The Second Life of a Slave Owner
"Whew... how on earth did things get twisted up so dog-like?"
Kim Hyunwoo.
Born March 28, 1991.
An orphan who didn't even know his parents' names, I had lived tooth and nail just to survive in this harsh society.
In such dire circumstances, landing a job in the HR team of a major conglomerate—a company every South Korean had heard of—could truly be called the pinnacle of human triumph.
But just because a dirt-spoon with nothing to his name entered a major corporation didn't mean his life changed dramatically.
No, wait. If I had just lived a plain, modest life, I might have been happy in my own way.
However, if I had that kind of personality, I never would have climbed to this position in the first place, so it’s a meaningless hypothetical.
Ever since I became a working professional, I worked like a demon.
I did every task required of an HR team member, studied for certifications after work, and lived a life of arriving at the office earlier than anyone else.
Overtime or company dinners were just a part of life, and I took on all the dirty work in the office while never forgetting to butter up my superiors.
-We are family.
Under this hollow slogan, I drafted layoff lists and ruthlessly weeded out those the company no longer needed.
It couldn't be helped.
This was just work I was told to do by the company; naturally, I had no personal feelings about it, and in the first place, I was just doing it to make a living.
That was how I lived my life as a faithful dog of the company, representing only the company's interests.
And at the age of 35, I collapsed at the office and was diagnosed with terminal pancreatic cancer.
I had felt the signs that my body wasn't doing well for a while, but was this the price for ignoring it, thinking it was just the accumulation of overwork?
Since I had been given a death sentence with less than a year left to live, there was no way I could remain at the company.
-We wish you a speedy recovery.
The price for grinding my body and health into dust was a cheap plaque with a generic message and the usage fees for a hospital bed to decorate the end of my life.
"...Damn it. Even so, isn't there anyone who visits more than twice?"
Even those who did visit seemed to have come only out of courtesy, as their words were all the same.
-I hope you get healthy again.
Do you think that’s possible?
I’m not exaggerating; I can feel my body getting worse every single day.
If there is such a thing as a soul, I can feel that there really isn't much time left until the day it departs from this body.
To summarize in one word, I could say I lived a life of total chaos and utter madness.
They say a person facing death typically goes through five stages of psychological change, but in my case, I didn't even have the luxury of feeling that.
Painkillers no longer worked, and I just closed my eyes on the bed, making the endless pain that gnawed at my body my only companion.
Every time I did, the thought I had wasn't 'I don't want to die,' but 'I want to live differently.'
Come to think of it, I had never once lived my own life.
To survive in society, to survive in the competition.
Was a life spent only struggling to survive really my life?
Wasn't I just a slave who couldn't live unless I was subordinated to something?
If I could live my life again, I would never live like this.
Even on the final night of my life, I writhed in pain and regret as I closed my eyes.
And in my dream, I heard a voice.
[Do you regret it?]
"...I regret it, obviously."
Perhaps because it was a dream, I didn't feel the pain that was hacking my entire body to pieces.
And the voice continued to ask questions in a dry, emotionless tone, as if that were only natural.
[Do you want to redo everything?]
"Yeah. Because my life was no different from a slave's."
I don't simply mean my social status.
I don't want to use the cliché expression of being a slave subordinated to a corporation.
It was a fact I barely realized only when I reached the very end of my life.
What I was subordinated to wasn't society or a corporation, but my own obsession.
An inferiority complex born from being born into an environment worse than others.
The obsession to overcome that inferiority complex soon became a kind of curse, and that curse dominated my entire life.
If I had been a bit more composed, if I had found something that could be the meaning of life rather than just status or honor, would my life have been different?
But it's all over now, so what use is regret at this point?
[You can redo it.]
"That's possible... no, wait, what is this? Come to think of it, who am I talking to right now?"
Is this that near-death experience people talk about before they die?
[Do you want to start anew?]
"Yeah, yeah. It would be great if I could start over."
Whether it's a delusion created by my brain before death or a real god, what does it matter?
I'm dying anyway, so I'll just close my eyes, thinking it would be nice if there were a next life.
[What kind of life do you want to live?]
"Well... I'd like a life where I'm the one dominating, not being treated like a slave to something."
I want to live a life where I'm not bound by anything, where I pioneer my own life with my own free will.
[Understood.]
That word was the signal.
Whoosh.
Everything around me seemed to be swallowed by a pitch-black space, and then.
[Instead...]
Soon, I couldn't hear anything, and I couldn't feel anything.
How long had I been unconscious?
I thought I was definitely dead, but it seems I had a few more days left to live.
Even so, seeing as I had an experience similar to a near-death one, it must really not be long.
Perhaps my body's senses were all shot, but the texture of the hospital blanket I was always covered with felt strangely different.
But something was wrong.
It wasn't just the texture of the blanket; even the smell seemed different, and above all...
"Why don't I feel any pain?"
The pain that I felt every time I opened my eyes, which made me think it would be better to just die, had vanished without a trace.
"I'm truly... what?"
I, who was about to press the bell to call the nurse, froze in place.
The landscape of the room I saw for the first time after opening my eyes was completely different from a hospital room.
"What is this..."
Did my condition improve while I was sleeping, so they moved me to a different room?
No. Even at a glance, I could tell this space was alien.
Was it about 12 or 13 pyeong in size?
A crystal chandelier hung in the center of the high ceiling, complex patterns were carved into the headboard of the bed I was lying on, and thin brass rods for a mosquito net were folded on the canopy pillars at the top.
"What is this wallpaper? Is this a film set?"
The walls were covered in wallpaper with a repeating scene of what looked like a hunt, and the window had French doors, a structure that allowed me to go straight out to a veranda.
Indeed, no matter how I looked at it, it wasn't a hospital room.
I couldn't even guess why I had been moved to a place like this, but one thing was certain: my body was no longer in pain.
To think that starting the day in a healthy condition was such a huge blessing.
Thinking that perhaps the strange experience from yesterday had some effect, I unconsciously looked at the mirror hanging on the wall.
And.
"Aaaargh! Damn it! What is this!"
A scream filled with sincerity burst out.
The person reflected in the mirror was not the face of Kim Hyunwoo I had seen my entire life.
A young white man with a height that looked like 180cm, with bold, strong features.
A face that made me feel a contradictory emotion—one I was seeing for the first time in my life, yet was so familiar—was staring at the mirror with shocked eyes.
At the same time, a hypothesis naturally surfaced in my head.
"...That wasn't just a dog dream?"
Did some divine existence really grant me a second life through a miracle beyond human comprehension?
If so, where am I right now...
Bang!
"Master! Are you alright? I thought I heard a scream."
As soon as I tried to organize my thoughts, the door suddenly opened, and a young man wearing a sleeveless jacket rushed into the room in a hurry.
If there was one unusual detail, it was that he wasn't a white man like me, but a Black man.
And.
"Master, did you have a nightmare? Or is there somewhere your body feels uncomfortable?"
He bowed his body extremely low, carefully observing my complexion, and called me 'Master.'
Furniture that looked like Rococo style but was managed as cleanly as if it were new, and an antique mansion.
A Black young man wearing butler-like attire calling me Master.
He looked to be about my age, but in his eyes, a kind of fear, not just concern, was present.
As I pieced together these fragments of truth, I could roughly guess the situation.
At the same time, the conversation I had with that strange voice yesterday flashed through my mind.
[Well... I'd like a life where I'm the one dominating, not being treated like a slave to something.]
[Understood.]
Divine existence, my foot.
Understood, what understood, you idiot!
I said I wanted to be a master who dominates my own life... who asked you to let me live a life literally dominating slaves!
Are you kidding me?
What am I supposed to do now?
As I let out a hollow laugh and turned my gaze, the calendar on the desk caught my eye, pointing to the date: May 21, 1856.
"Master... are you alright? Shall I call a doctor?"
It seems.
My second life had become a total disaster in a different sense.