The moment I stepped out of A Electronics' headquarters, a wave of July's sticky heat slammed into me.
I loosened my tie slightly and let out a deep breath.
Even the acrid smell of exhaust fumes felt refreshing.
Without turning around, I could picture exactly what expression Director Kim would be wearing as he chased after me.
A face flushed bright red with rage, betrayal, and sheer disbelief.
Eighteen years ago, I would have been trembling by now—legs shaking, heart shrinking, barely able to walk straight.
I might have clung to Director Kim, begged him, insisted it was all a mistake, that I'd lost my mind for a moment, groveling for forgiveness.
But now, strangely enough, I felt calm.
No—beyond calm, I felt an overwhelming sense of liberation.
Like I'd kicked away the single biggest obstacle that had been blocking my life, using my own will.
Was this what it felt like to be the one in control?
I let out a quiet chuckle and headed toward the bus stop.
There was no reason to hitch a ride back in Director Kim's car.
I was done with him now.
I boarded the bus and took a window seat.
Outside, the scenery of Seoul in 2007 slid past in a blur.
With no smartphones yet, most people simply stared out the window or closed their eyes in silence. Some carefully read free newspapers like Metro, stacked near the doors.
As I watched the peaceful scene, another memory surfaced.
A day in 2023.
I was dragging myself home after work, crushed inside an overcrowded subway.
It had been one of those days—humiliated at the office, completely drained.
The moment I got home, I collapsed onto the sofa.
My wife approached carefully and asked,
"Did you have a hard day?"
I didn't even have the energy to answer—just nodded.
Then Seoyoon, a fourth grader at the time, walked up and gently patted my shoulder with her tiny hand.
"Dad, cheer up. You've got me."
At that one small sentence, I'd barely managed to hold back my tears.
Family.
The only reason forty-nine-year-old me had endured—and my greatest source of happiness.
"…I miss you."
The faces of my wife, whom I hadn't met yet, and my daughter, who hadn't even been born, flickered before my eyes.
I clenched my fist.
I would never live like that again—groveling through each day in quiet humiliation.
I would become a husband and father my family could be proud of.
And the first step toward that future was today.
The bus neared Bangbae-dong.
I stood and pressed the stop button.
When I returned to the office, Director Kim would probably be frothing at the mouth, waiting for me.
That was fine.
Actually, it was perfect.
There was no reason to delay what had to be done anyway.
I thought of the envelope resting quietly in my desk drawer.
Eighteen years ago, I'd taken it out and put it back countless times, never daring to use it.
But today, I was different.
I would no longer hesitate when faced with the most important decisions of my life.
#002
Third floor of an old commercial building.
The worn sign reading Jeongin Structural Engineering came into view.
As I climbed the stairs, I steeled my resolve.
Through the glass door, the office looked like the calm before a storm.
Everyone pretended to be glued to their monitors, but their shoulders were stiff, and not even the sound of typing could be heard.
The moment I opened the door—
Every sound stopped, as if by magic.
All eyes in the office turned toward me.
Looks mixed with pity, curiosity, and faint mockery.
Among them, Assistant Manager Lee Eunju's worried gaze lingered the longest—but I forced myself to ignore it.
I walked straight to my desk, silently cutting through their stares.
I could feel their heads turning in unison, tracking my every step.
Then—
Bang!
The director's office door flew open, and just as expected, Director Kim stormed out.
His face was as red as an overripe tomato.
"Park Cheolmin!"
The roar shook the entire office.
"You've finally lost your mind! Who do you think you are, spewing that kind of bullshit in front of A Electronics?! After everything I've done for you, you backstab me like this?!"
He charged toward me, jabbing a finger as if he might grab me by the collar.
Spit flew everywhere.
Eighteen years ago, I would've collapsed under that pressure—maybe even dropped to my knees.
But now, I simply looked at him, expressionless.
My calm only poured fuel on his rage.
"You're laughing?! You bastard, are you laughing right now?! Do I look like a joke to you?! Is this company a joke to you?!"
"..."
"Because of you, everything's ruined! Do you know what Team Leader Choi from A Electronics said to me?! He said if the employee is like that, the company must be worse! He said they won't deal with us ever again!"
Ah. So that's how it turned out.
Looks like Team Leader Choi finally saw through Director Kim's bluff and delivered a proper judgment—late, but thorough.
Honestly, I was grateful.
He'd completed the final piece of my plan for me.
"Answer me! Why did you do it?! Did another company try to poach you?! How much are they offering?! I'll double it! Huh?!"
Director Kim's rage had already twisted into desperate bargaining.
It was pitiful.
I didn't want to see any more of it.
Ignoring him, I walked back to my desk and sat down.
Then, as if nothing had happened, I opened my desk drawer.
At the very back lay a white envelope.
I took it out.
Director Kim's shouting stopped.
Everyone in the office held their breath, staring at the envelope in my hand.
I stood up and walked over to him.
Then I held the envelope out in front of his eyes.
Written clearly on it were two characters I'd penned eighteen years ago:
[Resignation Letter]
#003
Silence fell.
The only sound in the office was the hum of the air conditioner.
Director Kim stared at the envelope, as if he couldn't even comprehend what it was.
His pupils trembled faintly, like during an earthquake.
The anger drained from his face, replaced by confusion.
"Re… resignation?"
He finally forced the word out.
"What is this supposed to be? Huh? Stop joking around and put that away!"
"It's exactly what it looks like. I'm resigning, effective today."
My reply was purely businesslike.
Dry. Emotionless.
That, apparently, struck him even harder.
"You're quitting? Now? In this situation?! Park Cheolmin, are you serious right now?! How can a person do this?! You made this mess—at least clean it up before you leave!"
His voice grew louder again.
But this time, it wasn't pure rage—it was desperation.
I let out a small laugh.
"A mess I made? Wasn't this your project, Director? I simply followed your instructions. You told me to prioritize safety above all else and take a conservative approach."
"W-what?! That was just something I said! You little—!"
"And the A Electronics project was doomed from the start anyway. If anything, I saved the company. You'll regret driving away a loyal subordinate like me."
At last, Director Kim snatched the resignation letter from my hand.
He glared at it as if he might tear it apart—then his arm dropped limply.
He knew.
Without me, this tiny office wouldn't function properly.
Most of the actual work had been mine.
"Fine. Get out. Disappear from my sight right now! This company will run just fine without a bastard like you!"
It was the last thrash of a drowning man.
I turned as if I'd been waiting for those words and went back to my desk.
There wasn't much to pack.
A few technical books, an old mug, a desk calendar.
I shoved them into my bag.
Then Assistant Manager Lee Eunju quietly approached.
Her eyes were filled with worry and regret.
"Assistant Manager… are you really leaving? The director's just angry right now. If you endure a little—"
"No. I've been thinking about this for a long time."
I gave her a faint smile.
She was the only person in this company who'd ever been kind to me.
"Thank you for everything, Ms. Lee. I'll treat you to a meal sometime."
"…."
"And one piece of advice. Don't stay at this company too long. Especially if Director Kim brings in some 'big project.' If that happens—run. No matter what. Okay?"
Her eyes widened at my meaningful words.
I offered no further explanation, shouldered my bag, and stood up.
As I walked toward the door, Director Kim's curse-laden voice followed me.
"Just you wait, Park Cheolmin! I'll see with my own eyes whether a guy like you can succeed in society!"
I didn't turn around.
Instead, just before opening the door, I replied quietly,
"Yes. Please do watch closely. It'll be very entertaining."
And with that, as if placing a period at the end of eighteen miserable years, I closed the door and stepped out into the world.
#004
Freedom.
That was the first thought that came to mind once I was fully outside.
It felt like dropping a burden weighing dozens of kilograms from my shoulders.
The world looked different.
I walked without direction, letting my feet carry me wherever they pleased.
After a long while, I found myself standing in front of a neighborhood library.
Right. What I needed now wasn't rest—it was information.
I needed time to organize my greatest weapon—memory—and plan my future.
I took a seat in a quiet corner of the reference room and headed to the newspaper section, no library card required.
I gathered every economic newspaper from the past month and sat down.
Simply closing my eyes and recalling things wasn't enough.
I had to match the fragmented memories in my head with actual records from the past.
July 2007. What happens next?
The first thing that came to mind was the stock market.
The KOSPI.
The front pages screamed hopeful headlines:
"The Era of KOSPI 2000 Begins!"
The entire country was swept up in stock fever.
But the euphoria didn't last long.
The subprime mortgage crisis.
Back then, even the term itself felt unfamiliar. It was buried in small articles on the international pages—"Concerns over U.S. subprime loan defaults." Most experts dismissed it as a localized American issue with minimal impact on Korea.
But I knew.
This was the eye of the storm that would drag the global financial markets into hell just a month later.
The KOSPI barely touched 2,000 before plunging—collapsing all the way to the 1,600 range.
A nightmare that made countless retail investors weep tears of blood.
Selling A Electronics today really was a god-tier move.
I let out a breath of relief.
I'd nearly become one of those victims.
So what now?
The roughly 4.6 million won in seed money I had.
It wasn't enough to do anything in a crashing market.
Wait.
Yes. Now wasn't the time.
Holding cash until the crash passed and the market stabilized was the best move.
Then what should I do in the meantime?
I searched deeper through my memories.
Real estate.
In 2007, the real estate market was frozen under heavy government regulations.
Gangnam redevelopment was at rock bottom.
But that, too, could be an opportunity—if I could identify the hidden gems while everyone else turned away.
I pulled out a notebook and began writing down keywords from memory.
Yongsan International Business District… Magok District… Wirye New Town…
Names that, for now, were nothing more than empty wastelands.
And then—the most important thing.
The presidential election.
December 2007.
The landslide victory of Grand National Party candidate Lee Myung-bak.
His flagship pledge: The Grand Korean Peninsula Canal.
I vividly remembered how construction-related stocks had gone absolutely insane on that promise alone.
I wrote down names I vaguely recalled—Specialized Construction, Ehwa Engineering—stocks once labeled as canal-themed plays.
As the fragments of memory slowly clicked together, a faint blueprint formed in my mind.
Not yet.
But in a few months, I'd use these memories to build the first stepping stone of my life.
I opened my eyes.
I was no longer lost.
If anything, my heart was racing.
My second life—
Its true beginning started here, in this library, today.