Laying the Groundwork

Laying the groundwork. Hot Potato. It was an online handle that felt more like my real name than my actual name, Kim Sung-woo, ever did.

The internet was my playground. A place where my delusions could briefly masquerade as reality. A sanctuary I fled to whenever life felt utterly draining and hollow. The financial freedom to buy whatever I wanted, striking good looks, and the mental fortitude to overcome a tragic, complicated past. I wore that mask proudly, intoxicating myself with the illusion I had built. For a shut-in like me, being acknowledged by others and engaging in conversations completely free of prejudice was a deeply addictive experience.

Sometimes, even I got confused. Which version of me was the real one?

Well, it's a pointless thing to worry about now.

I stared down at the phone in my hand. My old, barely responsive burner phone was gone, replaced by a brand-new, state-of-the-art smartphone I had never bought. Yet, every single piece of data inside remained perfectly intact.

My delusions had become reality. But I was severely lacking in information.

I picked up the new device and, after a brief hesitation, dialed a number. I needed to meet the only guy I could actually call a friend and gather more details. After a few short rings, the call connected, and his voice came through.

He was always like this. Consistently bright, supportive, and honestly, far too good of a friend for someone like me. He really was the only true friend I had.

"Ahem. You free by any chance?"

His quick, intuitive response brought a smirk to my face.

"Yeah. Call me when you get here."

After hanging up, I scrolled through the phone to see what else had changed. Every single loan and debt I previously owed had vanished. That wasn't all. My bank account, which had never once seen a balance exceeding a thousand dollars, had undergone a miraculous rebirth. Well over a hundred billion won sat quietly in accounts I had never even opened.

Ah... I remember now. I had spent days drafting that scenario and photoshopping images to use as "proof." Since my parents actually had passed away in a car accident, verifying that part of the story hadn't been difficult. And I had used borrowed money to hand out free chicken coupons to win over the community.

Since I lacked the confidence to pretend to be a popular socialite, I hadn't added a single lie to that part of the story.

I couldn't begin to predict where all these changes would lead. But honestly, no matter what direction things took, wouldn't it still be better than my old life?

But did I really deserve to enjoy all of this? Even after gaining everything, my habit of overthinking and spiraling into self-doubt remained unchanged. It seemed my personality hadn't been magically reconstructed.

Just as I was wrapping up my thoughts, the phone rang.

"Ah... right. Haha, my mind's all over the place. I'll be right down."

The place was so absurdly massive that I was still getting confused about where the front door was. Stepping out of the apartment, I walked down a long, hotel-like hallway before finally spotting an elevator. Seeing that it only went up to the fifteenth floor, it seemed to be a layout where you had to transfer to another elevator. They probably separated the spaces like this for high-level security.

Following the guidance of the staff on the fifteenth floor, I finally reached the lounge elevator reserved exclusively for residents. I stood dazed for a moment, taking in the antique, luxurious design of the apartment lobby on the first floor. Then, I spotted him waving enthusiastically from just beyond the entrance.

"Hey! What took you so long?"

"Sorry, I had trouble finding my keycard."

"Seriously, what's going on? You ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠actually calling me first?"

"Let's head inside first."

He tilted his head, clearly baffled by the fact that I had initiated a call. I was sorry, but I had more pressing matters to focus on. This guy...

"Did you get plastic surgery?"

"Plastic surgery? Out of nowhere? Are you telling me I need a face lift or something?"

"Is this really what ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you look like?"

"...Is it normal that I'm starting to feel kind of insulted?"

I stared intently at his face, which was practically dripping with bewilderment. Flawless, clear skin; a sharp, chiseled jawline without a trace of baby fat; and bright, well-defined eyes. His previously asymmetrical facial structure, stubborn fat, acne, and wrinkles had all vanished as if by magic. On top of that, his face looked strangely familiar...

"...Oh my god."

I rubbed my face with both hands. I remembered. That face was the exact replica of the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one I had photoshopped a long time ago. I recalled using a photo of the two of us as my profile picture. His original face, which was average at best and not much different from mine, had been completely reborn by my own hands.

"...You... you seriously owe me your life."

"Are you actually sick or something?"

Bickering as we always did, we eventually arrived at my apartment. As I opened the door, the unfamiliar grandeur of the space unfolded before me. Unlike me, who still felt incredibly awkward in this place, my friend strode right in without a hint of hesitation.

"Are you still active in that online community?"

"Yeah. I'm actually meeting up with someone this Saturday."

"...Are you... really okay with that? I'm a little worried."

"Yeah, I'm fine. I can't keep living like this forever, can I?"

He looked at me with a complex mix of emotions. I could understand why. He was probably worried about my severe social anxiety, which had made me pathologically avoid meeting people. I had always used my anxiety as a shield to skip every single offline meetup in the community.

"You must have really made up your mind. I mean, you were acting like a total loser before."

"You wanna die?"

Psssssh. I poured him a glass of Zero Coke from the fridge and handed it over.

"What kind of errand are you buttering me up for this time?"

He gave me a suspicious look as he gulped down the soda.

"I have a favor to ask."

"What is it?"

"I hit my head against the wall yesterday, and my memory's been a bit scrambled since."

"What?"

I couldn't exactly tell him, Well, actually, I woke up and found out my delusions became reality, but I don't know how far the changes went. Even if it sounded absurd, I couldn't think of a better excuse on the spot. What else could I do? I just had to stick to my guns.

"Yeah. So I wanted to ask you a few things to help sort out my memory."

"So... you hit your head on a wall and now your memory is all jumbled up?"

"Yeah. Not bad enough to go to the hospital, though."

My conscience pricked at the sight of his face, which showed far more worry than suspicion, but what choice did I have? It was only natural. I had absolutely no confidence in logically explaining this absurd situation.

Using memory loss as an excuse, I spent a long time grilling him on various topics. The information I gathered could be summarized as follows:

First, any plot holes or logical inconsistencies arising from my delusions becoming reality seemed to have been naturally adapted to fit a plausible narrative. When I had confided in him about my insecurities regarding my looks or my financial struggles, the deep, honest thoughts I shared—things the delusional version of me would have never admitted—had been seamlessly woven into the reality. The problem was that I had absolutely no way of predicting how these details would be adapted. In other words, now that my delusions were reality, I couldn't fully trust my own memories. The only saving grace was that my shattered social life meant there were very few relationships I actually had to worry about.

Second, only the delusions I had recorded in some written form had manifested into reality. The fantasies that existed solely in my head remained just thoughts. Furthermore, none of the verbal lies I had told were reflected in this new reality.

Only after our lengthy conversation did he finally say his goodbyes and leave.

I could gather the rest of the missing pieces by compiling the posts and comments I had written in the online community. Sprawling out on the sofa, I began to read through the staggering volume of posts and comments I had uploaded over the years. Having to dig up my own dark history felt like digging my own grave. I shuddered with shame and self-loathing with every single word I read.

The sheer volume of text was not something I could just skim through. But who was I? I was a ghost of the abyss, a man who had dedicated his entire life to the online community.

"Let's do this."

I sat up straight, booted up my laptop, and prepared to take notes. I had exactly two days before my actual meeting with Seo-ha. It was more than enough time to perfectly master the role of my delusional persona.

I had no intention of squandering this chance at a new life. I had no idea why a guy like me had been granted such an opportunity, and even though I had already thrown away twenty-five years of my life...

Right now, a profound sense of fulfillment surged through my entire body, making me feel like I could accomplish anything. With the future I had only ever dreamed of now closer than ever, what kind of expression was on my face? Surely, it had to be the happiest smile of my entire life.