Memories Came Flooding In
The memories came flooding in.
A childhood scene: a small blonde girl tugging the hand of a Korean boy. "Ian, come on! Let's draw together!" The boy followed shyly, dragged along. He had no friends because he could only speak Korean. Sophia Carter was the very first—and only—friend who had ever taken his hand.
The scene shifted. Eighth grade, Sophia's birthday party. A clumsily written birthday card in broken English. The girl's bright, beaming smile as she read it. "Your English has gotten so much better, Ian!"
The scene changed again. A high school hallway. A big white student had grabbed him by the collar just for bumping shoulders. He couldn't fight back. Sophia had seen it from afar, and Ian had burned with shame knowing she'd witnessed it.
And then yesterday, during lunch. The bully leader Brad had kicked Ian's locker. "Come to the gym after school tomorrow. I'll have Sophia there, and you're gonna get on your knees in front of her and apologize to me. If you don't show? I'll come find you myself and beat your ass right next to her."
And now it was today. After school, Ian had stepped into the gym. Brad and his three lackeys had been waiting. Brad had grinned wide. "You actually came. Let's fix up that face of yours before Sophia gets here."
Just as another memory threatened to surge forward, Ian's thoughts froze.
…This memory is too big.
A procession of black sedans. Men in black suits calling him "young master" in Korean. White porcelain bowls on the dinner table. And his father's low, heavy voice: "Ian, there are things you must never be ashamed of—and things you must be ashamed of."
And his grandfather's photograph. The headline on the front page of a Korean newspaper.
……
Ian's breathing stopped for a moment. His brain had deliberately sealed that memory away. There was simply too much information to process right now. That memory could wait—until he was alone.
What mattered now was...
The girl standing in front of me.
She had been Ian's only friend from the beginning. The only person who had never once called him a loser since they were children. She was the reason the original Ian had been dragged here today, and the real target Brad had been after.
There had been no such girl in Ji Kanghyuk's life. His world had consisted only of gyms, rings, and octagons.
But this body—this nervous system—was reacting. The moment it saw her, his heart rate climbed.
…Ah. So that's why this kid got dragged all the way here even though he couldn't fight. He didn't want Sophia getting caught up in it, so he came to settle things once and for all.
Ian let out a small, internal chuckle.
All the while, Sophia was still staring back and forth between Ian and the bullies sprawled on the floor, her face a mask of confusion. Her hand clutched the hem of her cheerleader skirt tightly.
"Ian, are you… are you hurt anywhere? Did you get in a fight? But why are these guys…"
"As you can see, I'm fine," Ian said gently, cutting her off.
Sophia flinched at the sound of his voice. It was Ian's voice, but something about it felt subtly off. She sensed it instinctively.
"…Ian?" She took a step closer. Her uniform skirt swayed.
"You're really Ian, right?"
"…"
Ian didn't answer. Instead, he calmly picked up the black-rimmed glasses that had rolled across the floor, wiped the lenses once with his sleeve, and slipped them on. The slightly blurred focus sharpened back into place.
Then he strode straight toward her.
Sophia unconsciously held her breath. This wasn't the way the Ian she knew would ever close the distance between them.
His right hand rose. It was small, pale, and without a single callus. That hand gently settled on top of her head.
Pat.
Her golden ponytail pressed softly beneath his palm.
"Thanks for worrying about me, Sophia."
Her name slipped naturally from Ian's lips, drawn straight from the fragmented memories he'd just recovered.
Sophia's face gradually flushed red—first her cheeks, then her ears, then all the way down her neck.
"I-Ian…?"
She looked up at the hand resting on her head. Her blue eyes were wide, and her lips parted slightly as she searched for words that never came.
Cute.
Ian thought it with perfect calm. In Ji Kanghyuk's fighting career, he had almost no memories of touching a woman like this. And the original owner of this body, Ian, probably never had either. He had only ever liked her from afar, a timid boy who had never even properly held her hand.
Consider this me granting one of your wishes.
Ian gently withdrew his hand. Then, to Sophia—who was still frozen with her mouth slightly open—he gave a light wave.
"I'm heading out first. See you later."
He brushed past her. A faint vanilla scent drifted from her uniform.
Just before stepping through the exit, Ian paused. He turned his head just enough to glance back.
In the center of the gym stood Sophia, completely dazed. Behind her lay four crumpled bodies (though they were still alive, of course). An American flag on one wall fluttered in the breeze from the air conditioner.
The corner of Ian's mouth lifted ever so slightly.
"……"
And then, as if speaking to himself, he murmured one quiet line.
"The ring's small for this stage. Well, it is a debut match, so I guess it can't be helped."
The door clicked shut behind him.
The afternoon at Westridge High was quiet once classes let out. The campus had emptied, long shadows stretching from the oak trees lining the paths. Occasional laughter from the remaining students drifted over from the parking lot.
California's signature dry sunlight poured down onto Ian's shoulders. He didn't pull up his hood. The original owner of this body had apparently worn it up all the time—a habit meant to avoid people's eyes.
But now that Ji Kanghyuk inhabited this body, there was no need for that anymore.
You don't avoid gazes. You enjoy them.
Like a champion walking into the octagon, Ian strolled slowly toward the campus front gate.
His brain continued working without pause.
Possession. Let's accept it. There's plenty of time to figure out the cause later. Right now, I need to fully accept my current state.
This body is weak. It looks like it barely trained at all. Muscle mass is average. Cardiorespiratory endurance is seriously lacking.
Ian clenched and opened his fist as he walked.
Still, the joints are incredibly flexible, and the reactions are fast. This is top-grade raw material.
The sensation of taking down those four bullies still lingered. With talent like this, proper training could easily bring it up to pro level.
Ian stopped walking for a moment.
But what happened to the original me?
Ji Kanghyuk had died. He'd been hit by a truck. His ribs had shattered. His mouth had filled with blood. That sensation was still vivid. It had been undeniable death.
Yet when he opened his eyes, he was in the body of a Korean-American high school student. It could have been coincidence. Or it could have been fate.
Ian started walking again.
At that moment, right in front of the campus gate, a smooth engine sound interrupted his thoughts.
It was a black sedan. The latest Berger Granbach. A full limousine specification over five meters long, with every window tinted pitch black. The body gleamed without a speck of dust, the wheels were chrome-plated, and the distinctive Granbach emblem on the hood caught the sunlight.
In front of the vehicle stood a man in a black suit. The Asian man appeared to be in his late thirties, with neatly combed half-gray hair and a charcoal three-piece suit. An earpiece was visible in his ear, and the slight bulge at his waist suggested a weapon.
A pistol. Or a taser.
Ian's eyes instantly identified it.
The moment the man saw Ian, he bowed at a perfect ninety degrees.
"Young master."
His voice was low and respectful. It was Korean.
"The chairman has instructed me to escort you today."
Ian stood still for a moment. From this body's memories, regular pickups were never this formal.
So Grandfather moved personally.
One of the sealed memory fragments rose to the surface again.
"Ian, there are things you must never be ashamed of—and things you must be ashamed of."
It had been a lesson about the refinement expected of a third-generation chaebol heir.
Grandfather. The chairman of a major Korean conglomerate ranked among the country's top business groups.
And Ian was the sole eldest grandson expected to inherit that position.
…Ah.
The corners of Ian's mouth slowly—very slowly—curled upward.
He had thought he'd reincarnated as a pathetic, bullied high schooler.
But that wasn't it at all.
He had reincarnated as a chaebol heir wearing the mask of a nerd.
"…"
Ian stood quietly, gazing at the vehicle. The man who appeared to be a bodyguard remained bowed, calmly waiting for his next move.
California's afternoon sunlight slid across the glossy black body of the sedan.
A tiny sound escaped Ian's lips.
"…Heh."
Whether it was a laugh, a sigh, or something in between, even he couldn't tell.
With his hands still tucked in the pockets of his hoodie, Ian walked forward. His shoulders were relaxed and squared, his stride confident.
The rear door of the Granbach opened silently. The rich scent of leather wafted out. Napa leather. The seats, worth tens of thousands of dollars, were embroidered with silver thread in the shape of alphabet initials.
The moment he climbed in and the door closed, the bodyguard settled into the passenger seat and reported in a low voice.
"The chairman has requested that you join him for dinner at the main residence this evening, young master."
"…Dinner, huh."
Ian's lips moved slowly. That single word summoned a vivid image of the mansion from this body's memories.
The Granbach exited the Los Angeles freeway and began its slow ascent up the northern hills of Beverly Hills. Palm trees gave way to olive trees and cypresses. The road grew narrower, and the signs of human activity grew scarcer.
The gaps between houses widened until only fortress-like walls and dense rows of cypress trees lined the roadside. The mansions beyond were completely shielded from outside view.
Finally, they arrived before a massive iron gate. It stood at least five meters tall, adorned with an intricately crafted golden phoenix emblem. Two stone lion statues guarded either side, while four security cameras covered every angle from above.
The iron gate opened without a sound. The Granbach glided inside. The driveway alone stretched hundreds of meters. Gardeners holding pruning shears paused their work to offer light bows as the car passed.
At the end of the driveway, the mansion revealed itself. A three-story white stone building with a domed roof at its center. Greek-style columns supported the front facade, while L-shaped wings extended to either side. The grounds were the size of four soccer fields combined, and an Olympic-sized swimming pool surrounded by palm trees could be seen in the rear.
It was a mansion that ranked among the very top even in Beverly Hills and the neighboring Bel Air area—the pinnacle of wealth attainable by a Korean-American in the United States.
Ian gazed slowly out the car window at the sight.
The Granbach came to a stop before the mansion's main entrance. The front door opened, and a maid bowed deeply.
"Welcome home, young master."
Ian stepped out of the car at a measured pace. The mansion's white columns stretched high above his head. The afternoon sunlight flowed down them in golden streams.
He took one step forward.
A former light heavyweight champion who had just finished beating up four bullies at school, now a current third-generation Korean chaebol heir, wearing a hoodie.
Ian's fingertips brushed the bridge of his black-rimmed glasses once. The corner of his mouth drew a faint, elegant curve.
"…This won't be boring."
The mansion's massive front door slowly closed behind him.