Chapter 3
Chapter 3
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: Three Lives (2)
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The next day, after breakfast, he slung his bag over his shoulder.
Maybe because of the acorn incident, General growled at Jin-hyuk. Even though they were neighbors, it felt like the dog was getting a bit too uppity. Still, Jin-hyuk, being a year older, decided to let it slide.
"I'm off!"
Worried that General might nip at his heels, he bolted out like he was being chased.
Fortunately, even though General was faster than him, the dog just followed without biting or overtaking. He trailed Jin-hyuk all the way to the wide stream, let out a booming bark, and then headed back home.
His memories were gradually resurfacing, but he still couldn't quite grasp them as he headed to school for the second time. He could run faster than yesterday, and he wasn't even out of breath.
Jin-hyuk sat at his desk, closed his eyes, and meditated. He breathed in through his nose, imagining the air flowing from his lungs to his brain, then to his dantian. On the exhale, he reversed it, releasing through his mouth. He consciously felt his heart's shape and beat throughout.
A few breaths in, the sweat on his forehead cooled, and the stiffness in his legs eased. An electric current ran from the crown of his head to his toes, and his body temperature rose.
'I don't know what this is, but it just comes naturally.'
He wondered if it was one of those regressor's perks that scam webnovel authors raved about, but breathing was just a privilege of the living.
Thinking back, he remembered kids like that among his peers.
Guys more mature and serious than their age. They'd watch their friends play with fond smiles, wander alone around the incinerator with hands behind their backs, or come down from the hills muttering while picking up shovels. They lived ordinary lives without standing out, but looking back now, they had their own grown-up charm.
'Were they regressors too?'
Too childish to fit in with their peers, trapped in their own worlds.
The meditation didn't last long.
Drag-rattle-.
The old sliding classroom door opened, and a girl walked in with her hair in twin pigtails and a skirt.
"Hey, Son Jin-hyuk. Your house is far, but you're early again today?"
"Yeah. Come on in. The commute wasn't too crowded..."
What the hell was that?
The girl's eyes widened like a bird's, and Jin-hyuk quickly shut his mouth. Damn it, talking about the commute like some elementary kid. At least the conversation jogged his memory.
'Let's see, that kid is...'
That was Kim Min-kyeong. She lived in a village in the opposite direction from Jin-hyuk's house, along the bus route from school. Big eyes, quick to tears. Back in second grade first semester, he'd almost gotten into a fight stopping some bully from picking on her.
Like smoke scattered in the air gathering back into a campfire. Jin-hyuk's memories started returning bit by bit. He sucked them all in, afraid they'd vanish with his breath or if he closed his eyes.
'Not all webnovel authors are full of crap, huh.'
Not perfectly, but like a video playing back in slow motion, the memories flowed in. Half-liars, those guys.
Happy with the seeping memories, he chatted bit by bit with his friends, piecing them together.
'I get that I've gone back in time.'
Even focusing straight ahead, Jin-hyuk's mind was buried in a riddle that wouldn't yield easy answers. Even without quoting Socrates, it was a tough question.
'Who the hell am I?'
If he'd said it aloud, someone might've burst out laughing. Patted his head and called him cute, or maybe flicked his forehead.
Reflection on the self usually starts when one firmly grasps their role in the group. Like the responsibilities of being a dad or mom. But Jin-hyuk just wanted to understand his current situation.
It wasn't a question born of not knowing who he was. Who was he, who had he been, to earn this miracle and return to the past? Normally, "why did I come back?" should come first, but he didn't have the luxury to sort the questions.
Because.
"Son Jin-hyuk-."
"Yes-."
Everyone was looking at him.
The teacher had called his name, so Jin-hyuk stood. It was Teacher Choi Eung-muk. Back when it was still called national school, he'd been Jin-hyuk's homeroom teacher in second grade. Always smiling, he was Jin-hyuk's favorite teacher across both lives.
"Our class rep Jin-hyuk got a perfect score on the test again. Everyone, give him a round of applause?"
"Wow-!"
Clap clap clap-.
The teacher's line, the kids' envious gazes—they were chillingly familiar. "Familiar" didn't even cover it. He'd lived it once before.
'Memories are getting clearer.'
Class. He vaguely remembered the material from his previous life, but no way he'd recall details. Besides, what hard stuff was in second-grade lessons? And Jin-hyuk had topped into the most prestigious university. He'd kept quiet back then, having let go of everything.
During class, he stared at the blackboard; during breaks, at the playing kids—rummaging through memories over and over. His furrowed brow was unchildlike, his deep brown eyes dark as an abyss.
"How is our Jin-hyuk so mature? He went for Chuseok and came back even more sensible?"
No, sir. I'm just spacing out. And this maturity started the day before yesterday. But he had no intention of arguing.
He just gave an awkward smile.
'This is confusing.'
Nine years old. Not the precociously educated nine-year-old of the 21st century. Some kids still hadn't mastered multiplication tables.
"Teacher, Jae-sook peed herself-."
Some couldn't bring themselves to ask to go during class and just let it rip in their seat. Kang Jae-sook lay face-down on her desk, shoulders shaking with sobs. Not cunning or precocious—they were purer for it.
A day of second-grade classes at a rural elementary school went up to fifth period.
By lunch after fourth period, Jin-hyuk hadn't recalled everything. Meaning he didn't know what was coming next. His confusion lingered.
Especially.
'Foster parents.'
Why did he have to live with those people? He couldn't remember by end of school. Which meant he also couldn't recall why his real parents had gone far away.
Restoring memories was harder than thought. He'd figured over 30 years would feel distant physically. But even with his genius brain, Jin-hyuk struggled to retrieve them.
'If only the memories from this point forward would come back.'
Someone approached the dazed Jin-hyuk.
"Jin-hyuk, wanna come to my place today?"
"Your house?"
It was Lee Hae-won. Her house was deeper in, near the sea. Her parents ran a shop at the bus terminus—the only one in the rural area. They even housed late bus drivers, so they did pretty well. That's why Hae-won dressed like a princess, rare for the countryside.
"Uh-, hey, friend. I-."
"Come onnn-, we promised to do fun stuff today."
Hae-won grabbed his arm like she was about to drag him off.
Only then did he remember what they'd done at her house in his previous life that day. Picking stones by the seaside, flipping rocks for crabs. Eating snacks from her parents' shop.
It was a shock. In the shade, Hae-won said she'd show him something good, sat on a rock, lifted her skirt, and giggled. At nine, he knew what there was to know back then.
'I mumbled excuses and ran home.'
Embarrassed and flustered. With the memory revived, his heart pounded again. The innocent rural boy's shock from back then returned full force.
"Sorry, friend. Next time. Mom said come home early today."
"Okay. Promise? No peeking at other girls, Jin-hyuk. Got it?"
Hae-won giggled.
She'd planned to do it today for sure. Rural kids flashed everything too, unstoppable rascals. In some ways, country kids were sharper than city ones. Jin-hyuk concluded it was just "people being people," not rural vs. urban.
'Is every moment repeating?'
Nine-year-old Jin-hyuk watched Hae-won's retreating back, questioning. He'd changed, so why hadn't the people around him? Because it hadn't been long since his return? An unsolvable worry.
'Should I go to Hae-won's?'
Hmm... What would I even do there? Body's nine, but tastes aren't.
In his previous life, Jin-hyuk had never even kissed a girl. He'd kept women at arm's length, bordering on mysophobia, suppressing not just emotions but impulses.
That's right. Son Jin-hyuk had no experience holding a woman. He'd chosen a thoroughly solitary life. And yet.
'Feels like I have experience. A ton of it.'
He swore he had no dating memories. Another regressor's perk? No way. Fake memories like uncanny valley wouldn't be perks.
The hazy memories tormenting him flickered like a ghost in a mask behind the shadows, beyond the fog. Nine-year-old Jin-hyuk thought maybe that ghost was Casanova.
Three days. It took a full three days for most memories etched in his nine-year-old body to return. Friends, parents, neighbors. But just childhood memories—nothing much to salvage from age nine. Jin-hyuk needed future ones. Especially the next few days.
His parents never fought, not even raised voices. They loved him more than anything. Their way of treating him differed from typical rural folk, even from Dad.
'Come to think of it, I never found it weird before.'
Dad. Different from other village uncles and teachers.
For starters, his speech.
- "Hello, sir. Have you eaten?"
- "Mi-kyeong, when your dad gets home, tell him Jin-hyuk's dad stopped by?"
Neighbors hearing Dad's speech shrank back like snakes were crawling their necks.
- "Jin-hyuk's daddy-, whut's this Hanja say?"
- "Jin-hyuk's pa-. They say th' house got a name? Gimme one fer our third girl-."
For anything scholarly, they sought Jin-hyuk's dad.
Even though Dad always held Jin-hyuk's hand tight on village rounds, Jin-hyuk had never thought it odd. Seeing Dad daily made questioning it weird in itself.
Jin-hyuk felt frustrated.
'Focus, focus.'
Previous life's memories hadn't come yet.
Because the memory of losing his parents hadn't returned, he'd lived abused under cruel foster parents. He didn't want to repeat that nightmare, so he grew impatient.
'Just a few decades—why won't they come?'
Searching previous life memories felt like crossing a long tunnel by candlelight.
Then two rowdy friends approached: Kang Jin-su and Yuk Seong-chan. Their dads didn't know each other, but their names paired perfectly like a feast. Even teachers called them "Jin-su Seong-chan."
"Jin-hyuk, wanna go up th' school hill with us three? Acorns everywhere-."
"Hey, Jin-su. Squirrels an' chipmunks gotta eat-. Or they'll starve-."
Change came to Jin-hyuk.
With us three?
'Together' meant.
Starve?
'Die?'
Like finding a lost puzzle piece.
A flood of pieces, but easy to sort chronologically—grateful flood. The tunnel's candle became headlights.
Tears streamed down.
"Hey, Seong-chan, dummy. Jin-hyuk's cryin'. Why'd ya say dyin'-."
Jin-hyuk waved at the kids.
'No, guys, not like that. Thanks.'
For reminding me.