is that?? NASA grade??
— NEW URBAN LEGEND JUST DROPPED
This was it.
This was how she went viral.
Not for some awe-inspiring moment of bravery. Not for a heartwarming tale of perseverance.
No.
She was about to be permanently immortalised as the dumbass who superglued herself to a statue. She could already see the headlines. The memes. The GIFs of her flailing helplessly, paired with captions like “Me trying to escape my responsibilities” or “When commitment issues backfire.”
Yujin sucked in a long, trembling breath of pure, undiluted suffering.
"Wonyoung is going to kill me."
Just when she thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse—
“Miss, please step away from the statue.”
The words rang out sharp and authoritative, cutting through the growing murmur of the crowd like a gavel slamming down in a courtroom. The kind of voice that demanded obedience, the kind that belonged to someone who had probably dealt with far too many public disturbances in his lifetime and had precisely zero patience left for nonsense today.
Yujin didn’t need to look to know exactly who it belonged to.
Security.
Oh, fantastic.
An immediate, visceral wave of panic surged through her body, sending a fresh burst of cold sweat down her spine. This was it. This was the part where she got arrested, where she’d have to do the humiliating perp walk, where she’d end up on every local news station as the dumbass who had somehow managed to fuse herself to a national landmark.
With every ounce of reluctant dread, she slowly— painfully slowly —dragged her gaze to the side.
And there he was.
A security guard, standing a few feet away, staring at her with the exact expression of a man who had seen enough bullshit for one lifetime. Arms crossed. Shoulders hunched forward like the entire weight of capitalism was pressing down on him. His face was a perfect blend of exhaustion, exasperation, and regret, like he was mentally debating whether he should even bother dealing with this or just pretend it wasn’t happening and quit his job altogether.
Yujin swallowed.
His silence stretched, thick and judgmental.
Finally, with the world’s most defeated sigh, the guard pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered, “…Do I even want to ask?”
Yujin took in a slow, measured breath.
She carefully considered her options.
She could lie.
She could say something smart, something that would make her sound less like an absolute buffoon and more like a reasonable, unfortunate victim of tragic circumstances. Something, anything, that could help her preserve the last shreds of her dignity.
Instead, what came out was possibly the dumbest thing she had ever said in her life.
“I physically cannot.”
Silence.
The guard stared. His expression didn’t shift. Didn’t change. Just pure, unmoving scepticism. Then, finally—without breaking eye contact—he took a single step forward. Deliberate. Calculated. He reached out slowly, as if approaching a wild animal that might bolt at any moment. His fingers lightly pressed against her shoulder, giving it an experimental tug—
And—
Nothing.
Yujin did not move.
The statue did not move.
The guard frowned. A tiny bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
“…Huh."
His brows knit together, suspicion darkening his features. He tried again, this time with a little more force.
Nothing.
Not an inch. Not a twitch.
The guard’s frown deepened. The first hints of genuine concern flickered across his face. His grip tightened, his stance shifting as he put actual effort into the next attempt—
Yujin braced herself—
And then—
The worst possible thing happened.
She felt it before she heard it.
A sudden shift in weight. A faint, sickening resistance, like something stretching. And then, the sound. That damning, awful, skin-cementing sound. A dreadful squelch, followed by an ominous tacky pull.
The guard froze.
Yujin’s entire soul left her body.
It was like time itself had paused.
The world around them faded—the bustling park, the murmuring crowd, the phones recording every second of this absolute train wreck—all of it ceased to exist in that one excruciating moment of realisation. With the slow, horrifying certainty of a man who had just witnessed his entire life collapse in real-time, the security guard turned his head.
Their eyes met.
“…I’m stuck.”
Yujin inhaled.
Deeply.
Painfully.
She squeezed her eyes shut, letting out the slowest, most defeated exhale in human history. Somewhere in the crowd, someone absolutely lost their shit laughing. Yujin’s fingers twitched violently at her side, a knee-jerk response to the absolute cosmic joke the universe had just played on her. She could practically feel the judgment radiating off the bystanders, their barely contained giggles bubbling over like a kettle screaming on a stove.
Someone clapped.
Someone actually clapped.
A chorus of cheers, whoops, and choked laughter erupted around them, escalating the public humiliation to unthinkable levels.
The chat on the livestream was exploding.
— BROOOOOOO
— HE GOT GLUED TOO LMAOOOO
— NAH THIS AINT REAL THIS IS A SIMULATION
— DOES THIS COUNT AS RESISTING ARREST??
Yujin cracked one eye open. Just in time to witness the final nail in the coffin of her dignity. In the sea of horrified, bewildered, and gleefully entertained faces surrounding her, one woman stood out. She was folded in half, hands braced against her knees, shoulders quaking with uncontrollable laughter. The kind of laughter that shook the soul, the kind that left a person gasping for air and questioning whether they’d make it out alive. Tears streamed down her face, her entire body convulsing like she’d just heard the funniest joke of her life.
That was it. That was the moment Yujin truly understood how badly she had ruined her own life. If she had any ounce of dignity left, it was currently melting into the concrete beneath her feet.
A low, pain-ridden groan rumbled from beside her.
Yujin barely turned her head before hearing the most broken, most soul-deep sigh of the century. “This is not my job,” the security guard muttered under his breath, glaring at the sky like he was debating whether or not to just walk into the sunset and never come back. His face had the hollowed-out exhaustion of a man who had spent his entire life trying to be a decent employee, only to wake up one day and find himself superglued to an absolute dumbass.
Yujin’s soul disintegrated.
She knew.
She knew exactly how this was going to end.
Because the universe—that cold, unfeeling, petty bitch—apparently thought she hadn’t suffered enough.
And then—
She heard it.
A sound that sent her entire body into fight-or-flight.
A police radio crackling to life.
Somewhere in the crowd, people shifted, parting like the Red Sea. And through that human opening, Yujin spotted two uniformed officers making their way toward the disaster zone with the kind of slow, weary caution normally reserved for handling wild animals, live grenades, and unhinged conspiracy theorists.
One of them—a man clutching a large coffee cup like it was the last thread holding him to sanity—locked eyes with her. And the moment recognition dawned, his entire soul visibly left his body. The tension hung heavy between them.
Seconds stretched into eternity.
Then, his shoulders slumped.
He let out the deepest, most world-weary sigh, took one long, painful sip of his coffee, and muttered, “…You again?”
Yujin’s stomach dropped into her ankles.
Oh. Oh no.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, a distant, painful memory surfaced. A memory of a particularly unfortunate incident involving a vending machine, a failed snack retrieval attempt, and a long, humiliating conversation with a very unamused officer.
Her eyes darted to his name tag.
Officer Park.
Ah.
Of course.
Because of course, she would be running into him again.
Because why wouldn’t her past come back to haunt her at the worst possible time?
She swallowed hard.
“I can explain!” she blurted out.
An absolute, bald-faced lie.
Because let’s be real, she absolutely could not explain.
There was no possible combination of words in any known language that could justify how the hell she ended up glued to a national landmark—alongside a security guard, no less.
Officer Park tilted his head.
A slow, deliberate movement.
Like a scientist examining a particularly dumb specimen under a microscope.
“…Really?” he asked, voice flat with disbelief.
Yujin straightened her spine, attempting to summon whatever fraction of credibility she had left. “Yes!” she declared, with the confidence of a woman who was about to lie her way out of a felony.
Officer Park hummed. Raised an eyebrow. Then, with the cold, cruel efficiency of a man who had clearly dealt with her bullshit before, he took a slow sip of his coffee and deadpanned, “Because last time, you got stuck in a vending machine.”
Checkmate.
Yujin felt her entire argument die a gruesome death.
The weight of the crowd’s collective amusement pressed down on her shoulders, suffocating, soul-crushing, merciless. She could already hear people whispering, reacting, gasping, losing their minds.
Someone in the back wheezed so hard they almost collapsed.
Some guy yelled, “NAH, NOT AGAIN?!”
The live-stream comments were exploding.
— VENDING MACHINE INCIDENT PART TWO LETS GOOOOO
— I KNEW SHE LOOKED FAMILIAR LMFAOOOOO
— DOES SHE JUST COLLECT L’S FOR FUN
Yujin gritted her teeth.
“That was a misunderstanding,” she shot back, voice tight.
Officer Park’s expression didn’t change.
He didn’t even blink.
“…Was it?”
Before she could launch into a highly defensive (and totally unconvincing) argument, another problem emerged.
She spotted them too late.
A sleek black van, glossy and menacing under the afternoon sun, rolling to a smooth, ominous stop like a predator arriving at the perfect hunting ground. The doors slid open with terrifying precision, not hurried, not hesitant, but with the effortless efficiency of something that had done this before—many times, to many poor souls who never saw it coming.
And before she could even process what was happening—
They emerged.
A swarm of camera operators spilt out of the van like a tactical media strike force, hoisting their equipment with an almost military-grade level of readiness. Boom mics stretched toward the sky. Lenses snapped into place. The sheer coordination of it was terrifying.
Yujin’s stomach plummeted.
Because she already knew.
Oh, she knew.
They weren’t just any reporters. These were the vultures. The ones who smelled blood before it had even spilled. The kind of professionals who could sniff out public humiliation from miles away, chase it down at full speed, and tear it apart for maximum entertainment value.
And leading the charge—the apex predator herself.
A woman in a pristine blazer, pressed to perfection, striding forward with the confidence of someone who had just stumbled upon the kind of headline that would be talked about for years. There was a sharp gleam in her eye, the kind of hunger that only came from a journalist sensing their career-defining scoop.
Yujin locked up.
A spike of panic shot through her chest, her body seizing up as every survival instinct she possessed began firing off at once.
Her lungs? Useless.
Her brain? Refused to function.
Her soul? Floated out of her body, waving goodbye as it ascended toward a better place—one where she hadn’t just glued herself to a historical monument like a complete idiot.
No. No, no, no, no—
This was not happening.
This was NOT happening.
Yet every second that passed only cemented the horror.
The reporter’s heels clicked against the pavement in perfect, methodical rhythm—sharp, deliberate, a death knell counting down the final moments before her reputation would be set ablaze. Around them, the crowd’s energy shifted. Excitement bubbled through the air, a tangible pulse of anticipation, amusement, and pure, unfiltered schadenfreude. People nudged each other, murmuring in hushed tones that quickly escalated into open laughter, their phones raised and recording from every possible angle.
Yujin barely managed to suppress a strangled groan.
She could already hear the headlines.
Could already see her name trending.
And then—
The microphone was in her face.
The cameras flashed, white-hot and blinding, their lenses zeroing in like vultures descending on a carcass. The reporter’s eyes gleamed with cutthroat precision, her voice perfectly poised, smooth, and razor-sharp. “Ma’am,” she began, tone drenched in the kind of professional glee that only came from witnessing someone else’s life fall apart in real-time, “How does it feel to be permanently attached to history?”
Yujin snapped. “I’M NOT ANSWERING THAT.” Her voice shot through the plaza like a crack of thunder, raw, desperate, the cry of a woman watching her entire existence crumble before her very eyes.
The reaction was instant.
The crowd erupted into laughter, their amusement ripping through the air like a tidal wave.
The cameras shuttered wildly.
Click. Click. Click.
A symphony of her public humiliation being immortalized in high definition.
And the reporter?
She didn’t even flinch.
Oh, she was good.
Yujin could already tell this wasn’t her first time destroying someone on live television. Instead of backing off, she leaned in closer, the microphone hovering between them like a guillotine poised to drop. “Would you say this is the most defining moment of your life?” she pressed, her smile dangerously poised, like a predator watching its prey make a final, desperate mistake.
Yujin’s breath hitched.
Her head jerked to the side, a reflexive movement, as if turning away could somehow make all of this disappear.
It didn’t.
Instead, she was met with a sea of phones, dozens of cameras recording from every possible angle. She was about to become an internet sensation for the worst possible reason. Because she, An Yujin, an otherwise functional adult, had somehow managed to superglue herself to a public monument like an absolute idiot.
Her hands curled into fists.
Or at least they would have, if one of them wasn’t still fused to the statue in an unbreakable bond of mutual suffering. Panic clawed up her throat, sinking sharp teeth into her last shreds of dignity. Her heart pounded, a relentless drumroll leading up to the worst moment of her entire existence.
Panic surged through Yujin’s veins like a shot of espresso straight to the bloodstream—fast, jittery, and absolutely useless. Her brain scrambled for an escape route, but every possible solution collapsed under the harsh, inescapable reality of her predicament: she was glued to a freaking statue. Not just a little stuck, but properly, horrifically, monumentally attached, as if fate itself had decided she needed to merge with cold, lifeless bronze today.
She inhaled sharply, eyes darting across the growing crowd of onlookers, their expressions ranging from mild amusement to barely concealed glee. Phones were out, cameras flashing, recording what was undoubtedly the most humiliating moment of her life. The news crew that had arrived fifteen minutes ago was already setting up a camera. She was going viral, and it wasn’t even for something cool.
The distant wail of sirens sliced through the night air, growing louder with each passing second. The crowd, already thick with gawkers and news cameras, murmured in anticipation as a second wave of first responders arrived at the scene.
The fire department.
Yujin let out a nervous laugh, barely managing to turn her head with her cheek still pressed against the cold, unforgiving bronze of the statue. “Okay, this is a little excessive. Surely we don’t need—”
A firefighter, clad in full gear, stepped forward with the heavy, measured footsteps of a man who had seen too much in his line of duty. He took one long look at her predicament, exhaled through his nose, and muttered, “Jesus Christ.”
Yujin groaned. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”
“Because this is beyond stupid,” the security guard, still stuck beside her, grumbled. He’d long since given up struggling and now stood slumped in quiet resignation, looking like a man whose soul had been forcibly extracted and left to wander the afterlife.
The lead firefighter ignored both of them, turning to his team with a quick, professional assessment. “Alright. Standard industrial-grade adhesive. Could be cyanoacrylate-based. We’ll need to dissolve it before we try to remove their hands—acetone should do the trick. Get the heat gun ready just in case.”
Heat gun?!
Yujin's stomach twisted in protest. “Okay, hold on! I like my hands exactly where they are—attached to my body!”
“Then maybe don’t glue them to public property next time,” the security guard snapped.
The firefighter didn’t engage. He simply snapped his gloves on, took out a large bottle of industrial-strength acetone, and poured a generous amount onto a cloth. “This might sting.”
Yujin yelped as he pressed it firmly against her skin. It did sting, a sharp, chemical burn-like sensation that made her fingers twitch involuntarily. She tried to squirm, but her hand was still fused to solid bronze.
“Don’t move,” the firefighter warned. “You don’t want to tear your skin.”
That shut her up real quick.
Minutes passed in excruciating silence. The solvent did its job slowly, breaking down the glue bit by bit. The security guard was the first to be freed, yanking his hand away with a muttered curse before stomping off to a safe distance, throwing Yujin the filthiest glare known to mankind.
Then came her turn.
Yujin could feel the glue softening beneath her palm, the subtle give of her skin pulling away. The firefighter applied another dose of solvent, rubbing at the edges with careful, practiced precision.
And then—
Crack.
Something snapped.
Not her hand. Not the glue.
The statue.
A stunned silence fell over the scene.
Yujin lifted her hand slowly, dread pooling in the pit of her stomach. A chunk of the bronze—small but unmistakably part of the original structure—was still glued to her palm. Her mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. One of the firefighters let out a low, impressed whistle. Another voice, somewhere in the crowd, muttered with deep, almost reverent horror. “She’s so screwed.”
Before Yujin could even process the weight of her newest crime, a sharp voice cut through the chaos.
"Miss An."
Yujin stiffened.
She turned, heart already sinking, to find Officer Park standing there, handcuffs in one hand, his expression unreadable.
“We’re placing you under arrest for property damage.”
Yujin’s jaw unhinged. “Wait, wait, wait—property damage?! It’s just a little glue!”
Officer Park looked down at the piece of the statue still stuck to her palm. Then back up at her. His expression was flat, exhausted, and deeply, deeply unimpressed.
“That statue costs over fifty million won.”
Yujin felt her soul physically leave her body.
Before she could even attempt to salvage what little remained of her dignity, Officer Park was already maneuvering her free wrist into the cuffs.
The police car’s interior smelled like old leather and disappointment. Yujin sat stiffly in the backseat, her hands cuffed in front of her, her heart hammering against her ribs. She was still gripping the broken chunk of bronze, the jagged piece of the statue fused to her palm like a physical manifestation of her failure. The officers in the front seats weren’t even looking at her, their silence almost worse than being yelled at.
No. She wasn’t going down like this.
She sucked in a breath, straightened her back as much as she could, and blurted out, “HEY! CALL MY WIFE! SHE’S A LAWYER!”
Officer Park, seated in the passenger seat, barely turned his head. He was holding her bag, clearly debating if this was worth entertaining. “We’ll contact your emergency contact when we arrive at the station.”
“That’s her! My emergency contact is my wife!” Yujin insisted. “She’s literally the best lawyer in the country. This whole thing is gonna be embarrassing for you guys when she shows up and destroys your entire argument in court.”
The officer driving let out a tired sigh. “Miss An, you glued yourself to a statue.”
“And then broke it,” Officer Park added flatly.
“Okay, but in my defense—” Yujin started, before realising she had no actual defense. She groaned, tilting her head back against the seat. “Please, just call her before I get put on some government watchlist for crimes against public art.”
Officer Park regarded her for a long, unimpressed moment before sighing and finally fishing through her bag for her phone. With practiced ease, he unlocked it using her fingerprint and scrolled through her contacts, finding ‘My Love❤️.’
The phone rang once. Twice. By the third ring, Wonyoung finally picked up. “Honey, I’m in the middle of reviewing a case, so whatever it is—”
“I need you to bail me out.”
Silence. A pregnant, ominous silence that made Yujin break out into a cold sweat.
“No, you’re joking. There’s no way you’re that dumb.”
The words sliced through Yujin like a cold, unforgiving wind, chilling her down to the marrow. There was no anger in Wonyoung’s voice. Just disbelief, that particular brand of exasperated disappointment that made Yujin feel like a scolded schoolgirl who had just been caught passing notes in class. It shouldn't have hurt as much as it did, but God, it did.
Something inside her cracked under the pressure, her pride crumbling like a sandcastle caught in a rising tide. She sucked in a breath, and before she could stop herself, a raw, pathetic whimper of distress escaped her lips.
"I AM THAT DUMB, PLEASE COME BAIL ME OUT!"
The words tumbled out in an almost wail, unfiltered desperation making them louder than she intended. The officer driving coughed, clearly suppressing a laugh, while Officer Park stared at her like he was reconsidering all of his life choices. The humiliation burrowed deeper into Yujin’s soul like a parasite, feeding off her suffering.
Before Wonyoung could even reply—before Yujin could even attempt to salvage what little remained of her dignity—Officer Park took the phone off speaker and muttered, “Sorry to interrupt miss, we’re bringing her to the station now. You might want to come down.”
Yujin barely caught Wonyoung’s long, exhausted sigh before the call ended.
The phone clicked shut. Officer Park handed it back to her bag, finally turning to glance at her.
“She’s on her way,” he said.
Yujin let her head fall against the seat again and groaned.
She was so, so dead.