Turning Back Time
I stared at the screen, my voice steady as I continued the presentation.
“What you’re seeing is this quarter’s sales growth rate. Approximately 187 percent, driven by the major summer vacation update that received an overwhelmingly positive response—”
The intense gazes of the middle-aged executives bored into me like lasers.
“The key factor behind the revenue increase is the newly implemented business model. We recognized that users had developed strong psychological resistance to traditional probability-based monetization. By introducing a ceiling system, we created the illusion that players could obtain their desired equipment with relatively little spending if they got lucky—”
Every word, every gesture I made was being scrutinized. The pressure was immense, but I kept my expression calm and carried on without missing a beat.
“Furthermore, according to the roadmap I just showed you, our Eternal Tale business unit projects even greater growth in the third and fourth quarters—”
My eyes met the chairman’s at the head of the table.
The man who usually regarded his employees with a razor-sharp glare had the corners of his eyes curved upward today. He seemed thoroughly satisfied with the sales figures.
“That concludes my performance report. This was Jo Yihan, Lead Director of Eternal Tale. Thank you.”
Applause rippled through the room.
I bowed politely in response to the executives’ praise.
“As expected from Director Jo. He always delivers more than we anticipate.”
“The other directors should take notes. Whenever we ask them to boost sales, they just make excuses—‘The economy is bad,’ or ‘Excessive monetization ruins the gameplay and hurts long-term revenue.’ Tsk tsk.”
“Hey, Eternal Tale seems to have found its footing now. Shouldn’t we assign Director Jo to one of our more precarious IPs? Like a closer in baseball.”
“Now, now. There’s a saying about not whipping a horse that’s already running well. Director Jo is performing excellently. Why waste him on something else? Don’t you agree, Chairman?”
At one executive’s comment, the chairman of Next—the giant of the Korean gaming industry—nodded in agreement.
“Director Kim is right. We should reward those who do well, not demote them. Isn’t that correct, Director Jo Yihan?”
“Not at all, Chairman. If you give the order, I’ll take it on.”
“Hahaha! Look at that spirit! See? The rest of you directors should learn from Director Jo!”
I could feel the jealousy and envy in the eyes of the other game directors gathered in the conference room for the performance review, but I deliberately ignored it.
“Director Jo Yihan.”
“Yes, Chairman.”
“You can look forward to a substantial performance bonus.”
“Thank you, sir.”
The moment I finally finished enduring the endless flattery and moved to sit down for the next presentation, the chairman’s voice rang out again.
“Private First Class Jo Yihan.”
“Private first class…? Chairman, what do you mean by that…?”
“Private First Class Jo Yihan.”
“Chairman?”
“Private First Class Jo Yihan…! Aren’t you going to be discharged?”
At that instant, I jolted awake from the dream.
“Haaah…!”
“Private First Class Jo Yihan?”
I shot upright and looked around in a daze.
I was lying on one of the old-fashioned, straight-row bunks that had long since become relics of the past. Around me were a bunch of buzz-cut soldiers still sleeping.
“Private First Class Jo Yihan. Didn’t you ask to be woken up early because it’s your discharge day? Why are you still lying there?”
“Ah. Right. Today’s my discharge day…”
“I’m so jealous. I wonder when I’ll get to leave. Sigh.”
The corporal who had woken me spoke, and only then did my mind slowly begin to clear.
It was ironic—when I was in the military I dreamed of the company, and now that I was back in the military I was dreaming of the company. A hollow laugh escaped me.
I’ve regressed.
Incredibly, I had traveled sixteen years into the past and returned to the year 2010.
A whole month had already passed since my regression, yet I still found it hard to believe it had actually happened.
How could anyone immediately believe they’d woken up on a military bunk after falling asleep in a taxi?
During the first week after my return, I had focused entirely on grasping the situation.
The surreal circumstances had worried me, and I’d felt anger at the thought that all my hard-earned achievements—mostly the money I’d saved in my bank account—had vanished like bubbles.
But by the second week, I had come to accept that this wasn’t so bad. In fact, it was actually good.
Anyway, I was already planning to stop running away and start taking on challenges.
I had even considered starting a company from scratch. There was no way I didn’t understand just how enormous a blessing it was to have returned to the past.
The money I had worked so hard to save?
Now that I was back in the past, why would I regret losing it? I knew plenty of ways to make money—stocks, coins, real estate, oil prices. The savings I had painstakingly accumulated in my previous life (because I never had time to spend them) could be recovered in the not-too-distant future.
But money wasn’t the most important thing.
What mattered most was that I vividly remembered how the gaming industry would evolve over the next sixteen years.
Genre trends, the rise and fall of upcoming games, political issues, developing technologies.
Just the things that immediately came to mind were already this extensive.
If I combined them well, realizing my small dream of creating my own game would be child’s play.
However, after pondering it as a regressor, I realized my dream was far too modest.
Making a small personal game, releasing it, and achieving self-realization by watching users’ reactions—that wasn’t fitting for someone who had been given a second chance at life.
I should dream bigger.
I wouldn’t cower in fear anymore, worrying needlessly and settling for the status quo.
The motto for this second opportunity was challenge.
I would make it so that while there might be people in this world who had never played games, there would be no one among those who had played games that didn’t like Jo Yihan’s games.
I would make it so that when people thought of game directors, the name Jo Yihan came to mind first. I would reach a position where Jo Yihan was synonymous with games, and games were synonymous with Jo Yihan.
“Hehehehehe.”
While I was organizing the thoughts I’d had since regressing, one of the sergeants I was close with approached me.
“Snake Jo. The battalion commander wants your discharge report.”
“I’ll head over right now.”
I reported my discharge to the battalion commander.
“Loyalty. Reporting as ordered. Sergeant Jo Yihan has been commanded to be discharged effective January 16, 2010. I hereby report.”
“Yeah. Good work, Yihan. Do well out there. Congratulations on your discharge.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Leaving behind the battalion commander’s congratulations—which I barely even remembered—I received well-wishes from comrades I would never meet again after leaving the unit.
“Can I call you hyung now? Hyung Yihan, come visit me in Busan once I’m discharged. I’ll treat you to the full course.”
“Hyung Yihan, it’ll be a while before you go back to school, right? If you have time, please come visit me once. My leave is still far away and I’m so desperate for chicken I feel like I might go AWOL.”
“Sergeant Jo Yihan, congratulations on your discharge. And… thank you for covering my mistake last time.”
I gave vague responses and finally stepped out of the base, where familiar faces were waiting to greet me.
“Hm. Congratulations.”
“Son~! Congratulations on your discharge!”
My parents, whom I had only seen once or twice a year in my previous life. Having returned to the past, they looked youthfully awkward, yet there was no awkwardness between us at all.
“Loyalty. Sergeant Jo Yihan… has returned.”
I had been an unfilial son. Even when my mother asked if I could come down to visit because she missed me, I had refused, saying I was too busy with work. When she said her wish was a family trip, I had simply sent money while apologizing.
Mom probably didn’t actually want to travel… she just wanted to see me.
The same went for my father. He was the typical stern patriarch of the old generation, but I knew that half the things my mother said were actually things my father had told her to say.
I should take him fishing soon—something he really enjoys.
This life would be different. No matter how busy work got, I would never use it as an excuse to neglect my family. I needed to treat my older brother’s family better too, even though they weren’t here right now.
“Hm. Let’s get going.”
“Yihan, your father seems hungry. He skipped breakfast because he wanted to eat with you.”
“Hey, don’t say unnecessary things.”
“Hehe.”
As soon as we got in the car, my mother spoke up as if she couldn’t stand even a moment of silence.
“Son, you’re going to re-enroll in school right away, right? The spring semester starts in March, so there are about two months left.”
In my previous life, after being discharged I had enjoyed two months of civilian life before immediately returning to school. Since I had enlisted with the intention of going back to university, re-enrolling in March had been the obvious choice.
“Yes. I plan to re-enroll immediately.”
“Then we’ll need to find you a place in Gwanak-gu first.”
“Um… yes.”
Even in this era, housing prices in Seoul were expensive. A decent studio apartment would cost at least 500,000 won a month in rent, and with the security deposit, you’d need at least five million won total.
Yet my mother spoke as if she had never even considered a dorm, saying she would find me a place.
It felt strangely new.
Because the family business hadn’t collapsed yet at this point.
Our family had been quite well-off until the business went under three years later. One of the reasons I hadn’t been able to quit my job easily in my previous life was because my father had accumulated so much debt. Even after filing for bankruptcy and personal rehabilitation, the money he had borrowed from family still had to be repaid by me and my brother somehow.
“Ah, Mom. I’ll also need tuition money. I have to pay it in advance when I apply for re-enrollment.”
“Really? How much do you need?”
“About five million won.”
“Has the cost gone up that much? I think when your brother went it was around three million.”
My mother’s unexpectedly accurate recollection of my brother’s tuition made me freeze for a second. She was right—it really had been around three million won. I had deliberately inflated the amount.
It was an unexpected situation, but I answered calmly.
“Hyung was in business administration. I’m in engineering. We use a lot of expensive equipment in class, so it’s a bit more.”
“Ah~ I see. Honey, did you know about this?”
“Of course. Even when I was in school, engineering and medical school had higher tuition. With inflation and more advanced equipment, engineering tuition must have gone up too.”
My father’s assistance dispelled my mother’s suspicion. Maybe it was just my own guilty conscience acting up. It was far more likely that she had simply asked out of pure curiosity.
“Also, could you buy me a laptop I can use during the semester?”
“A laptop? Don’t you already have one?”
“Ah… well… I checked it during my leave and it wasn’t in good condition.”
My conscience twinged at the continued lies, but I desperately held it in. I was trying to figure out what excuse to use next to fool my mother when my father, who was driving, scolded her.
“Hey, if the kid says he needs it, just buy it for him. Has Yihan ever asked for anything unnecessary? He’s such a smart kid that he got into Seoul National University even while playing all those games he loves. He must have a good reason for asking.”
“When did I say I wouldn’t buy it? I was just curious, that’s all.”
“Stop bothering the kid with pointless questions and just give him the money. Tell him to buy whatever he needs. He’s already finished his military service—how long are you going to treat him like a child?”
Even after returning to the past, my father was still as generous as ever. That same personality had helped him succeed in business, but it was also what had caused the business to fail.
“Hmph. I know he’s tired, but don’t you know a mother’s heart when she hasn’t seen her son in so long and just wants to talk to him? Fine, whatever.”
“…”
“Yihan, if you’re buying a laptop, three million won should be enough, right? Use the rest as spending money. Once you go back to school you’ll be busy studying, so you should enjoy yourself a little while you still can.”
Three million won for a laptop.
It was enough, but I still wasn’t satisfied.
“Um, Mom. A high-performance laptop costs around four million won. Engineering students usually use high-spec machines.”
“Whoa. Laptops are that expensive?”
“Yes, Mom. The one I used before enlisting probably cost about three million won. You bought that one for me back then.”
“Ah~ that’s right. Then shall I send you 4.5 million? Use the rest as allowance!”
“That’s plenty. Thank you.”
I could almost hear the triangle of my conscience spinning and wearing itself down.
Mom, I’m sorry.
I had no intention of going back to school.
The rent, tuition, and laptop money I had mentioned to my mother.
I was going to shuck all of it.
I’ll earn it back and repay you.