Piggy Bank Bets and World Cup Fever
Know what? I nearly got smacked in the back of the head by Dad after saying, "If you're scared, you're dead." Well, almost. I dodged lightning-fast, slipping right out of his grasp.
"Well, well?"
"Heh."
Dad chuckled in disbelief too. Mom's face turned serious at the mention of betting with him, but Dad looked at me differently now.
"Still, where'd a kid like you get that kind of cash?"
There was plenty in the bank account Mom was saving into every month, but... I just headed to my room without a word and dragged out a piggy bank bigger than my head.
Thud...
"......"
"Roughly 400,000 won. What do you think?"
The piggy looked hefty and ominous, but it was stuffed full of 10,000-won bills peeking out.
"Wh-where'd you get that?"
"Won it flipping cards."
Mom stared at me in shock again. She'd seen me buying tteokbokki for Min-ji with winnings a few times, but never imagined this much.
Unlike Mom's astonishment, Dad burst into hearty laughter.
"This kid's gonna go big!"
"Gonna grow taller than you too, Dad."
"Hahaha! Now that's something to look forward to!"
Dad was pretty tall himself, but I'd end up 5cm taller at 182cm. Mom's face soured, making Dad's praise fall flat.
"No! You won that gambling?!"
"Mom, you know how much pocket money kids at Hanlim Elementary get?"
"......"
"Ten thousand a week. Ten thousand—that's what you made daily at the factory. You think a hundred won matters to them? It's just flipping cards."
Mom looked utterly deflated. Dad nodded vigorously at my words.
"I was just flipping cards. The stickers even come five for a hundred won anyway—doesn't make much difference. Family games of Go-Stop for ten points per round move way more cash."
Mom's expression shifted to one of not knowing where to even start explaining. Dad stepped in instead.
"400,000 is too much. Dad doesn't have that kind of—"
"You do."
"I do... yeah."
Dad's spare cash was overflowing these days. Money's meant to be spent by those who know how. After years scraping by without even bean sprouts from our asses, who would splurge? The signing bonus probably all went into his account too—he had to be loaded.
Dad pondered briefly, then nodded.
"But if Dad wins, you don't take it?"
"Deal."
"What makes you so cocky? So sure? Fine, then I'll take 1:2 odds on winning."
Mom, who'd been watching, chimed in cautiously.
"Then... if I guess right, you give it to me?"
"You betting too, Mom? If I win, I keep it?"
"Hmph, even if I win, I'd just take it from your dad anyway."
"......"
Mom assumed no losses. Smart lady. Dad nodded agreeably too.
What were they even doing? I'd win anyway...
"What odds?"
"1:1 tie."
"A draw?! Traitor!"
Dad smacked the back of my head at my bold mouth. His reach and speed caught me off guard this time.
Smack!
Dad yelled at the soccer game, voice full of regret.
"Argh!!! I should've been out there!"
"If you were on that field, Dad, I'd have slotted that shot no hesitation."
"Damn right!"
Dad nodded furiously, glued to the game. He and Mom sipped beers, venting regrets nonstop. But his face beamed with uncontainable joy.
Mom looked happy too. Even Min-ji, munching chicken, grinned innocently at their expressions.
Money.
I recalled pre-regression Min-ji yelling at me with cash in hand. She'd felt pathetic about herself. Our parents never took dirty money either. So I'd thought money couldn't bring happiness.
I'd planned to atone solely through my efforts, clearing karma that way.
But calling out those lottery numbers? No regrets there. The flowers blooming on my family's faces proved it.
Money.
Someone once said the more, the better. I glanced at my room with the computer.
Inside were detailed notes from three months of smartphone peeks at future stocks—companies with big swings, dates, times, lows, highs, all meticulously logged.
So the happiness money brought wouldn't dry up now. Time to focus on clearing my karma.
Dad laughed, childlike in his soccer passion. Mom sat beside him. Min-ji, no interest in the game, dozed off mid-chicken, grease smeared on her mouth. Parents ignored it, fixated on soccer instead of waking her to wash up.
I munched chicken too, losing track of time in the match.
2002 World Cup. Group D: Korea vs. USA.
School showed it too, kids chanting "Daehan Minguk!" excitedly. How many even knew the rules?
I smirked, propping my chin to watch. When the US scored, our homeroom teacher groaned genuinely.
The 2002 Cup transcended tastes—even haters watched.
"Eh, that's Korea for ya."
But at 78 minutes, Kang Jung-hwan's header off the free kick had everyone leaping up, fists clenched. Then his short-track speed-skating celebration.
Final: 1-1 draw. Kids vented disappointment. I bet 90% didn't know the rules beyond that.
Still, the vibe was electric. Beating Portugal put Korea in the round of 16. Nights filled with neighborhood cheers. Then 2-1 over Italy to the quarters—Dad said we couldn't just stay home, let's go cheer.
Mom agreed, but...
"Shorty Min-ji gets trampled in the crowd and squished flat. Where you going?"
"......"
"Crowds are scarier than rivers in the rain."
Pre-regression Dad just watched at home, never suggested going. We didn't push either, sensing it. Crowds were chaotic anyway. Min-ji wouldn't like it.
"Me too? I'm nine—if someone bumps me, I fall. You want me in a million-person mob?"
"......"
"Home's plenty fun~"
"Y-yeah, guess so..."
Min-ji's reluctance sealed it—we stayed in. Korea advanced to semis as scripted, but lost 1-0 to Germany. Then June 29, third-place match vs. Turkey.
Lost in World Cup fever. Even I, the regressor, nearly forgot one event.
A news ticker under the soccer feed jogged my memory. Subtitle on Yeonpyeong Island incident.
Family ignored it, focused on the game. I piped up.
"This gonna start a war?"
"Huh?"
Parents finally glanced at the ticker.
"Yeonpyeong Island..."
Could prep even stop something that big? With this kid body, my moves were limited anyway.
I closed my eyes briefly. Dad, shocked by the info, called someone. Later learned it was Mom's cousin's brother stationed there.
Time flew—summer break arrived.
Kids plugged ears against the noise, playing. Under scorching sun, their analog innocence was... healing? Hell no, ears bleeding from the racket.
One punch per brat would shut 'em up. But after some time, even the headache-inducing classroom din felt familiar.
End-of-term ceremony over, kids bolted out. I kicked a soccer ball down the hall with Jun-woo, heading to Yu-bin's class.
She emerged post-cleanup. We walked home together—she was off to drama filming now.
"The director guy's super nice!"
"Yeah? Good to hear."
"Yeah! Acting was so fun. Felt like I time-traveled or something."
Her enthusiasm probably bloomed her talent.
"Wanna come watch?"
"Gotta ask Mom."
Jun-woo, next to us, sulked about academy, staring at the ground. Wanted to see her shoot, but hated studying despite liking tests. Never pegged him for that...
Post-regression, I saw new sides often.
"Done with Hiroyasha anyway—wanna watch dramas now."
Yu-bin was a total chatterbox for her age. Undesired stories, but cute, so I listened. Felt a bit like Min-ji.
"Bring Min-ji—she'd love it."
"Really!? Missed her since the birthday party~"
No prior connection, but Min-ji's party bonded them. We parted from Jun-woo first, heading to Yu-bin's.
"This Do-hyun's house?"
"Looks nice, right?"
"Yeah! Nicer than ours!"
Her place was pricier land even in this ritzy area, bigger yard than our villa lot. I spotted Dad's car in our parking lot. Past our house, a bit further—dropping Yu-bin home.
Then a car pulled out from Yu-bin's. Her mom rolled down the window from the driver's seat, ponytail swaying as she looked my way.