My Aspiration: No Regrets
My aspiration is to live without regrets. Desperate for quick cash, I took a job from a friend hauling luxury goods. I planned to quit once the urgent money issues were sorted, but... the pay far exceeded my wildest expectations. Thanks to that, I sent extra money home to my parents, just like always. Seeing their faces light up at the fact that I'd earned it... I'll never forget that expression. Does money even have any real meaning? I don't think it does. No, it definitely doesn't. Money's filthy from the start. But my parents seemed to pour meaning into it. That's why they couldn't escape their miserable lives. And yet, that look on their faces that day... it was etched into my brain like a tattoo, impossible to forget.
Short hauls lasted six hours, long ones up to twelve. Hours alone in the truck became time to reflect on my life. I'd committed countless sins. Born with nothing, I used that as an excuse. I did things no human should do, as casually as eating breakfast. Now, looking back just made me shudder in disgust at myself. That's when change finally came to me.
The accident hit out of nowhere. That day, the rain pattering on the truck felt like a lullaby. Fighting heavy eyelids from exhaustion, I focused on the road.
"Yawn."
I stretched my neck through the yawn and kept driving. Up ahead, a hill. I checked the signal and floored the accelerator before it changed. As I crested the hill... there was an old man crossing the street, umbrella up, staring at his smartphone. My fogged brain snapped awake like a needle prick. I yanked the wheel, barely swerving past him.
"Wha—what the!!!"
Words failed me. The truck tilted dangerously, struggling to right itself before screeching to a halt.
Crunch.
Fury boiling in my head, I rolled down the window. Seeing the old man sprawled on the ground, I spat curses.
"You fucking asshole!!! Can't you watch the goddamn signal!?"
"S-sorry, young man."
"If you're that old, crawl into your coffin already! What the fuck are you still doing alive, you worthless shit...!"
Suddenly, the thought hit: the luxury goods in the truck were probably smashed. A chill settled in. My neck prickled with unease. I stepped out into the rain, ignoring the soaked old man on the ground, and went to check the cargo. That's when... blinding high beams froze me in place. A dump truck barreled toward me like it had been waiting. Through the lights, I glimpsed the driver smirking in the cab. That was my last memory.
Boom!!!
I opened my eyes to a stark white ceiling. The sterile scent of disinfectant filled my nose. Tough bastard, huh... even getting smashed by that monster truck didn't kill me. Glancing sideways, I saw my little sister sleeping. Unlike me, she'd made it into a good Korean university... Seeing the sister who'd always resented me stirred something deep inside.
I gripped the bedrail to sit up—and froze. My hand wouldn't move. My legs wouldn't move.
"Hiss."
My mouth and tongue wouldn't either.
Thud.
Pain like a hammer smashing my skull crashed over me. The luxury goods I'd been hauling were all destroyed, saddling me with massive debt. That debt choked my family like I'd personally blocked their airways. Even if the cops caught the guy who did this to me... the damaged goods were my fault for swerving to avoid the old man.
More than anything... the face of the dump truck driver who'd hit me. I knew him well. And yet, unable to speak, I couldn't even defend myself.
My hospital bills were covered by the friend who'd hooked me up with the job—my benefactor. Late that night, commotion erupted outside. Min-ji's voice rang out, sobbing.
"Have you lost your mind!? Who the hell are you...!"
A man in his forties, suited up, gripped my sister Min-ji's jaw... Park Il-gyu. Burning rage surged, but no sound came out.
Park Il-gyu shoved Min-ji out and stormed in with two underlings.
"Heyyy~ Kim Do-hyun~ Heard you turned into a fucking vegetable."
"..."
"Heh... Our mighty Do-hyun gets turned into a cripple, gets two years for it—talk about fair."
The skull tattoo on his neck. Unforgettable to me. It was the mark of the organization I'd once run with—Nostradamus—and my own thigh and shoulder were still covered in them. And... the dump truck driver from my memory was one of Park Il-gyu's goons.
No voice came.
"Hiss."
"Kuhaha! That a growl? You pissed?"
Park Il-gyu slapped my cheek.
"You little fuck...!"
The slaps grew harder, but Min-ji grabbed his hand.
"What the hell do you think you're doing! I called the cops, so get out!!!"
Hospital staff rushed in. Park Il-gyu shrugged, shook off Min-ji's hand, and reached into his inner pocket.
"Tch, came to visit my old pal's sweet lil' sis, and this is the welcome I get."
He pulled out an envelope and tossed it to the floor.
Scatter.
Fifty-thousand-won bills spilled out across the ground.
"..."
"Call it condolence money if you want. Do-hyun-ah~ Just think of it as karma and take it."
Park Il-gyu sauntered out with his goons.
"Funeral vibes~ Funeral time~"
His mocking voice echoed through the ward. Min-ji huddled by my speechless side, clutching the crumpled envelope tight. Tears streamed from her eyes.
"Oppa..."
"..."
"I... I feel so fucking pathetic right now."
"..."
"So tell me... like Dad always said, is this money dirty...?"
My parents had always refused the cash I gave them during my gang days. Min-ji seemed to remember that too. I wanted to scream yes, it's filthy. Her trembling hand clutched the envelope.
"..."
"Tell me!!!"
No, money's always been dirty... It turned me into this, put us in this hell—all because of money. Look... even Min-ji, shaking with disgust, couldn't let go of that envelope. Money's vicious like that. Even when it's filthy, it won't let go of the one holding it.
Half a year passed. Min-ji stopped coming. Mom's face grew more heartbroken every visit, unable to hide her despair despite the time. My parents never changed. They couldn't bring themselves to abandon me, no matter what.
Regret bloomed in my mind. Then a stranger visited—someone I'd never seen. Mom talked with the old man, then gasped, covering her mouth. She left him and stepped out. Once she was gone, the old man sat by my bed. I recognized him instantly. The face from the accident—the one I'd swerved to avoid.
"Young man..."
Still no voice. It wasn't his fault. No blame there. If anything... I was the idiot for dodging him. Murderous regret surged—I should've just run him over. But his voice was eerily calm.
"I tried to ignore it at first. Definitely."
"..."
"Didn't want to know. Who in this world doesn't have a story?"
The old man glanced at his smartphone. Yeah... he'd been doing that the day of the crash too.
"I was one of them..."
Relief washed over his face. Was he mocking me, like Park Il-gyu that bastard, laughing at my state?
"But it told me who you are."
He tapped the phone. His words blindsided me.
"Thank you for saving me. And sorry I'm late. This old man had too many things he had to finish."
Speechless, I could only listen.
"If you could go back to the past, what would you do?"
Having lost everything, I finally saw clearly. Sunshine pierced the curtains. Humid air clung to my skin. It was summer.
"Thirty years... that's nothing to me. But you—what would you achieve if you went back?"
He knew I couldn't speak, yet asked anyway. He placed a lottery ticket—all five numbers matching—and a smartphone on my bed. With a sigh, he stood.
"Truly, thank you... Thanks to you, I tied up all my loose ends. Take this as my gratitude."
Before leaving, he turned back.
"Think of it as the greatest gift I can give. At my age, it's hard to handle... but you'll manage."
Mom returned then, having given us time. I stared at the smartphone and ticket on my lap. She noticed them too.
Fetching information for new user 'Kim Do-hyun'.
What do you desire?
"...What's this?"
Mom picked up the ticket weakly. Realizing it was a lottery slip, she stood to return it to the old man heading out. But I ignored her, fixated on the smartphone he'd left. It floated in midair.
"...!"
What do you aspire to?
The words pierced my mind like a voice. Aspiration. Half a year ago, it was revenge. Against the organization I'd been part of—the one called Nostradamus, where Park Il-gyu lurked. But now? That meant nothing. I couldn't pinpoint when it started going wrong... So many sins in my memories, too many to even sequence.
Mesmerized by the phone, thoughts poured out. The faces of my parents during those six months in the hospital bed. Memories resurfacing one by one. Chains tightening anew around me... All my karma stabbing like daggers.
Regret... Yes, my aspiration is to live without regrets.
Your first regret in memory: February 10, 2002.
Total: 9,622 days.
9,622 days. Initialize? (YES/NO)
I'd lived a pathetic, worthless life. Deeming it pointless, the smartphone slipped naturally into my hand. Fingers that shouldn't move... As I tapped the button with them, everything changed.