The Second Discharge
I possessed someone. One day I went to sleep and woke up as a completely different person. The so-called possession trope. Surprisingly, it wasn’t all that bad.
At first I was so confused and desperate to go back that I didn’t know what to do with myself. But once I adapted, I found quite a few advantages. For starters, I was taller than my old body. My face was similar to my original one—maybe that’s why this guy was chosen—but I had gained about ten centimeters, putting me over 185cm. That alone was a massive merit. On top of that, I had gone back in time and landed in a rich family.
My new parents were busy, so I hadn’t seen their faces many times, but just looking at the house made it obvious they had money. The apartment we lived in was roughly 50 pyeong and fully owned. My previous parents hadn’t raised me poorly, but the moment I saw this place I was hooked.
Still… Mom, Dad, you’ll understand, right? In my heart, you two will always be my only parents. I’m not heartless enough to throw away the people who fed and raised me for over twenty years.
But I have to live here now. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to go back, so I can’t keep clinging to people who aren’t here anymore.
‘By the way, why did I possess someone?’
Possession is possession, but the question of why kept bothering me. I had read plenty of web novels and webtoons, so I was familiar with the genre. Still, possessing an ordinary high school student with nothing special seemed like a first. Of course, I couldn’t be sure. Since the surreal event of possession had already happened, anything was possible.
A tower could suddenly descend from the sky. A gate could open and monsters could pour out. A zombie apocalypse could break out. There were countless things that could happen.
‘Should I prepare?’
But preparing felt vague. I didn’t know if anything would actually happen, and even if it did, I had no idea what it would be. There were no clues to latch onto.
“I don’t know.”
With my complicated thoughts swirling, I simply flopped onto the bed. The expensive mattress I had grown used to gently supported my body, and the comfort helped some of my worries fade. So this is why people buy good mattresses.
Anyway, I figured I should prepare at least a little. Nothing too extreme—just learning some martial arts and survival knowledge. Those skills would be useful no matter what happened. In the end, all that remains is your own body and what you know.
The moment I made up my mind, I started planning and taking action. I immediately signed up at a kendo dojo and a nearby boxing gym. I also studied various survival techniques through the internet and books.
Five years passed like that.
Before I knew it, I was facing my second discharge.
Contrary to my expectation that something would happen, the world remained eerily peaceful. It was almost as if the world was mocking me for diligently learning kendo and stacking survival knowledge—nothing occurred at all.
There were a few wars and strange epidemics in between, but compared to what I had imagined, they were trivial. They weren’t enough to change the world. Of course, I was only in my early twenties, so I still didn’t know what the future held.
But once I was actually discharged, the shitty reality was unavoidable.
“Fuck. I never thought I’d go to the military twice.”
If I had been certain, I would have delayed it as long as possible. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any definitive evidence worth betting my life on. Without that proof, my suspicion naturally faded the longer I lived, and after much agonizing, I made the standard choice and enlisted during winter break before my second year of university.
It felt insanely unfair and fucking miserable that I had to go to the military again, but there was nothing I could do. Sadly, this place wasn’t all that different from the Republic of Korea I came from, and of course men had to serve.
My military specialty was the same as my previous life—combat engineer. Maybe because I chose the same department, my assignment ended up similar too. I thought it would make adapting easier, but it only made things worse.
Actually, it wasn’t really the specialty’s fault. The fact that I had to live this life one more time was already the maximum level of misery.
Every morning when I heard the wake-up bugle and put on my uniform, the same thought ran through my head.
‘Fuck, why am I doing this again?’
When you thought about it, I was a fifth-year reservist in my previous life, yet here I was, a private wearing the rank tag, leading from the front during work details while my seniors and officers clapped and praised me for doing a good job. Every single day I was hit with such intense reality shock that I genuinely wanted to desert.
Thankfully, once I became a corporal and my military life got a bit easier, things improved. But three times? Absolutely not. If I ever had to go again, I’d rather cut my wrist. I couldn’t do it anymore. Even if you hung me upside down, the Ministry of National Defense’s clock would keep ticking.
Eventually, the day of discharge arrived. Since it wasn’t my first time, I thought I wouldn’t feel much, but the moment I passed through the guard post, my mood was several times better than my first discharge.
The first time, even though I felt good, memories from the military kept flashing through my mind and left me in a strange mood. This second time, there was none of that. I felt purely, overwhelmingly happy—like I could fly.
It wasn’t that the people I lived with this time were bad. It just felt more refreshing and pleasant.
Anyway, after being discharged, it was time to seriously think about the future. No matter how rich my family was, I still needed to get a job.
I hadn’t really thought much about it, but the moment I returned home after discharge, the pressure hit me immediately.
“Exercise is fine, but are you planning to get a job?”
My mother’s single sentence made my head spin. Up until now, I had kept training hard while believing the world would change. But there was no change in the world, and I kept getting older. If things continued like this, I would eventually need to earn money, which meant preparing for employment. To do that, I had no choice but to reduce my training volume.
I also needed to manage my neglected grades and study for certifications.
Of course, there was one other option. I imagined begging my parents for money, opening a kendo dojo that I had been steadily practicing for years, leaving the operation to the instructors, and just training myself. A sweet life.
“We’re not opening a dojo for you, so quietly prepare for employment.”
She shot me down, saying it wasn’t profitable. When I insisted, she said, “You probably wouldn’t manage it properly and would just do whatever you want,” and refused. The remark hit the bullseye so perfectly that I couldn’t even deny it.
“That’s unfair, Mom. I would have done my job properly.”
It really was unfair. I didn’t originally have this irresponsible image. My priorities had simply shifted for a while because I didn’t know how the world might change. Even so, I had still done my part.
“Then what were your grades in your first year of university?”
“I’ll start studying from today.”
I cleared my throat. It’s common knowledge that freshmen spend their first year playing around, but even by that standard, my grades were pretty bad. Balancing training, hanging out, and studying wasn’t easy. At least the material was familiar from my previous life, so I avoided the worst outcome, but from my mother’s perspective, it was understandably disappointing.
There were only a few Bs, and most were Cs. Even I had nothing to say about that.
Unable to find any rebuttal, I eventually declared in front of my parents that I would reduce my training and focus on studying. My heart still felt uneasy, but too much time had passed since the possession. At this point, compromising and reducing my training was the rational choice.
With a firm resolve, I gradually decreased my training time before the new semester started. That’s when I realized something.
I was addicted to exercise.
At first, I thought I could cut back easily if I set my mind to it. What’s the big deal about exercise? If I just didn’t want to do something tiring, I could stop. That’s what I believed.
But the moment I actually started reducing it, I felt strangely anxious. I kept having dreams about falling into various fantasy worlds and dying, so I couldn’t sleep properly. I even considered going to the hospital, but I had no confidence in explaining the reason to a doctor, so I endured it my own way.
In the end, I succeeded. There were a few crises along the way, but I cut my training volume and repetitions by more than half. During my free time, I also stopped having useless thoughts. I had even considered taking a leave of absence and going to the hospital if it didn’t improve before the new semester, but fortunately it resolved well, and I safely returned to school.
Through this exercise addiction incident, I realized one thing: I had been viewing my previous world and this current world as completely separate.
The previous world was peaceful. The world I lived in now was like a bomb that could explode at any moment. Because I saw the two as entirely different, even though part of my mind thought nothing would happen here, I couldn’t erase the thought that something might happen.
In my heart, I wanted to think this was just an ordinary world too, to break down the wall between the two worlds. But having personally experienced the supernatural phenomenon of possession, it wasn’t easy.
No matter how hard I tried not to think about it, the thought ‘Possession already happened, so what couldn’t happen?’ covered everything. It really wasn’t easy.
So what I chose in the end was to immerse myself more deeply in this world.
Until now, I had lived as if I were in a game tutorial—getting used to this world, learning the controls and mechanics. Now I tried to melt into life itself. I made an effort to live as Yoon Iseo, not as Park Junghyun.
I got a part-time job to meet people and build connections. I also tried club activities. I believed that the more people I knew, the deeper my roots would sink into this life. And it worked.
Whether it was simply because meeting many people and staying busy erased my idle thoughts, or because my prediction was correct, I don’t know. But it worked.
Even after the new semester started, those efforts continued. Participating in the MT was part of that effort. If it had been my original personality, I would have refused, saying a returning student had no business going on a membership training trip. But since I was trying to solve my problem, I decided to join.
And I immediately regretted that decision on the bus heading to the destination.
BEEEEEEP! BEEEEEEP!
The driver desperately honked as a cargo truck charged straight toward our bus from the front. But the truck showed no sign of stopping and kept coming at us in the wrong lane.
“Uwaaaaaah!”
While we were all collectively losing our ability to speak in this absurd situation, the cargo truck barreled toward us even faster. The driver frantically turned the wheel to avoid it, but it was already too late.
Thanks to that evasive effort, I—who was sitting in the middle of the bus—ended up making direct eye contact with the truck driver.
“Fuck. Drowsy driving.”
Even in that moment, the bastard’s eyes were still closed.
KWAAAAAAAANG!