The Han River, Bitcoin, and a Campus from Ten Years Ago

"The Han River water... colder than I expected."

Dark, blue-black waves churned beneath the bridge railing, waiting to swallow me the way a beast waits with its jaws thrown wide.

The smartphone in my hand still glowed red.

No. Blue.

The report card on thirty-two years of being alive.

"Ha... fuck... life really is garbage."

Convenience-store shifts. Designated driving. Construction gigs. There wasn't a shit job I hadn't done. I'd scraped together a hundred million won that way, and then I'd thrown it all onto the crypto tables, trying to make it grow. Was that the crime? Or had the crime been being born a dirt-spoon kid in the first place?

Memories flickered past like a drowning man's last light, and one face burned clearer than the rest.

Choi Yura.

Sophomore year. The goddess of the business department. Gold-spoon family, a face that could have put idols out of work, always draped in luxury brands, looking at a returning student like me the way you'd look at a bug.

Oppa, you smell. Could you move?

That single line had been the trauma running through my entire twenties. The look in her eyes that day — contempt and mockery, layered on top of each other. It had been so unfair. So unbearably, choking unfair that I couldn't even cry.

"If there's a next life..."

The strength went out of the hands on the railing.

The wind shoved. My body tipped out into empty air. I shut my eyes on the way down.

The shock of cold river water slamming over me. Breath locking in my throat. Consciousness going thin and dark.

I thought that was it. The miserable end of a miserable life.

"Hey! Park Dohun! You getting up or what?"

A vicious smack landed across my back.

"Gah—!"

I jackknifed upright with a shout, air punching out of my lungs. I wasn't underwater. Instead of cold, soaking river, the stink of mold and stale cigarettes punched me in the nose.

"What the hell...?"

I rubbed my eyes and looked around. A cramped little room. Soju bottles and instant-ramyeon cups scattered everywhere. A tacky idol poster stuck to the wall.

This was... the two-hundred-thousand-won-a-month studio I'd rented in front of campus, ten years ago.

"A dream...?"

I stared down at my hands, dazed. These were not the rough, callused hands of a man in his thirties. They were still young. Early twenties.

"Yah, you little shit. First period's a required major course today. They're taking attendance!"

The door banged open and a guy walked in.

Kim Minseok. My college classmate — the idiot I'd been glued to until we shipped out for the military.

"Minseok... you're alive?"

"The fuck are you talking about, you psycho. Still drunk? Wash your face and get out here. We're late."

He cracked me across the back of the head one more time and disappeared into the bathroom.

It hurt. This was not a dream.

My hands shook as I picked up the phone from the pillow. Not a flagship Apple. An old Universe Phone S4. I pressed the home button and the screen lit up.

"2014..."

My heart started slamming against my ribs like it wanted out. I had regressed. The man who thought he'd died falling into the Han River had come back — exactly ten years into the past.

"Ha... haha..."

The laugh tore out of me. I cackled like a lunatic and rolled across the floor. This was a chance. The last chance God had given me — or the devil.

2014. Bitcoin hadn't even been worth five hundred thousand won a coin. And sitting intact inside my skull were ten years of coin charts, stock plays, and every major disaster that was about to hit the world.

"Money... I can make money."

No. Not just make it. I could buy the world with it.

I lurched up, ran to the bathroom, and looked in the mirror. A young man stared back — boyish in the face, with a thirty-year-old's venom burning in the eyes.

"Park Dohun. This life is going to be different."

I clenched my fist until the knuckles went white.

The walk to campus. The grounds were overflowing with life. The cherry blossoms had already fallen, but the fresh green thickening over the courtyards was youth itself.

I didn't see any of the romance. All I saw was prey.

"Yo. Choi Yura, over there."

Minseok jabbed me in the ribs. I turned my head.

A bench in front of the Business Administration Building. There she was.

Choi Yura. Long straight hair, white skin, a tight dress that put her figure on display — she shone like she'd stepped out of a lookbook. The usual orbit never left her: girlfriends trailing her like ladies-in-waiting, guys hovering and practically drooling.

"Damn... she really is that pretty, though. Look at that Charnel bag. I heard that's this season's new drop?"

Minseok muttered it like he was jealous. A Charnel bag. Over five million won. For the me of this moment, it was a pie in the sky.

But I knew. That bag was a fake. And I knew her father was running a mid-sized company ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that had overextended itself into a mountain of debt.

Exactly one month from now. June 15th. His company would take its first default. Choi Yura wouldn't even have tuition, never mind living money. She'd take a leave of absence, get hounded by collectors, and eventually wash up in a Gangnam room salon.

In my last life, the news had left a bitter taste — and, underneath it, a nasty little satisfaction. The woman who'd treated me like an insect, ruined.

This life was different. This time, I was going to purchase that ruin.

I sent Minseok ahead to the lecture hall and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠walked toward her, unhurried. She was cackling through gossip with her friends.

"Yura, you going to the party this weekend?"

"I don't know. Dad's been on my ass about the card bill. I'm trying to cool it a little."

"Please. Since when do you worry about a card bill? Your dad's company is killing it."

"Well. That's true."

Choi Yura tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled, all hauteur. The unease tucked behind that smile — the crack in her — was something only I could see.

I stepped in front of her and stopped. The shadow fell across her lap. She looked up, and her brow knotted.

"What? Move."

The same old contempt. The old me would have stammered an apology and stepped aside.

I didn't move. I looked her straight in the eyes and let the corner of my mouth curl.

"Choi Yura."

Her eyes went round at the casual drop of her name — no honorific, no courtesy, nothing.

"What? The hell did you just say to me?"

Her friends were staring at me like I'd grown a second head.

"Is that returning-student oppa actually insane?"

"Yah, Park Dohun. You lost your mind?"

I ignored them and flicked the Charnel bag sitting beside her with one finger.

"Nice bag. Except..."

I bent down and put the rest against her ear.

"It's an A-grade fake, right? The ones they sell in Dongdaemun."

"......!"

Choi Yura's face went scarlet in a single heartbeat. Her pupils shook like the ground had moved under her. How does he know? Nobody knows that. I could read it on her without her saying a word.

"Y-you crazy bastard...! Where do you get off talking shit!"

She snatched the bag against her chest.

"Somebody get security! This guy is being a freak!"

I just smiled, easy, and threw one more line.

"And your dad's company. Daejin Trading."

She froze mid-motion.

"Cash flow's been ugly lately, hasn't it? I hear he's killing himself trying to cover the promissory notes."

"What...!? You— you...! Have you been digging into me?"

Her voice had started to shake. This wasn't a simple insult. This was someone putting a finger exactly on the one thing she most needed hidden — and the fear of that.

"Digging? Please. I just happened to hear."

I straightened up.

"Collectors might start showing up on campus before long. Think you'll still be able to run with that bag in your hands?"

"Shut up! Stop it!"

"If you need help, call me. I'll buy you out cheap."

I scrawled my number on the back of a crumpled receipt, pulled it from my pocket, and tossed it onto her lap.

I walked toward the lecture building without looking back. Behind me I could hear Choi Yura's ragged breathing and the unsettled murmur of her friends.

It felt so good I could have split open. So this was what it was like, holding the upper hand. Not a single won in my pocket, and I could still crush someone just by holding their future in my fist.

But this was only the opening move. To put Choi Yura properly on her knees at my feet, I needed the real thing. Money.

I took the last row of the lecture hall and opened my laptop. The professor's voice never made it as far as my ears. My fingers were already flying through overseas Bitcoin exchange sites.

I need seed money.

Everything I had right now was a five-million-won jeonse deposit and five hundred thousand in emergency cash. Five and a half ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠million won. With that, I had to make a few hundred million inside a month.

Impossible?

No. For a man who already knew the future, it was a settled fact.

That was when someone sat down beside me. A heavy hit of perfume. I turned my head, and a sharp-faced woman was looking at me.

Seo Jisu. Student council president. A senior, fourth year, with a campus-wide reputation for being impossible.

"Park Dohun. What did you do to Choi Yura just now?"

She had her arms folded, already in interrogation mode.

"Excuse me? What did I do?"

"I saw the whole thing. You threatening Yura on that bench. Are you a stalker?"

Ah. This one. The same insufferable senior who'd needled me and lectured me over every little thing in my last life. Playing at justice. Playing at being clean.

But I knew. The boyfriend she was with right now — Gang Minho, the PE major — was a hidden-camera criminal. And in three months he would threaten to leak a sex tape of the two of them and destroy her. Seo Jisu would withdraw from school, end up in psychiatric treatment, and live like a wreck.

I let out a short laugh and closed the laptop. Another target, then.

"Sunbae."

"Why are you laughing? Is this funny to you?"

"You're the one who should be careful. Your boyfriend."

"What? What about Minho?"

"You might want to check that guy's photo gallery. Specifically, what's in the hidden folder."

"You... what is that supposed to mean?"

Seo Jisu's face went tight. Something had caught. Either her boyfriend's recent behavior had already felt off, or some animal instinct had just sat up.

"If it were me, I'd check right now. Don't wait around to regret it."

I said it like ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a man offering serious advice.

"Trust me on this one. I'm saving your life."

Seo Jisu bit down on her lip and glared at me. But her hand was already worrying the phone in her pocket.

The seed of doubt was in the ground. All I had to do now was wait for it to grow and start eating her from the inside.

I walked out of the lecture hall. Class didn't matter. What mattered was getting to a PC bang and pulling coin leverage, today.

I cut across the courtyard and looked up. A clean blue sky. In my eyes it was a sea of desire, stained the color of blood.

Wait for me, Choi Yura. Seo Jisu. And every last thing that ever looked down on me. I'll slap you across the face with stacks of cash and put a collar on your throat.

My pocket buzzed. Unknown number. I knew before I looked. Choi Yura. She hadn't been able to sit with the fear, so she'd called.

I didn't pick up. I killed the call.

The push and pull started here. If I answered now, I became the one underneath. I would wait until she was on the edge of the cliff — until she came and knocked on the door of my shitty little studio herself.

Until then, I could wait.

I walked out the front gate of campus, whistling. The air of ten years ago was sweet. And the scent of the corruption about to bloom was going to be sweeter still.