The Story Behind Our Poverty
Here's a question.
Why was our family so poor?
The answer lay with me.
Dad worked diligently every day without a break. He'd never gambled or fallen for any scams. And when I was born, we hadn't been crammed into this tiny one-room apartment—we'd lived in a proper one.
But not long after my birth, the hospital diagnosed me with a rare disease.
The kind that killed you before you even reached elementary school.
My parents clutched me and sobbed the moment they heard the doctor's words. Watching them cry tugged at my heart a little. And I couldn't help but despair myself. A terminal life right from birth?
Far more wretched than my previous one.
But the rare disease I had did have a cure.
So my parents stopped crying and listened to the doctor. I felt a bit awkward, to be honest.
There was just one enormous drawback: the price.
Drugs for common illnesses were cheap because they sold in massive quantities. But rare diseases were different. There were only a few thousand patients worldwide. Colds struck billions at least once, but my disease had odds of one in a million.
So the company that made the drug had no choice but to charge sky-high prices. They had to recoup the development costs. Plus, you might take cold medicine hundreds of times in a lifetime, but this cure was a one-and-done deal.
Some rare diseases were covered by insurance, but mine unfortunately wasn't. It cost tens of billions of won. To buy it, my parents sold our house, borrowed from friends and family, and even took out illegal loans.
That was why our family lived in such destitution. Every won beyond basic living expenses went straight to debt payments.
Still, I considered myself lucky it was treatable at all. With the knowledge in my head, making money would be easy.
Because I remembered every lottery number from my previous rounds.
It was only natural. I'd bought lotto tickets every week. And as a hobby, I'd even checked past winning numbers.
Just one jackpot win would cover most of our debts. Even after taxes, it would've been tens of billions of won.
Better to endure this poverty after treatment than die from the disease. I just had to hold out until I could move on my own.
But when I finally could control my body, turned on the TV, and checked the lotto numbers, my eyes wavered.
They didn't match my memories! My recall was perfect—no room for mistakes. Sensing something off, I gathered info on the world.
Our home had no phone or computer, so it was tough. Until then, I'd only watched TV; a child's body couldn't investigate further.
After digging, I reached a conclusion.
This was a parallel world. The broad strokes matched my old one, but the details differed.
Top companies, the current president—everything was off.
The country was still Korea, regions unchanged, but the fine print varied.
I'd kept my cool until then, but I panicked.
There went my plan: "Mommy! I had a dream where an old man told me the lotto numbers!" No more buying tickets on that ploy.
That was my one sure bet, and now it was shattered.
I had no choice but to pivot to Plan B.
-------------------------------------------------------
I started first grade. Old enough to walk to school alone. Time to act independent.
"Sora, honey. Buy something yummy with your friends!"
"Huh?"
Mom pressed 5,000 won into my hand. Back when I was a guy, it wouldn't even cover a bowl of jjajangmyeon. But now? A fortune. Mid-2000s, that bought a feast.
Considering our daily budget was 5,000 won... Mom must've worried I'd miss out on fun with friends due to money. I felt her love.
"Nah, I don't need it, Mom. You use it."
"Hey now! Mommy's fine, sweetie. No worries."
Maybe because I acted so mature, she misunderstood. Thought I was sacrificing since I knew we were broke. But hearing her insistence, I took the money.
Come to think of it, I did need cash.
"Be back later, Mom."
"Sora! No goodbye?"
Mom gazed at me with sparkling eyes full of expectation. I sighed deeply. Both she and Dad acted so childlike. Fair enough—they'd had me at 20. Now 28, they were barely out of their own youth. Younger than some laborers I'd known.
I pecked Mom's cheek. Soft and squishy.
She hugged me tight, then slurped kisses on my cheek. I flailed, trying to escape her embrace.
"Eeeeek~ Sora-baby~ You're too cute!!! My daughter, but seriously~ Can't you skip school? Stay and play with Mommy!"
"Mom, let go."
"Sora-yaaa~"
"Elementary kids go to school."
Somehow, we'd flipped the script. Normally, Mom would push school, kid resist. But here, she clung, and I wanted to go. She relented—school was non-negotiable for students.
"Sora~ Have a great day~"
Leaving her calling voice behind, I stepped out.
Whiiiish—!
Cold wind bit. Early March hadn't warmed yet. Dressed in hand-me-downs from donation bins, I straightened my clothes and headed to school. We rarely bought new; everything was gifted or scavenged. No money for more.
I arrived at Byeolbit Elementary School.
School wrapped quick. Self-intros, teacher's talk, misc stuff—under two hours.
11 a.m. now.
Time to launch my prepared plan.
After dismissal, I bolted to a PC bang. Not for games. I'd played some as a guy, but never dove deep—books ate my time. Still, I'd tried all the hits once.
Ding-a-ling~
Door chimed as I entered. I wrinkled my nose.
PC bangs back then allowed smoking. Cigarette haze wafted. I pinched my nose. Kid body made smells hit harder. I ducked out. Plenty more bangs around.
Found one with a no-smoking section. Smokers separated by partitions. Faint whiff, but worlds better. Grateful, I went in.
"Hello."
I greeted the counter clerk. My short stature hid me.
"Huh?"
Alba scanned around. I raised my hand. Eyes met.
"One hour, please."
Back then, no vending machines—clerks handled all payments. I handed over Mom's crumpled 5,000-won note. 500 won an hour? Dirt cheap.
Card charged, I dashed to an empty seat and booted the PC.
A chunky CRT monitor greeted me. Nostalgia hit. Fat old-school screen! After sleek flats, this felt retro. Mouse had an internal ball, not laser.
Boot-up crawled—yawn-worthy. I missed SSDs finishing in 10 seconds. Here, a minute in, the Windows logo lingered.
Finally, desktop. I punched in my card number fast.
Now for my plan.
I rubbed my hands, like a gambler warming up.