Is This... a New Life?
* Knock knock knock. I rapped on the familiar front door of the entrance. And soon after, a completely unfamiliar voice I’d never heard before came from the other side.
“Who is it?”
“Uh, I... um.” My words caught in my throat for a moment, and I quickly apologized. “Sorry. Never mind.”
There was no further response from behind the door. This was the building where my old studio apartment used to be. I’d come here on pure impulse, with the unthinking conviction that [this was where I belonged]. But now that I thought about it, a whole year had passed since I’d lost consciousness—naturally, someone else was living in my room now.
What the hell was I thinking coming here...?
And surprisingly, I only realized that fact the instant I punched in the door code right there in front of it. But what could I do? With no family left, no place to go back to, the only place that had ever felt like [home] was this cramped, dim north-facing single room where I’d built dreams with the girlfriend I worked endless part-time jobs for.
...Ah.
Come to think of it, right before my suicide attempt—after they found my body, the people who investigated my living situation must have left some money behind for them to use. After leaving the hospital penniless, that was the only [asset] of mine I could think of.
With that in mind, I swallowed my pride and knocked once more. “Excuse me! I used to live here... I’m not here for anything weird, could you just give me the landlady’s contact info?”
Knocking and making demands like this? Back in the day, maybe, but in today’s world, I’d look like the most suspicious guy around. But hell, I’d left my phone and everything in the room when I went out to kill myself. Without this, my chances of tracking down her number were basically zero.
No response even after several more knocks.
What now...?
The moment that thought crossed my mind—
“...?”
A piece of paper slid out from under the door. It was a single sheet with a phone number scribbled on it.
Ah...! I snatched it up quickly. Then, bowing repeatedly toward the firmly shut door, I called out, “Thank you so much! Sorry for the bother! Really, thank you!”
No reply to my thanks either, but still—a total stranger putting up with me like this was more than I deserved. They could’ve just called the cops, and no one would’ve blamed them.
Yeah. Getting the number was great, but...
How the hell do I even contact her...?
This hard-won [new life] of mine was already hitting roadblocks at the most basic steps.
“...Still kinda cold out here.”
I sat shivering on a bench in the apartment complex, feeling the bite of the flower-thaw chill. Right as I was stupidly thinking I should’ve worn thicker clothes before dying—
“Aigoo, young man!”
I spotted the lady approaching from afar, having recognized me. This was my former landlady. The first time I’d seen her since signing the lease, and we’d never been particularly close. But given my situation, she was the only one who might have clues about my old belongings.
“Sorry for calling out of the blue. You must’ve been shocked...” I bowed as I spoke, and she waved it off.
“Oh, no, no. Young man. I heard you... had some bad thoughts. I don’t know what happened, but seeing you alive like this? Such a relief.”
She smiled lightly and kept up the small talk, her classic Korean auntie warmth shining through.
“Anyway, a collect call outta nowhere? Scared me half to death, hehe. My son’s been out of the army forever now.”
“...Yeah, really sorry about that.”
The way I’d reached out? A collect call, of all things. In this era of smartphones and free messengers, it was practically a relic. Mostly used in the military these days, from what I’d heard, and even that was dying out.
Still, it worked—I’d called the old landlady via collect, and luckily, she remembered who I was, making this meeting possible. Hell, if a tenant vanished and turned up drowned in the river, even I wouldn’t forget.
“Um... ma’am. About my stuff...”
“Right, I’ve got it. Here.”
She handed me the paper bag she’d brought. I peeked inside: my old smartphone, the envelope of cash, ID and personal docs—all there.
“Figured I should hold onto it all, in case you woke up. So glad you did.”
“Thank you.”
As I bowed lightly, her face turned awkward.
“Oh, right—we need to talk about that envelope. The one with 3 million won.”
“Ah, yeah.”
“You know how it is—your lease still had time left. While you were in the coma, it wasn’t like you were dead, so the contract stayed active. I took out... three months’ rent. And some for repainting. You left the place a bit rough~ Normally, pros charge way more, but I cut you a deal thinking of you.”
I checked the envelope. Roughly counting the remaining cash: 1.35 million won. Three months’ rent at 500,000 each made 1.5 million, so she’d taken 150,000 for the repainting.
“Sorry about that. Didn’t expect this. But I didn’t touch a single won beyond what I needed!”
Eh, it was within expectations. That money was meant as funeral costs for whoever found my body and dealt with it. I hadn’t even thought about the remaining rent when I died, so I couldn’t blame her for dipping into it first. The repainting? Sure, I mostly just slept there, but whatever—call it payment for holding onto my stuff. I was grateful she’d kept it all safe.
“No, it’s fine. Sorry for all the trouble. Feels like I caused a real nuisance.”
“Aigoo, nonsense. Seeing you alive makes it all worth it. Don’t know why you chose that path, but... they say even rolling in shit’s better than the afterlife, right? Chin up and live well from now on.”
Sorry, lady, but her well-wishes didn’t land. Still, as a functioning adult, I smiled.
“Got it. Thanks for worrying.”
“Alright. Brr, cold out. Gotta head back. Take care, live well!”
After seeing her off, I checked the envelope again. 1.35 million won...
For now... maybe find a cheap goshiwon with this?
Spend a night in a motel nearby, job hunt tomorrow. Or save more with a live-in gig—those often came with room and board. Better hold off on the goshiwon.
Yeah. Do anything and... I could keep going. Clinging to that optimistic loop, I left.
A week like that. Bouncing between the cheapest dives, job hunting—but—
“No openings right now. Sorry.”
“Sorry, but your age... We’ve got younger guys lining up.”
“...Understood.”
Another bust. I trudged out. Across the street, a massive ad billboard blared PSAs: “Work hard!”, “Effort never betrays!” All that feel-good crap.
Am I not working hard enough...?
I’d woken up anew, resolved to live this new life—yet from the moment I started trying, everything went wrong.
Bzzz—
“...”
A text on the burner phone I’d gotten cheap for job stuff: part-time interview rejection. No clue why, but it felt like the world was screwing me over—every little thing derailed. Tripping and spilling cup ramen. Or worse: blowing a week and cash with no decent job.
Even the cheapest motels ran 50,000+ a night, double on weekends. Thought about roughing it homeless, but losing my last cash would end me. Banking, fixing coma-stalled life stuff—I’d handle post-job. But I was stuck at square one: [employment].
...
920,000 won left. Skimping on food, but prices were brutal—money vanished fast. At this rate, a month’s buffer. A month to land something...
I flopped down right there on the busy sidewalk, ignoring stares.
...Haa.
Should I have stayed dead? Fate meant to kill me, but the doc saved me... so now this? What’s the point of dragging on? No isekai, no rebirth—just repeating the life I’d already quit, pointlessly.
Tears came. Not from sadness, but pity for myself, thinking it.
Try again, you pathetic idiot...
Sniff, sniff. I fought them back. Crying on the street? Fine for kids or hot girls. A grown man? Pitiful turns suspicious quick.
World’s unfair, sure. So wipe the tears, move forward... But that was impossible. I just wanted to collapse. End this unnoticed, miserable slog. Maybe close my eyes, jump again?
Yeah. Living meant nothing, same as before death. A year proved no one’d miss me. So, quit the [new life game], do what I’d planned—
“...?”
Sudden blast from the billboard: a noisy song. Not typical K-pop—more otaku-friendly subculture vibe. And in it, a stunning anime girl dancing.
Why did it grab me? Her eyes sparkled with sunlight—I’d seen that gleam before.
Wait...?
Dance ended. Glittery font appeared.
And a familiar woman’s voice:
RenaPpi. The virtual streamer I’d donated to right before dying.