The evening air of Noryangjin-dong was thick and heavy, carrying the scent of sizzling street food, wet asphalt, and the faint smoke from nearby grills. Neon lights flickered and danced across the cracked pavement, bathing the narrow streets in an artificial glow.
The city seemed alive, thrumming with a rhythm that never slept. Yet, for Jang Taesan, the chaos around him felt distant, almost unreal, as if the world had become a stage and he was watching from behind a veil.
He walked slowly, his backpack heavy on his shoulders, not from books, but from the weight of years he had already lived. Memories, failures, regrets—they pressed against his chest like iron chains.
Fourteen years of being lost, broken, and powerless in a world that demanded perfection. And then, like a jagged scar across his mind, the memory of that fateful night clawed its way to the surface.
He remembered the child.
A small girl, no older than six or seven, standing frozen in the middle of a busy street. Her eyes wide with terror, her tiny hands clutching a stuffed rabbit, her pigtails bouncing with every panicked step. Rain slicked streets reflected the harsh glare of headlights, turning the asphalt into a river of molten light. A car barreled toward her, its engine roaring, tires screeching on wet concrete.
Taesan had acted without thought.
Instincts honed over years of scraping by, of patrolling empty buildings and breaking up fights, surged through him. He sprinted. Every step was a jolt of adrenaline, every heartbeat echoing like a drum in his ears. He reached her just in time, shoving her out of the car's path. The world exploded around him—the screech of metal, the crash of the vehicle, the blur of rain and neon lights. Pain like fire tore through his body, and darkness claimed him.
He should have died there.
But he didn't.
Instead, he woke… back in 2008. Seventeen again. Alive, with every memory of the future intact.
The morning light spilled into the quiet classroom. Taesan blinked rapidly, adjusting to the familiar, yet foreign, surroundings. Dust motes floated in the beams of sunlight that filtered through half-open windows. The smell of chalk dust and ink filled the air. Students whispered to one another, pencils scratching across paper.
It took him a moment to realize: he was back. His teenage body, fragile and untested, now held all the knowledge of the man he had once been. The mistakes of his past, the failures that haunted him, now lay before him like a map he could navigate with precision.
He swung his legs over the edge of the desk, letting the memory of the child—the moment that had ended his life—wash over him again. Emma Kim. Her wide, terrified eyes. The scream that had cut through the night like a knife. The sickening crunch of metal. That single act of courage had cost him his life, but it had also given him a second chance.
And now, he had to ensure he never wasted it.
By the time he reached the school courtyard, the streets outside were coming alive with students spilling from the gates. The summer heat pressed down on him, humid and oppressive, but he hardly noticed. He was scanning, searching—almost obsessively—for her.
A small figure appeared near the gate. A girl, no older than ten, clutching a cartoon-covered backpack, her dark hair tied in neat pigtails. Her eyes darted nervously among the taller students rushing past. Taesan froze.
Emma Kim.
The same child he had saved in the other timeline.
Alive.
Innocent.
Vulnerable.
Without thinking, he moved toward her, crouching to meet her gaze. "Hey… are you okay?" His voice was low, gentle, but carried a firmness that made her glance up.
She hesitated. Then, in a small, quivering voice, she said, "I… I'm looking for my sister. She's in your school, but I can't find her."
Taesan swallowed hard. His throat felt tight, as if his chest itself were clenched by the memory of that night. He knelt beside her. "What's her name?"
"Min-ji Kim," she whispered, her fingers gripping the straps of her backpack so tightly that the knuckles turned white.
He nodded. "Wait here, okay? I'll find her."
As he scanned the courtyard, his eyes landed on a familiar figure—Min-ji herself, chatting casually with a group of friends near the school entrance. Her laughter rang out, light and carefree, the exact opposite of the terror he remembered. He waved, and Min-ji's brow furrowed in confusion before recognition dawned.
"Emma! What are you doing here?" she called, rushing to her sister's side. "I told you to wait at home."
Emma handed her a small bento box, its pink lid decorated with cartoon cats. "I… I wanted to give you your lunch," she murmured.
Min-ji shook her head, ruffling her sister's hair fondly. Then she turned to Taesan, eyes warm. "Thanks for looking out for her. You're… Jang Taesan, right?"
"Yeah," he said, surprised by the recognition. "No problem."
Emma clutched her sister's hand, casting a shy smile over her shoulder. That smile… it struck Taesan like a blade, a reminder of both his past sacrifice and the fragile, fleeting nature of life.
He watched them disappear into the crowd, the weight in his chest lifting slightly, replaced by a new determination. He couldn't just survive this timeline. He had to protect those he could, to shape a life where sacrifice wasn't an end but a beginning.
The day dragged on with a surreal rhythm. Taesan moved through his classes with a quiet intensity, each step measured, each answer precise. Whispers followed him; students noticed his sudden brilliance in math, his uncanny ability to anticipate problems and solve them effortlessly. Sophie Leclerc, seated a few rows away, watched him with an analytical curiosity, her sharp eyes tracking his every move.
At lunch, he sat alone, plotting his next moves. He couldn't ignore Min-soo Kang, whose glare across the cafeteria promised trouble, nor the other challenges of high school life. And beyond that, the looming specter of his adult life—CSAT, stock markets, debts, failures—waited for him like predators in the shadows.
He clenched his fists.
No more weakness. No more hesitation. This time, he would be ready.
The afternoon faded into evening, and Taesan headed to Choi's Taekwondo & Hapkido Academy. The dojang was a modest space, the walls lined with faded certificates and photographs of past champions. The air smelled of sweat, polish, and liniment, heavy and suffocating in its intensity.
Master Choi barked orders at a group of students practicing forms. Taesan changed into a borrowed dobok, the stiff fabric stiff and foreign against his skin. He joined the beginners' group, feeling the awkward weight of muscles unaccustomed to discipline.
"Focus!" Choi's voice sliced through the room. "Strength comes from discipline, not muscle. Again!"
Taesan mimicked the movements, each kick, punch, and block a rebellion against his past self. His body was clumsy, his teenage muscles weak, but his mind was sharp, fueled by memories of the man he had once been and the life he had lost.
When the session ended, Choi approached, his gaze assessing and stern. "You've got fire in you, kid. Fire without control burns out fast. Keep showing up, and I'll make you strong. Quit, and you're just another dreamer."
"I won't quit," Taesan said, his voice firm, resolve shining through.
Choi nodded slowly, approval flickering in his eyes. "Good. Tomorrow, same time. Don't be late."
Walking home under the neon glow of Noryangjin-dong, Taesan felt a shift inside him. The memory of the child, the encounter with Min-soo, the first day back in high school—all of it was a spark. He realized this timeline was not a punishment or a cruel joke. It was an opportunity, a chance to rebuild himself, to save lives, to craft a destiny free from failure.
The city hummed around him, indifferent to the small dramas of human life, yet Taesan felt a quiet satisfaction in knowing he had changed something. He glanced at the first stars beginning to pierce the evening sky.
Emma had changed his past. Now, he would change his future.
He clenched his fists, a fire igniting in his chest.
This time, he would not be weak. This time, he would rise.
This time… he would become unstoppable.