The Chairman of the Catastrophe-Class Conglomerate Is Terrified of the Butterfly Effect
The month of my regression was July.
Meaning I’d returned to July 2022.
Win gold at the upcoming Asian Games to settle my military service, then fly off to a European big league as planned.
Recreate the glory I’d achieved in my past life—no, surpass it—and live a new life.
Or tear out by the roots the rotten, corrupt remnants of Korean football, tangled up with the political establishment like a nest of vipers.
Honestly, the latter was too damn difficult, and I might even die trying.
I wanted revenge, but who the hell was behind this? I died without ever knowing.
Who was my enemy? All I remembered was a dump truck and a sedan. What was I supposed to do with that?
The prosecution had investigated, of course—lined up suspects for photo ops, interrogated them. Then silence for months, followed by a traffic accident.
You can’t just toss a chaebol heir into a drum, but an unfortunate traffic accident? Easy to stage.
How else would you explain it if it wasn’t a freak accident?
Maybe it’d be easier to just pretend none of this ever happened and move on.
Did I really need to wade back into that filthy cesspool and fight a bloody mud war?
Throw away the Korea Football Association Chairman hat, live overseas as a VVIP for life, meet pretty women, and suck honey. Honestly, wasn’t that the ideal happy ending?
Bzzzt!
My phone vibrated briefly from the corner of the bed.
Snapping out of my reverie, I turned on the screen to find a calendar alert.
10:00 AM: Clubhouse Team Tactical Training & Recovery Session
"...Oh, right. Training today."
I shoved aside my useless daydreams and scrambled out of bed.
After a quick wash and throwing on my training gear, I drove to the clubhouse training ground.
Truthfully, I could’ve skipped today citing conditioning issues, but I feared the possible butterfly effect.
Would skipping really cause major changes? Maybe not, but this was my first time regressing. What did I know?
People might say, "Who’s perfect on their first try?" but for now, let’s just train.
The raucous chatter of teammates hit my ears as I arrived at the training ground.
Twenty-one years old, at the peak of my physical prime.
From the feel of the ball at my feet to the explosive sprints—everything felt alive.
I paced myself, sweating freely, until morning training ended. Players gathered under the shade canopy to rehydrate.
"Han Yideun. The ball’s sticking to your feet today, huh? You’re fired up."
Tae-young, our veteran defender and eight years my senior, wiped sweat with a towel and approached.
He’d been a mentor to the younger me in my past life too.
Tae-young gulped down an ion drink, then leaned in conspiratorially.
"Heard the rumors lately? European big leagues are lining up to sign you. Lots of transfer offers floating around."
His words drew curious glances from nearby teammates, who subtly shifted their attention our way.
At twenty-one, dominating the K League and on the verge of Asian Games selection, my future was the team’s top gossip.
"What, did one come in? Did your agent say anything? Where? England? Germany?"
Eyes full of curiosity locked onto me.
Back then, I’d truly had no idea. Now, I knew exactly where I was headed.
I deflected with a smirk.
"Well, I’m not entirely sure yet."
"Hah! Look at this guy. You’re being asked straight-up, and you’re keeping secrets from us?"
"Seriously. My agent hasn’t given me specifics yet."
I shrugged.
"Plus, even if offers come in, I’ve got to win gold at the Asian Games first and settle my military stuff before scouts seriously push contracts. Right now, no one’s even offering me a rice cake, but I can’t just go around the world like a patriotic news anchor, chugging kimchi juice alone, can I?"
Tae-young chuckled, patting my head with a sweaty hand.
"Fair enough. With your skills, once you’re done with the military, where can’t you go? Just make sure you pad our team’s transfer fee when you leave."
"Obviously."
Laughter erupted from the training ground.
Maybe I really was born to be a footballer.
The sensation of sweating and kicking the ball—
The air of the grass field felt sweet after so long.
After training as unobtrusively as possible, I slumped back onto my bed.
My past life’s death kept haunting me.
The luxury sedan that had brutally blocked my path on the rain-slicked Olympic-ro.
The dump truck’s violent headlights charging at me like a madman.
The horrific pain of my bones and organs shattering, the blood spewing from my mouth.
"...Hah."
My teeth ground together.
I was too angry to just pretend it didn’t happen.
Those damn bastards.
In this life, the same scum who’d run me over with a dump truck were still strutting around, wielding power.
Let those vermin who turned my glorious life into a bloody tragedy live free?
Heh heh heh. What do I do?
I wanted to kill these sons of bitches right now.
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
For the dump truck, I’d need something even more brutal to feel satisfied.
But I wasn’t about to waste this handsome, youthful prime on the dull word "revenge."
Even I had to admit—I looked too damn good, fresh-faced, and hot right now.
So maybe this life, instead of playing the righteous hero like last time, carving out the rot and pruning neatly, I’d try something different.
Smash everything from the ground up to avoid that dump truck ending.
It wasn’t just the association that was the problem.
It was all of Korea.
Revenge would be ruthless. My life would be gloriously, selfishly spectacular.
"Alright, the course is set!"
Whether after matches or training, I’d spent the past few days glued to my phone.
Sports news, economics, politics—even the gossip circles only insiders knew.
I’d dug frantically to see how closely the present matched my memories of the past.
The conclusion? 100% identical.
Not a single detail off.
My brain’s database of the past was, in effect, a flawless prophecy for this world.
Not exactly something to laugh about.
Every action I took from now on would trigger the butterfly effect, potentially rewriting the future entirely.
How much would change based on who I associated with, which balls I kicked on the field?
Would the broad strokes of history stay the same, or shift? I couldn’t tell yet.
Accepting the surreal reality of regression, one thing became clear: I needed to visualize the past and future info floating in my head.
When untangling a complex web, laying it all out in front of you is best.
I racked my brain, pulling out memories from the day I nearly died, and scribbled them frantically on a notepad by my bed.
The result looked less like a psychopath’s diary and more like a mess.
If I were a cold-blooded psychopath, it wouldn’t matter, but I wasn’t. This wouldn’t do.
I needed a board to organize the tangled variables of the butterfly effect and my revenge timeline at a glance.
What would work?
Bzzzt.
"Ah."
[Yoon Chaewon’s Birthday]
This must’ve been around the time.
We’d been too busy, exchanging hollow, perfunctory greetings.
After I’d flown off to the European big leagues, that thread had snapped completely.
When we finally met again, years later, Chaewon’s face and voice had been genuinely hurt.
Thinking back, there were more things I needed to fix with this regression than I’d realized.
Crushing the bastards who’d run me over was important, but I didn’t need to repeat the idiotic mistake of letting precious people slip away.
This life, I’d stir up a butterfly effect storm.
Turn Korea into a whirlwind, then maybe even the whole planet.
I smirked and opened my messaging app.
Back then, I’d’ve sent a stiff "Happy Birthday" and a gift, then called it a day.
I tossed in the playful message with a heart and took a sip of water.
The "1" vanished cleanly.