L*st and Death

Q5. Do you suffer from erectile dysfunction, premature ejaculation, or any other form of sexual dysfunction?

□ Yes (+1) / □ No (+0)

Yoon Siron’s eyes flicked sideways at the first question on the survey, which was embarrassingly direct. He had never felt confident when it came to using his dick, and he wasn’t even getting naked on any beds these days—but still, the question made him feel even smaller.

The doctor, a man with a gloomy air and thin silver-rimmed glasses, spoke in a detached tone, as if he had already seen hundreds—thousands—of patients just like him.

“Please sign the clinical trial consent form first, then fill out the questionnaire. Be honest on all fifty items.”

“Ah, yep.”

Siron quickly accepted the consent form and moved to sit on a stool facing the wall, as far from the man as possible. He read through the consent carefully, but it didn’t seem much different from the other clinical trials he had participated in before.

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11. Validity of Consent Form

This form serves as written consent between the participant and Skåne Pharmaceuticals, and becomes effective from the moment the participant signs.

Participant Name: Siron Yoon

Date of Participation: July 19, 2014

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After filling out the date at the bottom of the form, Siron unfolded the questionnaire. Most of the questions were related to sexual function.

A month ago, he had found this clinical trial job on a recruitment site. His search filters were simple: high pay, and within 50 km of where he lived. Just two conditions.

Out of 87 results, what caught Siron’s eye was a trial sponsored by Skåne Pharmaceuticals. It was a drug trial targeting men aged 20 to under 35, of normal weight, who suffered from sexual dysfunction. Even better—it was being conducted at a urology clinic less than 4 kilometers from his workplace.

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Q1. Please select your age range.

□ 20–25

□ 26–30

□ 31–34

Siron checked 26–30 and quickly moved on to the next question.

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Q2. In the past year, when you felt sexually aroused, how confident were you in achieving and maintaining an erection?

1. Very low (+2)

2. Low (+1)

3. Moderate (+0)

4. High (–1)

5. Very high (–2)

“Fuck.”

Siron shut his eyes and muttered a curse. Torn between his conscience, which demanded the truth, and his pride, which was all bark and no bite, he reluctantly sided with his conscience.

What else could he pick but ‘1) Very low (+2)’? If there had been an option like ‘0) I don’t even have the confidence to lose (+3),’ he would’ve chosen that—even if it was humiliating.

The following questions continued stripping away what little pride he had left.

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Q8. Have you tried any treatments for erectile dysfunction, such as medication or surgery?

1. Urological treatment (+2)

2. Alternative remedies (+1)

3. No experience (+0)

With a face slightly clouded by gloom, Siron selected option 2. He had brewed herbal teas reputed to help virility, and had once tried holding in his pee for over half a day to “strengthen his stream,” but none of those soft, amateur home remedies had worked. The frequent urination remained, erections were still impossible, and he felt a constant dull ache under his navel whenever he pissed.

It wasn’t like Siron had suffered from sexual dysfunction his whole life. Up until his early twenties, his dick had been just fine. But just as his career began to rise, his sexual function began to decline. And by the time the scandal that turned the entire world against him hit its peak, his dick had reached its end too.

Even watching porn, reading erotic comics, or indulging in dirty fantasies did nothing for him anymore. No morning wood, no evening hard-ons—nothing. His dick was no more than a fleshy, useless handle for letting out urine. Nothing more, nothing less.

※ If your score is 55 or above, please consult a urologist.

“So thoughtful,”

Siron muttered sarcastically in Korean as he finished the questionnaire and scribbled down his total score in the corner. After calculating it by folding down his fingers one by one, he ended up with 58 out of 70. Severe sexual dysfunction.

If sex had meant anything to Siron, he probably would’ve marched to a urologist years ago. But he’d been living a life close to celibate for so long that, until today, he hadn’t even glimpsed the shadow of a urologist.

Siron quickly came to a conclusion about the direction of his life, in a mood nearing depression.

Delete dating. Delete marriage, too.

But as the saying goes—misfortune can turn out to be a blessing in disguise. If there was one silver lining, it was that his sad little downstairs situation had landed him a high-paying gig.

It was a Phase II clinical trial, meaning the drug’s safety had already been confirmed once. It didn’t even require hospitalization—just outpatient visits. Best of all, after three rounds of injections, he’d receive \$3,000 after taxes.

“Too good to be true. That’s what makes it suspicious.”

The trial Siron applied for was sponsored by a company called Skåne Pharmaceuticals. A quick Google search turned up about 140,000 results. Some were in English, but most of the pages were in Swedish. Siron had never heard of the company before, but with that many results, he figured it probably wasn’t some mad scientist’s basement lab.

The hospital listed as the trial location was “Johnson Doctor Urology Clinic,” located in Riverland—south of the Nason River, which cut through Baggers City. Riverland was one of the most rundown, slum-ridden areas in the already lawless Baggers City.

A Swedish pharmaceutical company conducting drug trials in a urology clinic halfway across the world, buried in an American slum? Yeah, that was weird.

He worried whether someone without health insurance, like him, was even allowed to sign up for trials like this. But with Jiyeon’s second-semester tuition looming over his head, he didn’t have the luxury to hesitate. The pay was guaranteed. That was all that mattered.

Was he really in a position to be picky right now? Hell, he would’ve gladly eaten spoiled leftovers if someone handed them to him.

Rising to his feet, Siron handed the questionnaire to the doctor. The man skimmed through it with such speed and disinterest, it was hard to believe he was even reading it.

“Out of 70, you scored 63,” he said in a calm voice.

Siron had calculated 58. He had even used all ten fingers—twice. With a faint hint of skepticism, he asked:

“Are you sure?”

The doctor flipped through the survey again, briskly.

“Yes. Sixty-three.”

“...Well, okay. Sure.”

He bristled at first, but there was too much standing in the way for him to insist. Reluctantly conceding, Siron forced a breezy smile and tried to accept the official death sentence of his dick with some degree of grace.

“You know, not all Asians are sexually dysfunctional like me.”

“...Of course.”

“Over half the world’s population is Asian, you know. Clearly, most of them don’t have any trouble breeding. Ha.”

Siron let out a stupid laugh after a joke he’d regret tonight while trying to fall asleep. The cold, detached doctor responded without the slightest trace of humor.

“Then we’ll draw blood and begin the injection. Please follow me to the procedure room.”

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