Chapter 1
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 001
Chapter Title: Prologue
-----------------------------------------------------------------
"Fuck my life."
There are countless people living in this world.
And among them, the ones who think their lives are happy and smooth sailing probably don't even make up one percent. Just get a bunch of friends together for drinks, and inevitably, a contest breaks out over who has the shittiest life, right?
And I usually came out on top. The prize? Booze on them.
The whole world... okay, that's a bit of an exaggeration. Can't really compare to child soldier life in Africa or the slums of Haiti.
Still, who's gonna feel proud comparing themselves to people on the other side of the world? Someone thinking, 'At least I'm happier than folks in North Korea'?
In that sense, I was confident I ranked in the top 1% of shitty lives in South Korea.
Right now, I was in London, the capital of England.
- Hey, doesn't that mean you've got some serious cash if you can fly from the far east all the way to Britain?
Ah, about that.
This? It's my insurance payout.
- Insurance?
Yeah. Cancer diagnosis money. There's this thing in the world where people gamble on whether they'll get cancer or not.
- I know what insurance is. It existed back in the day too. First time hearing about policies on human cancer instead of ships, though.
I booked a one-way first-class ticket to London to celebrate winning the pancreatic cancer jackpot.
- Whoa.
Yeah.
That's how it went down.
The final one-way trip to find out which riverbed's the warmest.
Came to London to test the Thames water temperature, but hey, you're here—might as well sightsee, right?
And maybe because death was closing in...
In this world's greatest showcase of looted goods, the British Museum, a voice from a Chinese dragon-patterned porcelain vase on display whispered to me.
- Not a ghost, I tell you—a Dragon King!
To be precise, a jar ghost who believed he was the Dragon King.
- Believe me, it's real...
Dragon King in a jar.
Not even Piccolo in a rice cooker.
Park In-ho—that's me—my life sums up pretty simply.
Got into a decent college, busted my ass sending out resumes, and landed a spot at some big corporation.
Spent over half the year not in Korea but hopping between China and Japan, living that hardcore life. Then I got suckered by talk of how being an expat would boost my promotions, so I ended up as the branch manager in China. Not even married, but hey, why not lock it in early?
But just once.
Really, just one damn time, I screwed up.
"Can't you help just a little?"
"No can do..."
"Please, I'm begging you. If these people get caught, they'll be killed."
A pastor I'd gotten to know through work begged so desperately that I caved to my conscience—just once.
It was really, really brief.
Helping those North Korean defectors? That twinge of moral victory over reality lasted a fleeting moment.
But they say if luck's against you, you break your nose falling on your ass.
I got arrested by the Public Security Bureau.
If I'd known it'd end like this, I never would've done that favor.
Regret doesn't even cover it.
Ruined my life for a pathetic scrap of pride.
For my parents, who'd been strutting around proud of their son the big corp salaryman, it hit like a bolt from the blue. They went through hell trying to save their son from those incomprehensible Chinese bastards.
Those damn Chinese wouldn't even let me see a lawyer properly, and the Korean diplomats—fat on our taxes—offered jack shit.
Just once.
After my parents' endless pleading, some consular prick finally stuck his nose in.
"Park In-ho? Sorry, but there's nothing we can do."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"The charges against you are espionage. As you know, the political situation right now isn't great... We'll step in once things calm down a bit."
"Can't you see how much I'm suffering here? I can't even hire a lawyer—is this normal?"
"Sorry."
"You're supposed to help citizens like me!"
"Hey, why are you talking like we told you to do this? Did we ask you to?"
If it weren't for the bars, that guy would've died by my hand.
Long story short, I got released just shy of a year in that hellish Chinese detention center. The Chinese government, hearing both my devastated parents had passed, deported me instead of a trial—some bullshit about humanitarian measures.
By the time I got back to Korea, the funerals were over. I couldn't even play the bereaved son. All that was left was sorting their belongings and legal paperwork.
Once that was done, I collapsed.
The hospital diagnosed me with pancreatic cancer.
And the company that had hogged my prime years for peanuts sent a curt notice: "You're no longer eligible for overseas travel. You're fired."
The five stages of grief? Over in a flash. I wasn't keen on sticking around anyway, so I liquidated everything and flew to Europe.
After blowing cash like a madman, crisscrossing the continent, I ended up in London.
Honestly, artifacts or paintings? I wouldn't know shit even if I stared at them. Just popped in out of politeness since I was in Britain.
But lo and behold, a porcelain piece wailing only in my ears—what now?
- Anyone'd think I invited you.
Didn't you?
- No, no, no. I need you. You're the first person who's heard me since I got to this museum! Don't go anywhere else! Just steal me! Quick!
Now it's inciting crime—definitely possessed pottery.
My routine went like this.
Wash up, breakfast, come here and chat with this jar of desire, leave at closing. Done.
A possessed vase needing me at the very end? Kinda weird, but people are drawn to those who need them.
But now, time for goodbyes.
Like I said, death's knocking.
- About that... I've got a proposal.
The spirit whispered.
What? Sell my soul and it'll cure my cancer?
- Buy your soul and use it? Hell no!
Ow, my ears. Nice pipes.
- Overheard this: those mountain spirit bastards have been tossing people back into the past willy-nilly. Lunatics. Kidnap all you want—does the world change?
People? To the past?
- Yup. Your so-called 'second chance at life.' Sound good? If hack mountain spirits can do it, why can't the Dragon King of the seas?
Going to the past, huh.
Seen it in novels. Possess a king who tanks his country, turn it around. Or hit some primitive world and get worshipped as a modern civ god.
Normally, I'd pick death over ditching 21st-century life. But with real death looming, past or isekai—anywhere to live properly once more sounds perfect.
Yeah, if I can live? What's not worth it?
- But looks like there are conditions. Hmm. Hold on. Skimming the manual—
Sudden dread. Manual? Dragon King my ass—this newbie's winging it off a manual? Cook like that, and the first batch is trash!
- Wait. You don't wanna die anyway. Hmm. Got the gist. These vicious pricks. This isn't a past-send spell—it's a conditional curse sorta thing. Fail the goal, and your soul pays dearly—
Dreadful price? You joking?
- Not a big deal, skip it. Conditional revival's basically free—think you'd get that? Promise to do something, that's all. Future knowledge, second life? No biggie.
No. It is a biggie.
Shorting my own soul? Even stock short-selling wrecks lives—what happens if you default on a soul?
- Don't wanna? Fine... After all my searching...
Quietly go home, surrender my body to the "Hi, I'm cancer cells!" crew, off to the afterlife.
Or take this ghost's deal and short my soul.
Honestly.
Answer was set.
Fuck it, let's do it.
That instant.
The world blurred.
"Gack— what the hell? Sudden chest pain. My heart..."
- Calm down. It's working. Let's see. Next, next. Skip this. Skip that. Sever the contracted soul's link to the body. Caution: If exact terms weren't disclosed...
Did I disclose the terms?
You motherfucker, I heard nothing!
- Huh? Wha—? This isn't right? Wait. Why am I the guarantor? Hold on. Time-out. I wasn't serious, just a dry run—something's wrong—KYAAAAAAAA!!
And the unbelievable happened.
That crazy dragon vase bulged up.
Flash.
B OOOM——
How long was I out?
The thought hit just as blinding light pierced my eyelids.
It hurts.
Cold.
Throat stings.
Can't breathe right.
Can't see a damn thing.
Damn ghost bastard, self-destruct out of nowhere? At least chant some "prayer" first!
All confident about second life, ends in explosion. Madman. First suicide... no, artifact bombing in British Museum history.
Whole body agony? Obvious—I was ground zero. Not hurting would be weirder.
Take the tiniest breath—icy knife air slices into my lungs.
That moment.
I couldn't hold back.
"Waaah——"
What?
Why's it crying on its own.
And in super high-pitched wail?
I desperately, with all my might, pried my eyelids open.
And.
"It's a healthy baby boy! Listen to that cry!"
"Already trying to open his eyes. What a hurry."
Looks like.
Second chance.
Success.