Chapter 7
Chapter 7
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 7
Chapter Title: Three Lives (6)
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On a day when the wind grew even colder.
Jin-hyuk sprinted home without stopping even once today.
"General, I'm hooome."
General just perked up his ears, pretending not to notice. He kept his eyes lowered, staring intently at his empty food bowl.
He's deliberately avoiding me.
It felt like he was being careful not to run into me and start growling.
Well, yeah. He should be. After all those fish guts I've fed him. Any dog with manners would know to keep his eyes down.
"I'm hooome~!"
"Is that our Jin-hyuk?"
Mom was grunting in the shed.
Worried, he dashed over and saw her trying to move the millstone. It was too much for her slender frame. Jin-hyuk hurried in.
"Whoa, it's so heavy! Let me help!"
"Ugh, I can't budge it. Even the two of us might not manage. We'll ask Dad when he gets home."
Mom wiped sweat from her forehead and straightened up.
Following her gaze to the porch, he spotted cleanly washed beans laid out.
She was planning to make tofu.
Mom's homemade tofu is the best.
The finished tofu was delicious, but nothing beat freshly curdled chunks mixed with seasoning, scooped up by the spoonful. Even without seasoning, that fresh, slightly fishy, nutty bitterness was perfect for a kid's palate.
In his past life, he'd craved that taste even into his forties, hunting down famous tofu shops everywhere, but none could match it.
"Mom steamed some corn bread. Hang on a sec."
"Yay, sounds delicious."
It looked like the corn bread from highways or markets, but the taste was worlds apart. Steamed in a cauldron on a tray, it was the ultimate snack money couldn't buy.
Jin-hyuk swallowed hard and pretended to lift the millstone.
Clunk.
Why'd that feel so light?
Weird things kept happening.
General suddenly growling, lifting the millstone with one hand...
If he told her he'd carried it alone—something even she struggled with solo—she'd be shocked.
Jin-hyuk quietly set it down.
This is ridiculous.
The boy merchant lifting a millstone? Was he the boy merchant?
In his past life, alone, he'd never done hard labor. He remembered not being a merchant anyway. As a kid, he'd had no chance to show his grit.
"Jin-hyuk, honey, have some bread."
"Coming~!"
Jin-hyuk rushed to the faucet, washing his hands and face first.
He decided to stay clean so Mom wouldn't worry and he wouldn't catch a cold.
Munching the corn bread, he pondered deeply.
The quick-witted, clever Son Jin-hyuk of the past was gone. Inside was the mellow, unmotivated middle-aged man from retirement. His worn soul had lost the simple joys only innocence could savor.
Sigh.
Even on the fishing trip day. A normal kid could've whined or thrown a tantrum to get his way. But he'd acted too mature.
Throwing a fit feels embarrassing. I'm not a kid.
To others, he looked like a child, but knowing his soul's true age made childish antics unappealing.
Ah, so that's what getting old does. Jin-hyuk swallowed the thought with his bread.
Thud! A boom echoed from the shed.
Mom flinched, startled.
"Oh no, dear! What was that noise?"
Oh shoot, the millstone must've been off-balance.
Jin-hyuk and his dad, Son Gwang-yeon, sat demurely on the porch, watching the mystical tofu-making process. They looked like recruits before a stern female officer.
Dad started on the millstone first, volunteering to spare his wife's slender arms. But his chivalry lasted exactly two and a half turns before he was relieved of duty.
Pitying her cowed husband's sight, Han Yu-young smiled faintly.
"Turn it with steady pressure at a consistent speed for a fine grind. Makes the tofu tastier too."
"Yes, ma'am. I'll correct it."
"Help with something else."
At Mom's orders, the two men sprang into action.
Jin-hyuk fetched water for the cauldron and lit the firebox.
Son Gwang-yeon collected brine from the salt corner and presented it to the "officer."
"No, not there—over by the hearth..."
"Correcting now, ma'am!"
Jin-hyuk thought it a miracle Dad never went to the army. He'd have gotten drilled hard.
Han Yu-young slowly stirred the curds with a clean stick.
"The millstone speed matches the stirring pace. Is there a reason?"
Her inexperienced husband asked crisply.
She chuckled dismissively.
"Nope."
"Steam gathers on your face from the cauldron. Is that your beauty secret?"
"Oh my."
Dad's work ethic wasn't Jin-hyuk's match, but his cheek was top-tier. He'd have ground North Korean teeth as a frontline broadcaster.
Watching Dad flirt, Jin-hyuk thought:
Good times.
Slurp, slurp.
Basking in the firebox warmth, the three sipped hot tofu.
"So good..."
Even General buried his muzzle in his bowl, agreeing.
The rural elementary school's fall sports day came later than in the city. To accommodate busy parents tied to harvest work, it was held after the autumn fields were cleared. Sometimes right before rice harvest, but this year it was delayed unusually.
He later heard as gossip: with 1987's first direct presidential election, someone pulled strings for campaigning. Gathering parent voters was prime opportunity, pushing rural schools back.
Just rumor; truth unknown.
Anyway.
Rural areas sprawled wide relative to population, homes far apart. Sports day meant rare neighbor sightings, packed kimbap and bought fried chicken—true festival.
Vendors with hard-to-see toys and cosmetics flocked from afar. The tiny field overflowed, kids and adults shoulder-to-shoulder.
Wow, a sports day like this.
Past life, he'd hidden in shady corners during events or picnics.
No one noticed or invited him. Friends occasionally shared kimbap, but he withdrew inward.
Heh heh, Mom and Dad seem more excited.
Seeing joyful parents, Jin-hyuk's heart swelled.
Who knew rebirth would bring this happiness.
Others in the village didn't see it so sweetly.
Rural men shot uncomfortable glances at Son Gwang-yeon and Han Yu-young. Understandable—blunt and gruff outwardly, whatever inside.
"Why're they holdin' hands struttin' around?"
"Embarrassin' what they're doin'."
Overhearing couple talk nearly brought up Jin-hyuk's lunch kimbap. Kids used thick dialects; no pet names between spouses here.
"Oppa, Dad's team's tug-of-war next."
"Honey, Moms' fun relay time. Have a blast."
Unlike men, women eyed Jin-hyuk's mom enviously. Youth movie scene from any home.
Son Gwang-yeon and Han Yu-young clasped hands, touring the school.
Seoul-raised Dad found the single-story building quaint; strict-father-raised Mom reveled in festival with husband and son.
"Wanna get that toy, Jin-hyuk?"
Dad asked warmly.
"No."
Jin-hyuk frowned firmly.
"Why? Looks fun. Beep-beep, missiles launch."
Dad pointed to a toy military jeep with rocket launcher. Pocket full from bean sales.
Who does he think I am, a toddler?
And "beep-beep" for a jeep.
Past life billions, yet no car interest. Forty-ish soul in nine-year-old body? Toys held zero appeal.
This is plenty fun.
Past—no, future—changed.
Saving parents erased his sad life; one wish left.
Live quietly, peacefully in this village.
Future dream.
Recent class survey: Jin-hyuk wrote "farmer." Teacher, friends laughed. Kids dreamed president, scientist; top student picks farmer.
No need to farm. Just long, happy family life. Solitude exhausted him.
With parents, in our hometown.
Made enough money; knew life's loneliness well. Could leverage skills, knowledge, future info for power, but uninterested.
Money comes when needed.
Warm Dad's hand. Jin-hyuk gazed at it holding his. Eyes met; Dad beamed.
Jin-hyuk's chest warmed.
Whoa! Pure bliss!
Everyone'd agree: best dad ever.
Jin-hyuk grinned sheepishly up at him.
Screech.
Mic feedback grabbed ears.
[Next up: final event, the relay race...]
First-grade homeroom teacher's announcement.
"Yay, fun! Let's watch relay."
"Relay's the best. Hee hee."
Sports day climax. Grades 4-6 oval around track. "Track" was green nylon rope nailed to dirt.
Sixth-grade reps ran laps baton-style.
"Hold on..."
PE teacher Park Jae-seung muttered, crouching near start.
Fumbling pocket, he raised hammer overhead.
"Ready?"
Eyes on two standing-start runners amid hundreds. Crouched before crowd? Embarrassing, but his tanned gaze shone pro.
Brick on ground, firecracker atop. Hammer aimed sharp.
Gun broke; improvised fix.
Gust swirled field center.
Tense runner wiped nose on sleeve.
Park slammed hammer.
Crack!
Miss.
"Ow! Again! Don't go! Come back, reset."
False start? No, dud only.
Suck.
Deep breath, precise strike.
Bang!
Start signal rang.
"Blue team! Blue!"
"White, win!"
Jin-hyuk's parents cheered Blue—his team. Mom clapping, bouncing like kid; Dad punching air. Jin-hyuk giggled.
"Our Jin-hyuk'll run in upper grades too?"
Thump.
Imagining parents cheering, heart raced.
Running...
Past life, rootless, but running felt alive.
Heading home post-sports day.
Dad piggybacked Jin-hyuk. Mom held his first-place running notebook in one hand, supporting his butt with the other, matching pace.
"Mom, Dad."
"Yeah, son?"
"What, Jin-hyuk?"
One reply, pure joy.
Jin-hyuk scrunched then relaxed his nose.
"I'd like a wristwatch."
Dad winced inwardly.
Land-rich heir, yet no common kid watch.
"Dad'll get a pretty analog one in town."
"Yeah, analog's good for kids' brains."
Mom chimed.
But Jin-hyuk meant different.
"Digital. Cheap's fine."
Even basic had stopwatch.
Helpful for running.
"Okay, digital it is. Glow-in-dark."
Rare luminous treat.
Dad never overrode decisions—nice.
"Heard kids stay up staring under blankets..."
"Ha ha, just a phase."
Just numbers; how long?
So innocent parents.
Smartphone'd shock 'em.
Any chance a smartphone's hidden on me?
Jin-hyuk patted pockets.
Acorn tumbled out.
Mom transferred laundry-pocket stuff to next outfit.
Status window! System!
Too many webnovels? Nine-year-old Jin-hyuk muttered to middle-aged self.
Others swept riches with future info, fortuitous encounters. Son Jin-hyuk returned with useless memories.
No regressor perks for me.