Mom's Toast

"Stay here and play with the uncle, okay? I'll be right back."

"Honey, hurry up."

"Yeah... just a sec."

A soft kiss landed on my forehead. Strands of her hair, carrying a sweet fragrance, gently tickled my cheek. I watched Mom and Dad with anxious eyes.

Explosions and screams tangled together, echoing from beyond the tightly shut iron gate. What the hell was going on out there?

As I started sniffling in pointless fear, Mom stroked my head with her warm hand and said,

"When I get back, I'll make you that toast you love, Jae-min. With lots of honey."

I nodded silently. Mom flashed one more bright smile, then glanced at the man standing beside me.

Take care of my son. That's what her eyes said.

The man nodded in reply, as if to say Got it.

Rumble—

The iron gates slid open left and right, revealing a city engulfed in flames. Mom and Dad strode boldly into the hellish downtown, battered by scorching heat and fierce winds whipping through.

I just stared blankly at their retreating backs.

Thud.

The gates slammed shut.

And after that...

I never got to eat Mom's toast again.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from the hologram floating in front of me.

What the hell? A dream?

I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand, then slapped my cheeks hard.

Way too damn vivid.

I was already reeling from the fact that I'd regressed, but now my newly assigned constellation was...?

Sung Hyun-sook. No doubt about it. That was definitely my mom's name.

And she was calling me 'Our Son'? Only one possible answer here.

"M-Mom... for real...?"

Acting like 'Oh, got it' right away would be weirder here...

I had no clue what was going on. Zero.

Regressed three years? Now my mom, who died ten years ago by current timeline—scratch that, thirteen years from my old death—shows up as my sponsoring constellation?

"......"

Calm down. First things first—splash some cold water on my face or something.

Still dazed, I zombie-shuffled to the fridge in the corner of my studio apartment and yanked it open.

Five 2L bottles of water, three cans of beer, one convenience store lunchbox I'd saved for breakfast. Minimalist chic, you could say.

I ignored the hologram popping up beside me and chugged the cold water.

Puha.

"...What now. Can't calm down."

First, verify if it's real.

Honestly? Not buying it one bit. My dead mom suddenly pops up as a constellation? I'm not gullible enough to go 'Yay, Mom!'

If she'd at least shown her actual face...

All I saw was some ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠lines of text. Could be the constellations pulling a hidden camera prank. Would suck if so.

Or maybe Central Plains Sword God screwing with me.

That guy's the type who traded swordsmanship for personality—no low blow too dirty for him.

I glanced at the small photo frame by my computer. Me at eight years old, on our last family trip, posing with Mom and Dad at the amusement park.

If these bastards are messing with my dead parents like this, I'll unleash a torrent of curses.

"Proof that you're my mom—"

"Huh?"

My words caught in my throat.

Ice cream? Why bring that up out of nowhere?

As I opened my mouth to ask—

Lightning flashed in my mind, scenes flickering by.

—Mom, I want ice cweam.

—This kid takes after his dad. Comes to the amusement park, skips the rides, and goes straight for the food.

—Ah, ice cweam! I want ice cweam!

—Fine, fine. We'll buy some. Keep whining and Mom's going home.

I later learned my parents were famous players. Both S-rank, dubbed the 'S-rank Couple.'

In a world where monsters from other realms popped out constantly, would they leave stars like that alone?

No way.

Missions, duties... whatever excuses, I spent way more time alone than with them.

Compared to other kids, I learned loneliness early.

Maybe feeling guilty, whenever they had a sliver of free time, Mom and Dad took me to the amusement park—even the day after fighting monsters.

"Ice cream first...?"

Truth was, I liked the gumball ice cream sold there more than the rides.

Memories bubbled up one by one. My tongue was still clumsy back then, so I called it 'ice cweam.'

But,

"How do you know that...?"

A faint memory I'd never shared with anyone—how did this constellation know?

Damn, was that true? Kinda rings a bell, but no way I'm admitting it.

I slapped my burning cheeks.

Setting aside the nostalgia, this was creepy as hell.

Doesn't mean I can trust it 100% blindly.

Constellations—beings beyond human ken, sponsoring skills and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠items from some hidden realm.

Even Jayden Goliath from South America got time-manipulation skills from his. Need I say more?

An item to peek into one human's memories? Not a stretch.

Probably got tons of those. Need something more solid to confirm...

Keep talking, maybe I'll glean something.

"Sorry to be picky, but I still don't fully—"

Damn, keeps cutting me off mid-sentence. This really my mom?

She used to let me finish at least.

Not that food's the priority right now, but...

The hologram window pecked at my face like a bird's beak. Overwhelming.

"A-alright, fine. I'll eat. Happy now?"

Maybe information overload made me hungry. Pathetic.

I focused on the 'Y' and blinked twice.

A cube-shaped package, like something from a casual game, dropped from thin air.

"Open."

One word, and a full single-person table set appeared on my dusty studio floor.

Modest but complete: steamed rice, miso soup, grilled mackerel, kimchi, a few veggie side dishes...

"Hm..."

Better than convenience store junk. Even came with spoon and chopsticks.

As I reached for the miso soup—

I froze. A sudden thought hit me, and I turned to the constellation.

"Not this, something else—Urk?!"

Ow! Felt like a real palm slap on my back!

Tears welling up involuntarily, I yelled in protest.

"I'm not being picky—please let people finish talking!"

Setting aside my lonely kid self, Mom was always firm. If I messed up, she'd smack my back without hesitation.

Damn, that familiar sting... starting to feel like it really was her.

"Mom always made my favorite food when she got home."

I glared and continued.

"Sorry, but that's what I want for breakfast right now."

Of course, I didn't say what it was.

Among Mom's dishes, my absolute favorite.

French toast. With honey slathered thick on one side only.

I still couldn't forget the taste of that toast she made back then.

Sounds weird, but I can tell the difference between others' toast and Mom's.

Can't explain exactly how. My taste buds just signal it.

This ain't Mom's toast.

Instinct.

Even thirteen years after the last one.

I just knew I'd recognize it. Hell, how could I forget?

If this constellation nails that exact taste, then I'll believe.

No point doubting forever.

A brief silence passed.

Then...

Shh...

Like a feather drifting down, a single slice of toast settled gently onto the table.

Just like that, 'Toast.'

But as I said, constellations having memory-peek items? Not surprising.

Guessing my childhood favorite? Easy.

So why...?

"......"

The moment I saw the toast, my hands trembled uncontrollably.

My pupils shook—I could feel it myself.

I picked up the toast.

Honey slathered thick on one side only. Not jam—honey.

No way. Couldn't be...

Crunch—

The instant I bit in—

My mind flickered, like a canvas being painted white.

Not like lightning this time. A scene from some forgotten time surfaced.

—Burnt again. What's so hard? Every time you toast, this spot burns.

Jae-min, want Mom to make a new one?

—Yeah.

I like the burnt part.

—You're weird, kid. My son, but so weird.

Left edge of the bread frame. The burnt spot, perfect replica.

Mom's grumbling about why this spot always burned echoed in my ears.

Crunch—

How could I forget?

When I was down, after a scolding—she'd always make this to cheer me up.

Forgetting this shape, this taste? That'd be weirder.

No matter how much time passed.

"When I get back, I'll make you that toast you love, Jae-min. With lots of honey."

Ten years ago—Mom's last words to me.

She never came back.

The day of the Calamity Destroyer, Germadon, descended on Korea. Mom and Dad faced it.

Sacrificing their bodies to drive annihilation from this land.

The world regained peace. But I never got my parents back.

Nor that beloved toast.

Crunch—

Thought I'd never taste it again.

My cheeks itched, like when Mom's hair tickled them back then.

I realized I was wolfing down the toast, ugly tears streaming down my face.

Swallowing a lump with the toast, I asked in a choked voice,

"This is... really you, Mom?"

No more doubts.

Couldn't doubt anymore.

Didn't want to admit this taste was fake.

Now I was sure.

My mom, dead ten years ago, had returned before me as a constellation.

I sobbed like an idiot. Walls were paper-thin—neighbors would hear—but I didn't care.

Couldn't hug the hologram, so staring at the text infused with her will, I said the words I'd vowed to tell her in heaven.

"I... I missed you, Mom."

Ha... speechless.

Ridiculous, but overwhelming—made me laugh for some reason.

Classic Mom—ruining the moment right on cue?