Prologue: Ah, I've Done It
The life I got back after dying once turned out far more ordinary than I'd expected.
I'd lived through a mad experience that, in three hundred thousand years of human history, maybe no one else had ever gone through — and still, money didn't fall out of the sky.
I graduated from university a second time, perfectly ordinary, and all I had left were student loans and a diploma that carried no real weight. So I had to work.
And the people there were not particularly kind to me. Why, I couldn't say. Maybe it was because I'd talked back to the ones who tried to dump their work on me.
What was I supposed to do about it? If they didn't like it, they should've had more money.
My daily schedule was simple. I barely made it in each morning, sat down without opening my mouth once, and shuttled back and forth between Microsoft and Adobe, doing whatever was put in front of me. Sometimes charts. Sometimes posters. Sometimes endless Excel tables.
When lunch came, I went to the cafeteria alone, put a video on my phone, and ate. The food was never very good.
If I went back to my desk with time still left, the whispering would start up again — so I spent the rest of the break walking, then returned to my seat.
The supervisor who'd tried to foist work on me would call me over, throw whatever I'd made onto the floor first, and only then look at it.
After that I'd go back to my desk and work some more, and when I clocked out I'd smoke a cigarette before heading home. That was the routine. After hours without a single one, the smoke after work felt especially precious.
"Hoo."
I flicked the butt into the ashtray, checked the time on my phone, and took what little comfort I could from the three letters on the screen — Friday — before starting slowly down the road.
In my previous life I'd been a student, so I had no idea whether this counted as a normal company life. Maybe back then I should've just gritted my teeth and quietly taken every job they shoved at me. Would the boss who'd torn up my poster have smiled and said good morning?
I knew the fretting was pointless. That didn't mean it stopped.
"..."
I'd refused them too, after all. People like that. Even if I hadn't turned them down then, something else would've put me through the same thing. Anyone who dumps their work on other people was never going to make a good friend to begin with.
After a while I reached the bus stop. About fifteen minutes until the next one. If the interval was over fifteen minutes… well. Public transit was one of Korea's strengths, but there was still a long way to go.
The moment I pulled my phone out again, a low-battery warning lit up the screen. Charging it at the office got you called an electricity thief — that was why.
I sighed, sat on the bench, then figured fifteen minutes was enough for one more cigarette and wandered into the alleys. Even a short walk always brought me into the same dim back streets, waiting for me as usual.
While I dirtied the clean lungs I'd only just gotten back with nicotine all over again, I kept pulling out my phone to check the time. The battery was too low for anything else.
"Oh — Heeyeon?"
A voice suddenly calling my name from the right made me jump. I turned. A woman in a thick, puffy coat that made her look soft and warm was coming toward me at a quick little trot.
"Ah."
I tossed the cigarette roughly behind me and bowed my head.
"What are you doing out here? Oh — smoking?"
"Y-yes… haha…"
The one person at the company who still let me breathe. Strangely enough, she did the same things I did and somehow everyone still loved her. Inha… sunbae? Mentor? She wasn't the one training me, so just sunbae? Though calling someone sunbae always felt a little like a Japanese anime.
"Waiting for the bus?"
"Yes… I, uh, just got off…"
"I see. Which number do you take?"
"Um, the 5200…"
"Same direction. Let's go together. Cigarette — mm, want another one? We have to wait anyway."
"Ah — yes. Sure."
I said it and slid a hand into my pocket. I regretted the half-smoked butt I'd thrown away, but I didn't have the nerve to pick it up and finish it in front of someone else.
I was an introvert. Before, and still. So even though Kang Inha was the only person at the company who talked to me and looked after me, we never really had long conversations.
Even if this hadn't been work, there would still have been a distance between us — the kind where you don't casually drop formal speech. For me, this much was the most comfortable. Maybe that personality was the only reason I could still stand to keep working at a place like that.
"..."
I was staring at the piece of chicken in front of me. Across the table, Inha was neatly stripping the meat with two forks, eating with practiced ease.
My stomach felt heavy. I couldn't even remember the last time I'd had a drink with someone else — or outside at all. A light film of condensation beaded on the 500cc beer glass beside me.
"Mm, shall we toast?"
Inha raised her glass. I lifted mine to match, my arm trembling a little, so I planted my elbow on the table and clinked it against hers.
"Still — we finally got to drink, huh?"
"Ah, haha… I, I always get so tired after work…"
One sip of beer. It didn't taste bad, so I took two more, gulp after gulp.
"Oh my, I wasn't trying to scold you. I was just excited. Hehe."
A crisp crack as the fried coating broke. Juice and oil burst together in my mouth.
"Well — tomorrow's the weekend, at least. What are you doing?"
Ah. Trying to make plans again.
"Ah, um, I, I don't really have anything…"
Whenever the thought crossed my mind — why does Inha look after me like this? — I always ended up wondering if the company had assigned her to it, the way the military assigns peer counselors or a class picks a class president.
Of course I had my good points too. I mean, I wasn't so completely wrecked that there was nothing decent about me at all. I used to stare blankly at myself in the mirror, and right after my body changed I'd even been swept up in lust more than once.
And every time I thought about that, I also thought I should've been a little more smooth in university. Maybe if I'd used my looks like a weapon, I could've networked my way into somewhere better by now…
Pointless. I shook my head, glanced sideways for a beat, then just picked up the chicken that wouldn't come off the bone cleanly and bit into it with my hands.
"Is that so? Mm, good."
"Uh — huh?"
"Nothing. Never mind."
The drinking was awkward enough that I just wanted to get drunk fast, so I took another long pull of beer. I wanted to get drunk enough to simply black out. Inha was a good person, but I was just… I was the bad one. No — I wasn't bad, but…
Ugh.
I stood up abruptly, excused myself, and stepped outside. I was already light-headed; the smaller body meant I could save on drinks — a silver lining that wasn't really one.
I pulled a cigarette from my pocket, lit it, closed my eyes, drew deep, and let it out.
Inside the place had been quiet, but not quieter than the street. When I opened my eyes again there were quite a few people passing by, and I realized smoking out here was a little conspicuous, so I slipped back into the dim alley between the shops.
Maybe because we were near the bars, three other people were already smoking. They all glanced at me, then turned their eyes back to their phone screens.
"..."
Crackling — this time the sound of fire eating through the tobacco leaf started to hit my ears.
I dropped the half-smoked butt on the ground without much care and went back inside. A bottle of soju had appeared on the table. Next to my beer glass sat a soju glass, almost full.
"Ah — I wanted soju… If you don't want any, just leave it. I figured if I drank it all myself it'd look a little rude."
Inha said it as she watched me sit back down. The way her eyes curved when she smiled was so bright it almost startled me.
"Ah — I, I'll drink it."
"…Pff. Okay. Here — cheers."
I lifted my glass with both hands. Inha looked at me, snorted a little laugh, and raised hers.
A clear clink. I drank. Bitter, unpleasant, a sharp sting climbing up my nose — I frowned without meaning to.
Maybe the soju tasted just a little, just a tiny bit worse than usual.
Or maybe it was only because I hadn't had any in so long. I picked up a piece of chicken and took a bite. Pepper, salt, oil, and fried batter flooded my mouth, and that made it a little better.
With enough alcohol already in me, my head was starting to ring — and through it I heard a small mutter.
"Ah. I've done it."
I was too drunk to ask what that meant. I just sat there with my head bowed.
I was drunk enough now that I should've been saying anything at all, trying to lift the mood a little.
Once my head had dropped, it didn't come back up.
And then — ugh — a head that felt ready to split open.
I felt this every time I drank, but today was worse. Every time I came home, drank beer, and passed out, I swore I'd never drink again — and at this rate it wasn't even lasting three days.
My stomach churned. My head felt like it would crack. Something between my nose and eyes was throbbing raw.
And my hands and feet were tied to the edge of the bed, and the room was covered in soundproofing panels.
Ah, fuck. A shitty dream.