The First Audience
Kwon Jin-ho, Lee Su-a’s longtime friend and fan, found it unbearably tragic.
“Being too talented is a problem in itself. It doesn’t even let the person rest.”
“I know, right.”
“...You’re really not thinking of acting again?”
Lee Su-a said nothing, eyes fixed on her phone.
“If you’d read the scenario, you’d already know. Director Hong and Writer Lee built this project around you as the lead again. They said they want to make at least one film with you in the starring role before they retire.”
“I know.”
“Even though it fell through this time too, they still believe in your skill. I’m sure the next project will have you as the lead as well. And you… you still want to act, don’t you?”
“I don’t.”
“See! Just say the word. I’ll prepare the exclusive contract right away. I already talked everything over with Dad.”
He was finally going to bring Lee Su-a back! The thought that his father’s long-cherished wish—and his own—would finally come true made Kwon Jin-ho beam.
A small snort of laughter came from beside him.
“But it’s too late.”
“Huh? Hey, are you talking about age? We’re still in our thirties! These days people in their forties are considered young.”
“Not that.”
Kwon Jin-ho instinctively sensed this was the final chance. Whatever reason she offered, if he failed to persuade her now, Lee Su-a would remain forever outside the spotlight.
“I’m… Wait, ahead!”
Lee Su-a, who had been speaking slowly, suddenly pointed forward. Kwon Jin-ho, who had been watching her from the corner of his eye, jolted in surprise. A moment earlier the road had been empty, yet now something pitch-black lay in their path—
Screeeeech!
Kwon Jin-ho saw it: the small white hand that seized the wheel in place of his own frozen one, the one that had sensed the impending crash.
The car veered sharply left, tires howling in protest as it slid. It couldn’t avoid the dark shape and slammed into it with brutal force.
Boom!
The first audience of my life was Mom.
Every night Mom and I endured the day by performing fairy tales under the blanket. When I comically imitated others, Mom would laugh, and that made me incredibly happy.
Even when I read the storybooks outside the blanket, they were never taken away. By the time the beatings for misreciting prayers or failing to follow doctrine had stopped, I wanted to show Mom myself standing on a far bigger stage.
That dream ended up being delayed forever.
“Su-a, come eat.”
“Yes, Mom!”
I toddled over on my shortened legs and sat down at the low table. Mom, seated across from me, lifted her spoon with an exhausted face.
“Let’s eat well.”
I deliberately spoke in a bright, clear voice and took a big scoop of slightly watery rice. Mom reminded me to chew thoroughly and gently wiped the grains from the corner of my mouth.
74th observation report. Reaction matches memory.
If a god existed, perhaps it had heard me.
It had been one week since the car accident and waking up in a ten-year-old body. I was gradually accepting that I had returned to the past.
If this is reality and not some delusion unfolding inside my dying brain, is this the same world I once lived in?
Had the regression occurred within a single universe, or had it crossed into another? Was the person before me an exact replica of my mother, or ultimately someone else?
I continued my observations.
97th observation report. I fell while playing in the park. Mom, resting on a bench, immediately ran over and helped me up.
Reaction matches memory.
131st observation report. I complained about the side dishes and received a harsh scolding. But she soon apologized, saying she had gotten too angry.
Reaction matches memory.
256th observation report. On the way home from school I ran to Mom and hugged her. She staggered slightly but still hugged me back. The warmth of her embrace was exactly as I remembered, yet the smile that rose over her tired face felt gentler than in my memories.
……
It was time to reach a conclusion.
I performed one final check.
300th observation.
“Mom, Mom, Mom.”
I shook her awake at dawn. Startled from sleep, Mom could barely open her eyes as she pulled me into her arms.
“What is it, what is it? What’s wrong?”
She felt my face first to check for tears. The moment she sensed me trembling, her hand gently stroked my head.
“Did you have a nightmare? It’s okay. Mom’s right here. Mom will protect you.”
Only then did I accept that this person truly was my mother. The feeling of being protected by someone after so long brought tears to my eyes.
I cried in her arms for a long time before falling into a deep, exhausted sleep.
To be honest, at this age I used to think Mom wasn’t particularly warm or gentle.
She always wore a tired expression and spoke in a blunt tone. She rarely smiled, and sometimes she would suddenly get angry only to apologize later.
But now I understand she hadn’t always been that way.
Raising a child alone at such a young age is an overwhelming burden.
Mom is only thirty-four now. She had dropped out of school after an early marriage and giving birth to me. These days she worked at a factory she had never experienced before, so there wasn’t a single day she wasn’t exhausted.
Affection comes from having the energy to give it. Once I succeeded as a child actor and we gained a little financial breathing room, Mom smiled more often and more comfortably. I had been so happy about that.
But it was a happiness that didn’t last long.
In four years, Mom would die at the age of thirty-eight—killed by a fanatic from the cult we had barely escaped.
Whether by coincidence or not, I too had been thirty-eight when the car accident took me.
There was still no way to determine exactly how the accident had triggered my regression. Although I had accepted the situation as real, it remained difficult to completely rule out the possibility that this was merely a final hallucination created by my dying brain.
Therefore, it was more rational to set those questions aside for now and focus on the immediate problems before me.
If this was a fantasy, I would simply die with pleasant feelings. But if it was reality, I could save Mom.
“Why are you staring at me like that? It’s making me uncomfortable.”
“Just because. I like you, Mom.”
“This kid really…”
After observing the situation for nearly a month, I slowly began adjusting my behavior. Acting too mature all of a sudden would only cause needless worry, while continuing to behave entirely like a child would hinder what I needed to do moving forward.
These days Mom no longer watched with anxious eyes when I washed the dishes or cooked rice. By taking on a few household chores, I managed to secure at least a small amount of rest time for her.
After dinner I sat close beside Mom as she nodded off in front of the television. The news flowing from the screen was not significantly different from what I remembered.
The likelihood that I alone returned to the past is very high.
I had casually probed Mom, the children at school, the teachers, and other people around me on multiple occasions, but gained nothing. Whenever I noticed slight discrepancies in daily life and observed them closely, I still couldn’t detect any meaningful variables.
Continued observation would be necessary, but for now I would proceed under the assumption that I was the only one who had regressed.
I must predict as accurately as possible what changes my intervention will create.
The influence a mere elementary-school student in South Korea could exert was still tiny, but it would grow rapidly from here on.
If I wanted to change the future in the direction I desired, I had to begin moving now.
I had to alter the future somehow and prevent that bastard from appearing before us again.
I gently shook Mom.
“Mom, listen. What if you suddenly went back ten years?”
“What kind of random nonsense is this now?”
“Just hear me out. Suppose you returned to the past with all your memories intact, right in the middle of your study-abroad days in America. But Dad is still chasing after you because he likes you. If marrying him might result in a child who isn’t me, what would you do? Would you choose not to marry?”
Mom’s eyes flew open. She peeled me off her side where I had been clinging and stared straight into my face. I widened my eyes with pure curiosity and put on my most innocent expression.
There was no suspicion this look couldn’t overcome. Mom pulled me tightly into her arms and vigorously ruffled my hair.
“Euaaaa.”
“I would marry him.”
“Whoa, really?”
“To meet our Su-a, I’d have to at least do that much.”
“But what if I’m never born? What if you give birth to a completely different child?”
“Then I’d treat them as your sibling and love them. But I would still do everything possible to meet you. So you have to come to Mom again too, okay?”
“Okay.”
I hugged Mom back.
Mom never lied to me. She knew it wouldn’t work.
But there were definitely things she kept unsaid.
When Mom looked at me, I looked at her too. The momentary flicker in her eyes when she heard my question, the slight stiffness at the corners of her mouth, the tension in her neck and shoulders, the faint tremble at her fingertips.
Combining all those fleeting signs, I could roughly guess what she was truly feeling.
Even if Mom returned to the past, she would still choose to marry Dad in order to meet me. Yet she would regret it.
Even if she regretted it, resented it, and ultimately fell into despair, she would take responsibility for her choice until the very end—just as she had before my regression.
I’m so glad I came back.
Therefore, I too would do everything in my power to protect her. Even if it meant taking on a certain amount of risk.