Chapter 9
Song Seon-yeong's middle and high school days weren't particularly special or extraordinary compared to other girls.
Just...
"Seon-yeong."
"Yeah?"
"You got a boyfriend or anything?"
There were plenty of chances for youth and romance to blossom.
"Nope."
Boys flocked around her constantly—thanks to those model-long, slender legs of hers.
"Ah! Then wanna go see a movie together..."
"Sorry. Busy."
"Not today! Whenever you're free, I'll make it work!"
"Sorry. Busy every day."
"O-okay."
And every time, Song Seon-yeong's response was the same.
A boyfriend? It hadn't crossed her mind until right before graduation in her senior year of high school, when the Aptitude Test results came out.
"Seon-yeong. Be honest. What's not to like about me?"
"Your aptitude."
"Aptitude? You don't even know what it is yet—the test hasn't happened."
"That's exactly why I don't like it."
"What does that...?"
"Let me rephrase. I don't like you because I don't know your aptitude."
"Ah..."
Every country has slightly different standards for adulthood, but generally, the Aptitude Test is taken around age 19. In other words, you can't know your aptitude until you're basically an adult—what you'll be good at, what your life path will be.
"Still, date me! Aptitude comes later, at the end of senior year—"
"Sorry. I'll think about it later."
"......"
"Don't take it personally. I'm just picky. Go find a normal girl who's not so sensitive."
Some people savor their fleeting teens and break up later if their partner's aptitude doesn't appeal. But Song Seon-yeong couldn't do that.
Once she opened her heart, she flung the doors wide open—that was her personality!
So the chances of her 'first boyfriend' going straight to husband material were sky-high.
'Gotta be careful.'
Her judgment that she couldn't break up was a bit premature, but being cautious about a spouse's aptitude was perfectly normal.
A good chunk of unmarried folks in their twenties checked aptitudes first if they liked someone. Why? In a capitalist society, poor-aptitude jobs just weren't popular.
"She shot him down again."
"Knew she would."
"Seon-yeong's something else."
"It's the aptitude thing..."
No matter what the lurking boys whispered, Song Seon-yeong's mindset never wavered.
And she worried even more about her own aptitude than some distant future spouse.
'Please!'
Anything but the arts or athletics!
After taking the Aptitude Test in the school gym, she prayed desperately while waiting for the results, just like her friends.
"Number 12, Song Seon-yeong."
"Yes."
She unfolded the envelope from her homeroom teacher wide open.
Swoosh—
"Ah, no way..."
「Swimmer」
The one arts-or-athletics aptitude she'd desperately wanted to avoid.
* * *
"...So that's why she killed herself."
Song Seon-yeong's rambling finally wrapped up as she teetered precariously on the school rooftop railing.
"Huh? That's really it?"
"Yeah. What more explanation or side notes do you need?"
"If I summarize your explanation—complete with that unnecessary bit about being popular with guys—it's that you hated your aptitude so much you killed yourself."
"Right."
"Is it that serious? Serious enough to trade for your one and only life?"
"Yes!"
"Hmm..."
I couldn't understand Song Seon-yeong's thinking.
When my aptitude came out as Shaman, I had no clue how to live—but even now, it didn't make me want to give up on life.
"One question."
"Shoot."
"You've killed yourself five times already. Not scared?"
I could never do it. Jumping from a school rooftop? You'd hit the ground so hard it'd hurt like hell before you died.
Song Seon-yeong answered my question in a bored tone.
"Not at all."
"Not even a little?"
"Ah! Don't get the wrong idea. I was scared at first. But once I realized I come back to the past like this? No big deal."
"Still, dying hurts like hell."
"Doesn't hurt, though?"
"Huh?"
"You lose consciousness before you hit the ground jumping from the roof."
"Aha!"
So she goes back to the past without even feeling the pain? Anyway, I got why Song Seon-yeong could decide to kill herself so easily.
"My turn for a question."
"Go ahead."
"Why do you think it's only the fifth time I've killed myself?"
"Huh? Well..."
I was starting to get confused myself.
"Wrong."
"Sixth, then...?"
"Totally off. I've killed myself 42 times."
"......"
Now I perfectly understood why she treated suicide so casually.
* * *
What happens when you die?
Since ancient times, humans terrified of death have spouted all sorts of theories.
First: Endless cycles of life and death like a hamster wheel—reincarnation.
Second: Only the chosen reborn in another world—transmigration.
Third: Judged and living eternally in heaven or hell—resurrection.
Fourth: Shutting down like an unplugged appliance—oblivion.
Fifth...
Eventually, some even denied the world we live in and life itself!
In short, views on the afterlife vary wildly based on personal values and religion.
My take? 'You die, and that's it.'
Humans are just primates, mammals—no special meaning.
But without solid proof, my view's just another theory.
That was, until—
"Damn occult."
Even I, who respected and accepted others' views, struggled with Song Seon-yeong's phenomenon.
"Occult?"
"It's too unfair."
"What is?"
"Think about it. If you kill yourself and go back to the past, what happens to the world where you killed yourself?"
"It vanishes, I guess."
She answered my serious question nonchalantly.
"...What about the law of conservation of energy?"
"Heard of it."
"The total energy stays constant when it converts forms."
"So?"
"If all the universe's mass vanished into energy—"
"Stop~!"
Song Seon-yeong suddenly clapped her hands over her ears and yelled.
"Why?! What's wrong?!"
"Sorry. Science is my kryptonite."
"......"
I felt stupid for expecting an intellectual, science-based chat.
'Yeah, I'm the idiot.'
My stubbornness in denying the already-happening occult with science was the issue.
Still, "The conditions for this past-return occult don't even make sense. People die somewhere on Earth all the time. If the universe vanished every time, time wouldn't flow like this."
Human A dies and regresses, B dies and regresses, C, D... Time wouldn't just flow normally—it'd go backwards.
"Mr. Shaman."
Song Seon-yeong looked at me with utter pity.
"What? Am I wrong?"
"You think I'm the same as other people? Can't lump us together~"
"What's different?"
"There's only one Song Seon-yeong in this universe."
"There's only one of me too?"
A third-year high schooler working nights at a convenience store? I'm the only Kang Moon-soo in this universe, no doubt. That's why they say 'I'm the protagonist of my life,' right?
"You're ordinary."
"And you're not?"
In a story where everyone's the protagonist, everyone's also a side character.
"Of course not. I come back to the past like this when I die. It's a power only I have."
"That's hindsight talking."
"Same with report cards, right? How much you studied doesn't matter."
"Hmm..."
She wasn't wrong. Effort and results aren't perfectly proportional.
"Don't be too bummed, though. You're not ordinary either, Mr. Shaman. You keep your memories, don't you?"
"Well..."
She lumped me in as 'special like her,' leaving me without a good comeback.
'Huh, when you put it that way.'
I had no idea why un-special me kept my memories. I brought it up first, but was it really because I'm a Shaman, like her misconception? Who knows.
"Honestly surprised, though. Didn't think a shaman would nitpick science."
"......"
I'm just aptitude Shaman—not a real one like Yuil-am. No foundational knowledge.
'...Maybe ask Yuil-am?'
Nah, too soon.
"Anyway, Mr. Shaman. Save the head-scratching science for later, by yourself."
"Fine."
"I killed myself right after we split at the convenience store to check something."
"What?"
"If my memories really stick."
"And?"
"Satisfied."
Song Seon-yeong's eyes crinkled in a soft smile as she stood on the rooftop railing with zero safety nets. A saved, relieved expression—joyful, even! Not one to wear in a spot where one slip meant plummeting.
"Couldn't ask anyone for help."
"Why? You got parents, teachers, friends..."
"Felt pointless. They all forget when I go back."
"......"
I almost snapped that she could just not kill herself if she hated that—but held back. I could guess why.
"42 times. Every time things went wrong."
"Hmm..."
When life's not satisfying and you can't rewind, we grit our teeth and pick the next best thing.
But if you could rewind on purpose? That's the devil's temptation.
"Help me."
"Me, help you?"
"Yeah."
"Something you couldn't solve after repeating the same situation 42 times?"
Unless you're challenging the impossible or there's some block, failing that many times seems unlikely.
"Yep."
"How can I help?"
"First, promise you'll help no matter what."
"......"
Super suspicious.
"It's in your best interest too, Mr. Shaman. Unless you wanna keep taking the same damn classes every day."
"...I promise."
"For real?"
"For real. So spill."
I was done with problem 3 on page 338 too.
* * *
The unidentified inventor known as 'P' unleashed the Aptitude Test machine, flipping human history on its head.
Politics, culture, economy, leisure, sports, services, education, science... Every field specialized, wiping out inefficient labor and wasted talent.
"My aptitude's swimmer."
"You told me that from the start. And that you hate it."
Even the best policies have side effects. P's Aptitude Test—praised and adopted from developed nations to developing ones—was no exception.
"I wanna change my aptitude."
"Give up."
I thrashed around reading fantasy novels too, but it was hopeless.
"You promised. To help."
"I want to. But how do I help with the impossible?"
"Still, help me. You promised. Pinky! Swear!"
"Jeez..."
"You will, right?"
"...Yeah. I'll help you change your aptitude."
"Yay!"
Was she worried I'd bail? Song Seon-yeong lit up noticeably.
'But no way it's possible...'
Before I was born, when P's machine wasn't fully commercialized, scammers hawked 'aptitude-changing drugs' everywhere.
And now? Unverifiable 'good aptitude pills' sell like hotcakes on the black market.
"You've probably tried drugs already..."
"Yeah. OD'd once and died before even taking the test."
"Don't brag about it!"
Looks like the occult triggers if Song Seon-yeong dies, even without jumping.
"I've tried everything I could do alone."
"Everything?"
"Yeah. Everything."
"But there's stuff you can't do alone?"
"Yep."
"No way..."
Aptitude's ultimately self-improvement. Can't outsource it.
"Listen. They say aptitude's heavily influenced by the mind."
"Mind? Like soul?"
No more occult, please.
"Belief. Rock-solid confidence that you're good at this field."
"Hmm..."
The theory she'd picked up somewhere was as dubious as occult stuff.
'All scams.'
No verified cases of anyone actually changing their aptitude. Alien sightings had more credibility.
Aptitude-changers were just preying on desperation and anxiety for cash. P's machine wasn't that flimsy—history proves it.
"That's why I need your help. Can't do it alone."
"Gotta?"
"Gotta!"
"......"
"Tried everything else. This is the last."
Last. Meaning if even this method needing my help failed, she'd give up clean.
If she gave up? Occult ends.
'No choice, huh.'
Unless I babysat her 24/7 to stop suicides or locked her up. No other options.
"How do I help?"
"You any good at swimming?"
"Huh?"
And that's when I started challenging the impossible.