Landlords Rank Above Even God
My life as a Bundang building owner—landlords rank above even God the Creator. But that grand title didn't change my everyday life much. The building was commercial, so no need to move. As expected, Dad didn't quit his job. Mom checked into the hospital right away for her cancer treatment. This was still an era when medicine hadn't advanced much. Being able to afford those astronomical medical bills was truly a blessing.
Hospital bills can just be covered by the monthly rent.
Dad didn't have much of a business mindset or greed for money. He spoke like owning one building was enough to satisfy him. He didn't seem interested in rolling that money into more investments. If anything—
"It's your building, so I'll manage it until you're an adult. After that, you're on your own."
He treated the Bundang property like something he wanted to offload quickly.
The quiet around us must be thanks to Dad's low-key vibe.
Normally, when you make big money, relatives sniff it out and come crawling. But thanks to Dad, who embodied silence itself, not even cousins showed up. In an age without privacy, striking it rich on Toto should've sold out your personal life. But the 2002 World Cup semifinal miracle fever swept it all under the rug. I was living the classic "rich but nobody knows" dream.
Yeah, no need to chase more money here.
I didn't have the skills to invest beyond this anyway. In my previous life, I was just an average Joe with zero grasp on investments or economic trends. So what was I, the proud Bundang landlord, up to these days?
"Shall we do some Suk-suk Stretchercise today?"
"Yeees~!"
I was diligently following the teacher's instructions, doing Suk-suk Stretchercise. At the time, I was 124cm tall—about 10cm above average.
"Donghu, you seem kinda different somehow."
"Different how?"
"Hmm... cleaner, I guess."
The only one who noticed the change after I got rich was my desk mate, Ryu Jaerin. Being close by, she picked up on my improved glow-up.
"But seriously, between me and Sujin, who's prettier?"
"Uh... yeah..."
Her daily question was par for the course. After word got out that I'd appeared on Kyarruk Doctor!, Ryu Jaerin obsessively compared her looks to Kim Sujin's. A six-year-old already stressing over appearance—what would she grow into?
Oh right, a famous idol.
Objectively, Ryu Jaerin had a radiant face. At six, it was hard to say more, but projecting to adulthood, she was total idol-center material. Undeniably dazzling. I knew her early years were pretty poor, so I treated her extra nice. Like—
"...But why do you always give me Pokémon bread?"
"You collect these. But you only buy one a month—when will you finish?"
"W-Well, yeah."
Giving her wildly popular Pokémon bread.
"How do you eat cup ramyeon every day like this? You rich or something?"
"Kinda."
Buying her cup ramyeon on the way home from kindergarten.
"...Donghu, you're really giving this to me?"
"Yeah, take it—my hand's cramping."
"How'd you know I like grape Ku-uu?"
"...Kids all like grape flavor."
Or packing snacks for picnics. I did everything I could and cheered her on.
"You'll definitely be a famous idol someday."
"Idol?"
"Yeah, prettier than Kim Sujin."
"Hehe... okay!"
But that was it for kindergarten. Nothing more happened. Time flew by.
"Son, time to get ready for school."
"Okay."
And just like that, I entered middle school.
2010. Life as a first-year middle schooler hadn't changed much. Well, one new thing had been added.
"Ever thought about becoming an entertainer?"
"Nah."
"Oh, I-I'm not some weirdo—just take my card, please?"
"Sure."
Entertainment agency scouts handing out business cards on my way to school. The Special Trait: Thousand Faces perk started shining for real around middle school. With my frame filling out, facial contours emerging, and baby fat melting away, my face was gradually unleashing its power(?).
But back then, it didn't always go smoothly.
"Hey, you acting too cocky or what?"
"Huh?"
The stormy, romantic age of adolescence. In 2010 Korea, school violence was like gravel on the roadside—common, happening to anyone. Dark alleys meant shoes stolen, lunch money extorted. I got targeted by a class thug just for being handsome. On my first day, no less.
What the—
I glanced down to check his name tag. As expected from a delinquent, no tag.
But his getup's kinda funny.
First-year middle school, age 14. When everyone was average height, I was 170cm. So yeah, trouble came—but they ended up craning their necks to glare up at me.
Cute.
Second life around, these 14-year-olds play-acting tough were hilarious.
"Pfft."
Laughing right then was a real mistake. Maybe their greenness made it impossible to hold back.
"This punk lost his mind?!"
The second my laugh faded, a fist flew. I had only one move.
Blood-pumping first-year middle schooler. At Sinbit Middle School, Class 1-6 thug boss Kim Minhyuk targeted Kim Donghu for one reason: handsome.
What’s a school bully? The guy boldly kicking feet up on his desk by the window, spewing curses now and then to intimidate and draw eyes. A sort of superstar, idol position.
But Kim Donghu ruined it on day one. Cocky punk stealing all attention by plopping at the front with that face. Minhyuk planned to grind him down slow, but couldn't wait.
So before homeroom, a quick beatdown. But two unexpected wrinkles.
...Why's this kid so tall?
One: Kim Donghu's height meant looking up. And—
"Pfft."
Two: The kid wasn't scared—he was mocking him. Laughing at a bully? Unforgivable. Kim Minhyuk swung wild.
Crack!
Something slammed his shin instantly.
"Aaaahhh!"
Indoor shoe rubber thudded his shin, unleashing a scream. Then, insult to injury—
Thwack!
His wild fist smashed the wall. No control in the heat—
Crack!
Finger cracked. Kim Minhyuk's only option now:
"Waaahhh!"
Clutching his finger, rolling on the floor, bawling pathetically. First real agony—tears and snot streaming.
"What happened?!"
"Why's he—"
"Don't just gawk—call an ambulance! Now!"
Teachers arrived amid the chaos. A student had dashed to the office for help.
"Hm."
Homeroom teacher Jang Boseok frowned, assessing. Ambulance called—next, facts. No tag, sloppy uniform on rolling Kim Minhyuk. Pristine Kim Donghu. Looked like group assault victim, but context pointed to Minhyuk starting it.
But that looks like a broken bone.
No brushing this off, even if provoked. Jang's call:
"Kim Donghu, bring your parents."
Intact kid's folks first.
First day of middle school. Usual parent reactions were predictable:
—Did my kid do something wrong?
Fear. Or—
—How do you even manage kids as a teacher?!
Rage. One or the other. But—
"..."
Jang Boseok faced this first: silence.
"Sir... Kids say Kim Minhyuk started it, and the fracture came from punching the wall. So discipline only for Minhyuk—Donghu gets nothing."
"Okay."
Too quiet. Stoic had limits.
His kid was almost in a fight—why so chill?
Seemed unloving. But Kim Jangryeol's mind whirred. First thought:
Good he didn't hit back.
Since elementary, Donghu begged for martial arts—especially MMA. Seven-year-old suddenly into fighting, seven years training now. Gym owner insisted pro material. Talented son going violent?
Grabbing one kid's nothing.
But he hadn't—huge relief.
Next day after Kim Minhyuk's ambulance ride, snotty sobs echoing—
"...."
One empty seat as I headed to class. Window back row.
Why am I here?
I turned to my old spot, questioningly. And there—
"..."
Kim Minhyuk, eyes dropping the second he saw me, sitting meekly.