The fluorescent lights of the classroom buzzed faintly, casting a sterile glow over the rows of desks as Jang Taesan sat, his pencil tapping rhythmically against his notebook. The chatter of his classmates rose and fell like waves, but it barely registered in his mind, drowned out by the storm of memories raging inside him.
Three days into his second chance at life, and the weight of his past pressed down harder than ever, each recollection a jagged reminder of the man he'd been—and the man he refused to become again.
He stared at the blackboard where Mr. Lim droned on about quadratic equations, but Taesan's mind was elsewhere. His past life unfolded in relentless, vivid detail: the 2008 market crash that obliterated his stockbroker dreams, the cold red numbers erasing years of hard work in a blink; nights spent hunched over his computer, eyes burning from exhaustion, chasing trends that slipped through his fingers like water; the pitying looks from colleagues who no longer trusted him, leaving him to drown in a tide of his own mistakes.
And later, the humiliation of odd jobs—cleaning offices, guarding empty buildings—while whispers from his family cut deeper than any knife:
"wasted potential… could have been great."
He clenched his jaw, the pencil snapping in his grip with a sharp crack. A few heads turned, curious, but he ignored them, his eyes fixed on the splintered wood of his desk. That life is gone, he told himself.
This time, I'll get it right. But the memories weren't just ghosts—they were warnings.
Every misstep, every lost opportunity, every corner-cutting decision in his past life now served as a map of what to avoid. The CSAT, the stock market, the battles that awaited—he'd conquer them all, armed with knowledge no one else had.
The bell rang, its harsh tone slicing through his thoughts. Students surged toward the door, laughter and chatter jarring against Taesan's focus. He lingered, gathering his things, when a familiar voice cut through.
"You gonna sit there brooding all day, Jang?"
Han Do-jin.
The sight of his old friend, tie crooked and grin wide, twisted something inside Taesan. In his original timeline, Do-jin had been one of the few constants, oblivious to the tragedy that awaited them both. Taesan's chest tightened. "Just thinking," he said, forcing a half-smile. "Got a lot on my mind."
"No kidding," Do-jin said, leaning against a desk. "You've been weird since yesterday. What's up with that math stunt? You're suddenly Einstein or something?"
Taesan shrugged, deflecting. "Just… studied hard." He couldn't tell Do-jin the truth—not about his death, the time travel, or the fire burning in him to rewrite his fate. Not yet.
Do-jin snorted, unconvinced, but let it slide. "Whatever, man. Just don't turn into one of those cram school zombies." He clapped Taesan's shoulder and left, leaving a pang of guilt behind. If I can change my future, maybe I can change his too.
The day passed in a blur. Taesan moved through lessons with quiet precision, answering questions before anyone else, sometimes even preempting the teacher's examples. Whispers followed him through the corridors, some admiring, some skeptical.
Sophie Leclerc's sharp gaze lingered longer than before, her pencil pausing mid-note as she observed him breezing through a history quiz with effortless recall. Even Min-soo Kang, lurking in the halls, kept his distance, though the scowl etched across his face promised the storm wasn't over.
After school, Taesan made his way to Choi's Taekwondo & Hapkido Academy. His muscles still ached from the previous session, a constant reminder of how far he had to go. He pushed open the door, the smell of sweat, polish, and liniment hitting him immediately. The mats were alive with students moving in unison, the air thick with determination. Master Choi's sharp voice cut through the din like a blade.
"Stance!"
Taesan adjusted his feet, mimicking the others. His movements were clumsy, uncoordinated, but each kick, punch, and block carried the weight of lessons learned from his past failures—the shoves from Min-soo, the crushing blows of corporate sharks, the nights spent drowning in regret. He couldn't afford to be weak this time. Not physically. Not mentally.
Halfway through the session, a new figure caught his eye—a lanky boy, perhaps fifteen, practicing alone in the corner. His movements were awkward, each block and step a little off, yet he persisted, wiping sweat from his brow with determination.
"Noah Park," Taesan muttered under his breath. The name rang a bell from his past life. A quiet, overlooked boy who had gone on to become a tech genius, founding a startup that eventually rivaled Korea's biggest conglomerates. Seeing him here, unpolished and raw, sparked something in Taesan—a flash of opportunity. He's not that guy yet… but I know what he could be.
As the session ended, Taesan approached Noah. "Hey," he said casually. "You're getting the hang of it."
Noah glanced up, eyes guarded. "Not really… I suck at this."
"You're here," Taesan said with a shrug. "That's more than most people do. Keep at it."
Noah's lips twitched, forming something close to a smile. "Thanks, I guess. You're… Taesan, right?"
"Yeah," Taesan said, offering a small grin. One day, you'll be an ally, he thought.
Master Choi barked from across the room. "Jang! Park! Less talking, more training tomorrow!" They both bowed, parting ways with the silent promise of future collaboration, or at least observation.
Walking home, the neon haze of Noryangjin-dong bathed the streets in a strange serenity. The scent of tteokbokki and fish cakes filled the air, mingling with the faint smoke from street grills. Taesan's mind raced. His failures weren't just reminders—they were fuel. Emma's smile, Do-jin's innocence, Noah's untapped potential, and even Min-soo's threats—they were all pieces of a puzzle he was determined to solve.
The city seemed to hum around him, oblivious to the silent storm brewing within the seventeen-year-old walking its streets. He glanced at the stars peeking faintly above the electric glow. Each one felt like a promise, a tiny marker of what could be achieved if he remained relentless.
I failed once. Never again.
Back in his small bedroom, Taesan pulled out a notebook he'd started the day he realized he had returned to 2008. The pages were filled with strategies, timelines, and meticulous notes on everything he remembered from his past life. Stock trends, CSAT practice questions, martial arts exercises, even social connections he could nurture or avoid. He flipped through the pages, each line a lifeline to a future he could now seize with both hands.
He paused at a scribbled note from three days ago: Emma changed my past. Now, I change my future.
The words resonated like a drumbeat. This wasn't just about surviving high school or acing exams. It was about rewriting history—for himself, for the people he could protect, and for those whose lives intersected with his in ways he was only beginning to understand.
Taesan leaned back against his bedpost, closing his eyes. Memories of failure flashed before him—each one a lesson learned the hard way. And yet, he no longer felt the despair that had haunted him. Instead, there was clarity. Purpose. A map of what had to be done, stitched together from years of regret and hard-won insight.
Tomorrow, he would wake up a little stronger, a little smarter, and a little closer to becoming unstoppable.
And someday… he would make sure that no one else ever had to pay the price for his mistakes.
By the time he drifted into a restless sleep, the hum of the city below was a lullaby of both challenge and promise. Noryangjin-dong would not be the same with him walking its streets this time. He was armed with foresight, skill, and an unyielding will. Every lesson from failure, every encounter, every threat and friendship—it all mattered.
The past had shaped him.
The future was his to command.