People fall easily. A popular female entertainer fell in love with a married man, and after having sex, she was ruthlessly torn apart online, day and night. As a result, her career was ruined. Meanwhile, a student who filmed a stupid prank at a conveyor belt sushi restaurant—completely lacking in intelligence—was forced to drop out of school and now lives in fear of paying damages. They say life has its ups and downs, but since someone like me exists—someone who has never had a single good moment—it proves that neither God nor fate is watching. Born a loser in the parent lottery, I'm like someone forced to run 100 meters starting 10 meters behind, with weights tied to their legs. For someone like me to live a "normal" life, I need to work many times harder than others, and even then, I need luck. I have zero sympathy for those who brought ruin upon themselves through arrogance. But recently, the news about illegal underground jobs hits too close to home. In a sense, I'm doing the exact same thing. Just like those remotely controlled operatives from the Philippines, I receive download URLs for materials via Telegram from an older man. I retrieve them through highly anonymous social networks, edit the content, and send it for his approval. He rarely gives feedback, but once he says OK, distribution begins. I don't know whether I've already fallen or am still falling deeper. Either way, I have nothing left to lose. I'm prepared. Yet, despite despising the old man's actions, I keep helping him—because lately, I wonder if I'm somehow trying to correct society. By assisting this cruel man in utterly destroying seemingly happy women, I might be indirectly building a more equal society. It sounds like absurd nonsense. But people like us at the very bottom have long given up on rising up. So the only option left is to drag down those who live smoothly and happily. That's balance. If I'm ever arrested and go to trial, I want to loudly declare this: I'll say it again—subjecting seemingly happy people to hellish experiences they'll never remember is the first step toward a fair and equal society, the only one we can take. This might read like a love letter written at 2 a.m. I didn't think this way at first. I just wanted to make money selling porn videos. But if I can't find meaning in work, in life, in existence itself, then I'm no different from the dead. What's the point in living just to be used by despicable, monstrous men like him? At the very least, I want his actions to carry some meaning, to somehow help someone, to serve society. Even though I know that's impossible. These four women have bright futures ahead—lives filled only with hope. Just being born cute is winning the lottery. And just like always, I'm making them XXX. A sweet girl who was happily with her boyfriend moments ago is now reduced to a pitiful, broken mess. My conscience hurts deeply—but that guilt only heightens my arousal, the irony not lost on me. Why am I turned on by this? Am I just a terrible person? Or is it possible that the corruption of beauty is the true essence of beauty itself? I still don't know. On one hand, I want as many people as possible to see this footage. On the other, I also hope it doesn't spread too widely—because if it does, trouble is guaranteed. So please, don't share it.