The studio apartment in Queens, New York, reeked of mustiness and dampness. Lee Tae-sung hadn't left his room for three days. The window curtains were tightly drawn, not allowing any sunlight to enter. Only the dim light from an old laptop screen illuminated the cramped 150-square-foot room.
Tae-sung sat on the floor, his back against the peeling paint of the wall. Around him were scattered empty pizza boxes, soda cans, and a pile of unopened bills. His eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, like someone who had already lost his soul.
December 20, 2024. Age 33. And his life was already over—at least spiritually.
On a small table in the corner of the room, a photo frame with cracked glass displayed the face of a middle-aged woman with a warm smile. Lee Mi-sun, his mother. The only person who had ever truly loved Tae-sung unconditionally. And she was gone—passed away three weeks ago from stage four lung cancer.
Tae-sung didn't have money for proper treatment. Even for a simple cremation, he had to borrow money from the Korean community in Queens. His mother died in a crowded public hospital, with Tae-sung holding her hand, hearing the last words that shattered his heart.
"Tae-sung-ah..." his mother's voice was weak, barely audible. "Eomma... is proud of you. You... have worked so hard..."
"Eomma, don't talk. Rest..." Tae-sung tried to hold back his tears.
"Forgive eomma... for not being able to give you a better life... Forgive eomma..."
"No, eomma! This is my fault! I'm the one who failed! I'm the one who—"
But his mother had already closed her eyes for the last time, with a thin smile on her face, as if she had released all the burdens of the world.
Tae-sung cried silently beside that hospital bed, holding his mother's cold hand, realizing he had lost the only reason to keep living.
***
Lee Tae-sung was born in Seoul, South Korea on March 17, 1991. His father, Lee Dong-hyun, left the family when Tae-sung was only three years old—ran away with another woman and never returned. Since then, it was just Tae-sung and his mother, Lee Mi-sun.
Mi-sun worked as an office cleaner in Seoul, working from night until morning to support her son. Her salary wasn't much—barely enough for rent on a small apartment in the outskirts of Seoul and daily meals. But she never complained, never showed fatigue in front of Tae-sung.
"Tae-sung-ah, you must study hard," his mother always said with a tired smile after coming home from work. "Eomma can't give you a luxurious life. But with education, you can have a better future than eomma."
Tae-sung grew up as a very intelligent and ambitious child. He was always at the top of his class, especially in mathematics and science. But life was never easy for him. While his classmates went to expensive hagwon (private tutoring), Tae-sung studied alone in the public library until late at night. While they ate at restaurants, Tae-sung ate gimbap made by his mother from the cheapest ingredients.
He watched his mother work hard every day, coming home with an aching back and rough hands from cleaning chemicals. It fueled his ambition—one day, he would succeed. One day, he would make his mother live comfortably. One day, he would prove that their struggle wasn't in vain.
In 2009, with perfect entrance exam scores and an outstanding essay, Tae-sung received a full scholarship to study at City College of New York (CCNY)—not a top-tier university like NYU or Columbia, but it was a gateway to America, to his dreams.
His mother cried when she took him to the airport. "Tae-sung-ah, take good care of yourself. Don't worry about eomma. Focus on your studies."
"Ne, eomma. I will succeed. I promise. And I'll bring eomma to America after I settle down," Tae-sung answered with teary eyes.
But that promise was never fulfilled.
***
College in New York wasn't as easy as Tae-sung imagined. The scholarship only covered tuition, not living expenses. He had to work part-time—sometimes two or three jobs at once—as a dishwasher at a Korean restaurant, a delivery boy, even a cleaning service like his mother.
He attended classes during the day, worked from evening until midnight, slept only 4-5 hours a day. His college friends went to parties and clubbing on weekends, while Tae-sung worked double shifts to pay rent for his cramped room in Queens.
But he persevered. He graduated in 2013 with a 3.8 GPA in Finance—not Computer Science as he wanted, but Finance because he thought it was the fastest way to get a well-paying job on Wall Street.
Unfortunately, reality wasn't as beautiful as dreams. A CCNY graduate with a poor background and no connections couldn't easily get a job at big firms. After hundreds of applications and dozens of failed interviews, Tae-sung finally got a job as a back-office analyst at a small trading firm in Lower Manhattan with a salary of $45,000 per year.
Not his dream job, but at least it was a start.
This was where Tae-sung first heard about various assets in the capital market—stocks, bonds, commodities, forex, and also what was starting to appear on finance people's radar: cryptocurrency, especially Bitcoin.
In 2013-2014, at the office where he worked, there were occasional conversations about Bitcoin. But most senior traders considered it a bubble or a scam.
"Bitcoin? That's for criminals and money launderers," his boss said at the time. "Stay away from that crap."
Tae-sung, whose position was the lowest junior analyst, certainly didn't dare to disagree. He just listened, noted it in his mind, but never really delved deeper. He was too busy with his routine work—processing trading data, making reports, and trying to survive in a competitive work environment.
His life was monotonous but stable. Every month he sent $500 to his mother in Korea—almost a third of his net salary after taxes. He lived very frugally, ate ramen every day, had no entertainment, all to help his mother.
The year 2017 arrived. Bitcoin exploded to $20,000. Mainstream media reported it. People who bought Bitcoin years ago were now millionaires.
In his office, even the boss who once said Bitcoin was a scam now regretted it. "Damn it! I should've bought it when it was $100!" he said while pounding the desk.
Tae-sung also regretted it. But not regret for not buying—he never even had enough money to invest. He regretted that he never seriously studied it when there was an opportunity. If only he had been more proactive, bolder, maybe he could have taken a calculated risk.
But that was just momentary regret. Life went on.
***
The year 2019 became the wrong turning point in Tae-sung's life.
The company where he worked was involved in an insider trading scandal. The firm was investigated by the SEC (Securities and Exchange Commission). Many people were fired, including Tae-sung—although he wasn't directly involved, as part of the back-office, he was affected too.
He lost his job. At age 28, with a resume tainted by a problematic company, Tae-sung struggled to get a new job in the finance industry.
Months passed. His savings dwindled. He was forced to take any job—delivery driver, warehouse worker, security guard. Jobs far from his dreams, jobs that didn't require his Finance degree.
Worse, his mother started getting sick in 2020. Initial diagnosis: lung cancer. Doctors in Korea said she needed intensive and expensive treatment.
Tae-sung was desperate. He needed money—a lot of money—quickly.
In 2020-2021, Bitcoin rose again. The hype was even crazier than 2017. Tae-sung saw people on Reddit and Twitter posting insane gains. "I turned $1,000 into $50,000 in 3 months!" "Bitcoin to the moon!" "This is the way to generational wealth!"
In desperation, Tae-sung made a decision that changed his life—a decision he regretted until the last second of his life.
He took all his remaining savings—$8,000—and bought Bitcoin at $35,000 in early 2021. Not based on deep analysis, not based on proper understanding, but based on desperate hope that this was the fastest way to get a lot of money for his mother's treatment.
The first few months, his decision seemed right. Bitcoin rose to $50,000, then $60,000. Tae-sung's portfolio rose to almost $14,000. He started dreaming—maybe this really was his way out!
But instead of selling and taking profit, he bought more. He borrowed $5,000 from his credit card with 23% APR interest. He was sure Bitcoin would reach $100,000 by the end of 2021.
Bitcoin reached its peak of $69,000 in November 2021. Tae-sung's portfolio should have been worth almost $25,000. Enough to pay for most of his mother's treatment costs.
But he didn't sell. He didn't take profit. He was greedy. He was sure it would go higher.
Then the crash came.
December 2021: Bitcoin fell to $47,000. Tae-sung panicked, but he held. "It will bounce back," he told himself.
January 2022: $35,000. Tae-sung was back to breakeven, he should have exited. But he didn't.
May 2022: Terra Luna collapsed. The crypto market crashed. Bitcoin fell to $28,000.
June 2022: $20,000.
November 2022: FTX went bankrupt. Bitcoin $16,000.
Tae-sung's portfolio was now only worth $4,000. He lost more than 70%. Not including the credit card debt that had swelled with compound interest.
In desperation, he tried trading to "get back" the lost money. But he didn't know what he was doing. He had no strategy. He traded based on emotion—panic selling, FOMO buying, revenge trading.
Within six months, that $4,000 vanished to less than $500.
Total loss: almost $13,000 of his own money, plus $5,000 credit card debt, plus interest that kept growing.
He couldn't send money to his mother anymore. He couldn't even pay apartment rent. He was forced to move to a cheaper, smaller apartment in a more dangerous area.
***
The year 2023 was the darkest year. His mother's condition worsened. Doctors in Korea said she needed more intensive chemotherapy, but the cost was very expensive. Mi-sun didn't tell Tae-sung how much pain she was really in—she didn't want to burden her son.
But Tae-sung knew. Every time they video called, he saw his mother getting thinner, paler. And he couldn't do anything.
"Eomma gwenchana (Mom is fine)," his mother always said with a forced smile. "You take care of yourself there. Don't worry about eomma."
But how could he not worry? His mother—the only person who was always there for him—was dying, and he had no money to help her.
Tae-sung worked three jobs at once—delivery driver in the morning, warehouse worker during the day, night security at night. Slept only 3-4 hours a day. Every cent he earned, he sent to Korea.
But it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
In October 2024, Tae-sung finally gathered enough money to fly back to Korea—for the first time in five years. Not for vacation, but to see his mother for the last time.
When he arrived at the hospital in Seoul, he almost didn't recognize the thin woman lying in the bed. His mother who used to be strong and full of energy was now just bones wrapped in skin, with an oxygen tube in her nose and an IV line in her arm.
"Tae-sung-ah..." his mother whispered weakly, but her eyes sparkled seeing her son.
Tae-sung knelt beside the bed, holding his mother's cold hand. "Eomma... mianhae... jeongmal mianhae... (I'm sorry... really sorry...)"
"Wae? Why are you sorry?" his mother smiled thinly. "You... are a good son... You've worked so hard..."
"I failed, eomma. I couldn't give you a better life. I couldn't bring you to America. I couldn't—"
"Shh..." his mother raised her trembling hand, touching Tae-sung's cheek. "You... were more than enough. Eomma... is proud of you. Very proud..."
"But I don't have money for proper treatment. I don't—"
"Tae-sung-ah, listen..." his mother spoke with difficulty, her breath short. "Money... isn't everything. You... already gave eomma the best thing... You became a good person. A person with a heart. That... is more valuable than money..."
Tears flowed freely down Tae-sung's cheeks.
"Promise eomma..." his mother continued. "Don't... blame yourself. Don't live in regret. You're still young... You can still... have a good life..."
"How can I, eomma? Without you, I—"
"You can. You're a strong child..." his mother smiled for the last time. "Eomma... loves Tae-sung... forever..."
His mother's breath slowly stopped. The heart monitor beeped continuously. Nurses ran in. But it was too late.
Lee Mi-sun passed away on November 28, 2024, at 03:17 AM Seoul time, with her son's hand holding hers.
***
Tae-sung returned to New York a week later, after a simple cremation he could barely afford with help from the Korean community in Seoul. He brought a small box containing his mother's ashes, planning to keep it in his apartment until he had enough money for a more proper place.
But after his mother left, something broke inside Tae-sung. Something that couldn't be fixed.
What was the point of working hard? For what? There was no one left who cared whether he lived or died. There was no more reason to struggle.
He quit all his jobs. He locked himself in his apartment. He didn't eat properly. Didn't shower. Didn't talk to anyone.
He spent his days staring at his mother's photo, rereading old messages from his mother, and regretting every decision he had made.
If only he hadn't been greedy with Bitcoin. If only he had taken profit when there was a chance. If only he had been wiser with money. If only he hadn't taken shortcuts. If only...
If only.
Two weeks later, on December 20, 2024, Tae-sung made his final decision.
He had no reason to live anymore. His mother was gone. He was drowning in debt. He had no job, no friends, no future. There was only darkness and regret.
On the small table in the corner of the room, there was a bottle of sleeping pills he bought last week. Enough to make sure he wouldn't wake up again.
Tae-sung sat on the floor, holding the bottle with trembling hands. He stared at his mother's photo for the last time.
"Eomma... mianhae... I can't continue without you..." he whispered with tears flowing. "I'm too tired. I can't be strong anymore..."
He opened the bottle, pouring all the pills into his palm. Small white pills—the exit from all this pain.
"I'll follow you, eomma. Wait for me..."
Tae-sung put all the pills into his mouth, then drank water. One gulp. Two gulps. Three gulps.
Done.
He lay down on the floor, next to his mother's photo, closed his eyes, waiting for darkness to come.
The first minute, nothing happened. Then he started feeling dizzy. The world spun. His breathing slowed.
"Eomma... saranghae..." his last whisper.
Darkness began to swallow him.
***
But that darkness wasn't what he expected.
Instead of emptiness, Tae-sung felt himself falling—falling through an endless void. No sound, no light, just the sensation of falling endlessly.
Then, a voice—not a voice that could be heard with ears, but a voice that appeared directly in his consciousness, like someone speaking directly inside his head.
"LEE TAE-SUNG."
Tae-sung's consciousness jolted. He tried to respond, but he had no mouth, no body.
"YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE DIED LIKE THIS."
"Who...?" Tae-sung's thought echoed in the void.
"TEMPORAL REGRESSION SYSTEM. WE MONITOR SOULS THAT DIE WITH EXTREME REGRET. YOU ARE ONE OF THEM."
"I'm... already dead?"
"YES. OVERDOSE. SUICIDE. BUT YOUR DEATH IS THE RESULT OF A SERIES OF WRONG DECISIONS—DECISIONS MADE IN DESPERATION AND IGNORANCE."
Light began to appear in the distance—a soft but bright white light.
"SOUL ANALYSIS COMPLETE. YOU MEET THE CRITERIA: HIGH AMBITION. GREAT POTENTIAL. HINDERED BY ECONOMIC CIRCUMSTANCES. MADE WRONG DECISIONS DUE TO PRESSURE AND LACK OF UNDERSTANDING. EXTREME REGRET."
"Why... why are you telling me this?" Tae-sung's thought asked.
"BECAUSE YOU WILL BE GIVEN A SECOND CHANCE."
The light grew closer, or perhaps Tae-sung was being pulled toward it.
"A SECOND CHANCE? What does that mean?"
"TEMPORAL REGRESSION. YOU WILL BE RETURNED TO YOUR PAST—TO A POINT WHERE YOU STILL HAVE CHOICES, STILL HAVE OPPORTUNITIES."
"Return... to the past?"
"YES. APRIL 15, 2011. YOU WILL BE 20 YEARS OLD. A SECOND-YEAR STUDENT AT CCNY. YOUR MOTHER IS STILL ALIVE AND HEALTHY. YOU HAVEN'T MADE THE DECISIONS THAT DESTROYED YOU."
Tae-sung's heart—or what remained of his consciousness—pounded hard. "My mother... will be alive?"
"YES. AND YOU WILL HAVE ALL THE MEMORIES FROM YOUR FIRST LIFE. YOU WILL KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN. YOU WILL KNOW ABOUT BITCOIN—WHICH IN 2011 HAS JUST STARTED BEING TRADED AND ITS PRICE IS STILL BELOW $1."
Tae-sung fell silent. Bitcoin... below $1. He remembered—in his first life, he started hearing about Bitcoin in 2013 when the price was already $100. If he could go back to 2011...
"BUT LISTEN CAREFULLY, LEE TAE-SUNG," the voice continued with a more serious tone. "THIS IS NOT A SHORTCUT TO WEALTH. THIS IS AN OPPORTUNITY TO FIX YOUR DECISIONS, TO LEARN PROPERLY, TO PROTECT THE PEOPLE YOU LOVE."
"I... I understand."
"THE SAME GREED WILL DESTROY YOU FOR A SECOND TIME. MONEY WITHOUT WISDOM IS A CURSE. REMEMBER THAT."
"I won't be greedy again. I promise. I just want... I just want my mother to have a better life. I want her not to suffer."
"THAT'S A GOOD INTENTION. MAINTAIN IT."
The white light was now very close, blinding but not painful.
"THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE. THERE IS NO THIRD RESET. THE CHOICES YOU MAKE IN THIS SECOND LIFE ARE FINAL."
"I understand. I'll do it right this time."
"WELCOME BACK, LEE TAE-SUNG. USE THIS OPPORTUNITY WISELY."
The light exploded, swallowing Tae-sung's consciousness completely—
***
"—Mr. Lee! Are you even listening?!"
Tae-sung jolted awake, his body jerking from the chair. His eyes opened wide, his breath gasping, his heart pounding like he'd just run a marathon.
He sat in a classroom. Not an alley in the Bronx. Not the void between life and death. But a familiar classroom—very familiar.
This was Burke Hall, the building at CCNY where he used to take classes.
In front of him, Professor Williams—the strict Economics 201 lecturer—stared at him with a sharp look, hands on hips.
"Mr. Lee, this is the third time you dozed off in my class this week. Is my lecture that boring?"
Tae-sung stared at the professor confused, then looked around. The classroom was full of students—some laughed quietly, some looked at him with sympathy.
This was Burke Hall, the building at CCNY where he used to study. But... this was impossible. He had graduated years ago. He should be...
With trembling hands, Tae-sung took out his phone from his pocket. Not his cheap Android smartphone from last time. But a Samsung flip phone—the phone he used in college because he couldn't afford an iPhone.
He opened the flip phone. The small screen displayed the date:
**Friday, April 15, 2011**
**10:23 AM**
Tae-sung's heart stopped for a moment. His hand trembled holding the phone. His eyes widened in disbelief.
"Mr. Lee?" Professor Williams stepped closer. "Are you okay? You look pale."
Tae-sung slowly raised his head, looking at the professor. Then he looked at his own hands—young hands, not skinny, not rough from manual labor. The hands of a 20-year-old.
Tears suddenly flowed from his eyes.
"Mr. Lee?!" Professor Williams now sounded worried. "Do you need to go to the infirmary?"
But Tae-sung didn't hear. His mind was spinning rapidly—
This was real. This really happened. He was back. He was back to 2011. His mother was still alive. He had a second chance. He could fix everything.
And most importantly—he knew about Bitcoin. He had knowledge of what would happen in the next 13 years. He knew when Bitcoin would rise, when it would crash, which companies would go bankrupt, which technologies would boom.
He had a map to the future.
But more than that—he had a chance to protect his mother. To give her a decent life. To make sure she didn't have to suffer like in his first life.
"I'm... I'm okay, Professor," Tae-sung finally said, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I'm sorry. I just... I just realized something very important."
Professor Williams looked at him confused, but then nodded. "Alright. Pay attention from now on."
As the professor returned to the front of the class to continue the lecture, Tae-sung sat with churning thoughts.
He was Lee Tae-sung, 20 years old-or more precisely, 33 years old in a 20-year-old body. He had just been given an opportunity never given to another human: the opportunity to fix all mistakes, to live life properly.
And this time, he wouldn't fail.
This time, he would protect his mother.
This time, he would make wise decisions.
This time, he would succeed-not for himself, but for the woman who had sacrificed
everything for him.
Lee Tae-sung wiped his tears, took a deep breath, and for the first time in 13 years-or perhaps for the first time in his life-he smiled with hope.
His second journey had just truly begun.