Prologue: Awakening at Age Four
I first became aware of my existence as "me" when I was four years old. The phrasing might sound a bit off, but what can you do? With my limited vocabulary, this is the best I can manage. Memories from before age three were all fuzzy anyway—like wandering a cliff shrouded in thick fog—so I eventually gave up trying to pin them down. Thanks to that, I couldn't say for sure whether this was reincarnation or possession. Regression was definitely out of the question, though. My previous life had been a total dumpster fire from infancy, scraping the bottom 0.1% of South Korean misery.
Compared to the vague glimpses of that old life, this one was like heaven versus hell. Anyway, as for my current situation...
*Beep-beep-beep.*
I was lounging diagonally on the living room sofa, flipping through TV channels. I knew there was nothing worth watching, but out of habit, I fiddled with the remote and let out my usual sigh.
"Haa..."
"Tch! They say if Dad sighs, good luck flies away! You did it!"
My father's scolding voice rang out from afar at the same time.
"Yeah, yeah, sure. This damn mouth of mine." It was loud enough to hear from the kitchen where he was cooking, so he must've shouted. Or maybe Dad just had ridiculously good ears. Not that I could blame him. A kid who hadn't even lost his baby fat sighing like that would shock anyone listening.
Still, how could I not sigh? I picked up the remote again and kept flipping.
How could there be over a hundred channels and not a single one worth watching? Movies? Nah.
*Beep.*
News? Nope.
*Beep.*
Home shopping? Pass.
*Beep.*
Even variety shows? Forget it.
*Beep.* I just turned it off. No joke, my stomach was churning. This world was nothing like the one I remembered from my past life.
Actually, scratch that. Fuck. If a four-year-old said that out loud, the house would flip 720 degrees and land right back where it started. I swallowed the curse on the tip of my tongue and just rubbed my face with my tiny hands.
"Gotta like this. Or at least pretend to."
A world where chastity and mindsets were reversed between men and women? The kind of premise you'd find in some fucked-up fever dream. But nah, no need to overthink it—it was obviously great. The only reason I felt queasy right now was because I was four, had zero sex drive, and time dragged on forever. And with TV blasting half-naked guys all day? Yeah, that didn't help.
I was sitting there with my arms crossed, scowling like usual, when Dad finished setting the table and came out of the kitchen. Right—this world had women bringing home the bacon and men handling childcare. Dad was a full-time househusband; Mom was a mid-level exec at some big corporation. At first, I wondered how that even worked, but the more I learned, the more mind-blowing it got.
Women were physically stronger than men to begin with. Sure, men had more muscle mass, but women's brains pumped out some bullshit hormone—thankfully, I didn't seem to produce it, though I spent a while in the hospital over it; docs said I was healthy anyway—that made their actual strength superior.
Dad saw my expression and asked worriedly,
"What's wrong, son? You sick?"
"Oh, no."
"Okay. Tell me if you feel bad. Let's eat. Go wake Mom."
"Yes."
Dad gave a wry smile at my polite speech. Well, yeah—for a four-year-old, I was painfully mature. My mental age was pushing 26, after all. Not being precocious would've been the real problem.
Originally, I'd planned to act a bit childish to ease my parents' worries. I did that for the first year or so. But...
"Waaahhh!"
"Aigoo, Moonbyeol's crying again."
...that was my little sister's job, so I figured it was fine to just be myself. They were worried about me at first, but now they seemed relieved to focus on her instead.
Society might give them fancy titles and top schools, but when it came to parenting, they were total newbies. And with just two kids? Double the headache.
Dad untied his apron and hung it on a chair.
"I'll go wake Mom in the master bedroom and put Moonbyeol back to sleep, so you eat first."
Apparently, both parents loved that old folktale about the sun and moon. So they were dead set on having a son and a daughter, and naming them accordingly.
"Taeyang, eat up. You can get ready for kindergarten on your own, right?"
"Yes."
I generally respected my parents' choices, but their naming sense? Honestly kinda sucked. I was the firstborn, so Sun—Geum Taeyang. My newborn sister was Moon, but straight-up "Moonnim" was so lame we all vetoed it—family elders, even me. So it got tweaked to Moonbyeol. "Moon" in English is "moon," but that felt lonely, so they added "byeol" for star.
"Waaahhh!"
Hearing that wail a dozen times a day? Even the stars would freak out and bolt.
Dad headed to the master bedroom to soothe her, leaving me alone at the table with my chopsticks. Five years as a househusband showed—the spread was varied and delicious.
"Tch."
*Plop-plop.*
Some soybeans slipped through my clumsily gripped chopsticks. We had kids' chopsticks? Nope—silverware only in this house.
"Doesn't work, huh."
I gave up on chopsticks and demurely picked up a fork and spoon. Shoveling in a spoonful of rice, I sank into thought. How the hell is anyone named Taeyang? Reckless kids might tease it once, sure. But I wasn't some softie who'd get hurt over playground jabs.
More than that, the family name bugged me. Geum family sun. Me, Geum Taeyang. Yeah.
With Dad seeing me off, I arrived at kindergarten. Three months in, and I still couldn't get used to these four-year-olds' energy. Honestly, if someone said they had AA batteries surgically embedded up their spines, I wouldn't bat an eye. It wasn't just me being an old soul; I genuinely suspected it.
"Haa..."
No adults around to nag, so I sighed freely. How could I not? I'd planned to nap away the afternoon after lunch, but the interruptions were endless.
"Taeyang's playing ball with us!"
"No way! House with us!"
Ball games versus house. At a glance, it seemed like boys' ball versus girls' house, but reality was the opposite. Girls did ball; boys did house. Were they planning to quarter me or something?
Girls and boys yanked my arms from both sides. Some had even plopped down and latched onto my legs. Total: four kids clinging to my limbs while I stood there.
After pointless bickering, all eyes turned to me—like I was the deciding vote. Realizing it was a futile war of attrition, their bright eyes fixed on me in unison.
""Taeyang! What're we doing!!""
Perfectly synced, like they'd rehearsed. I lightly shook off the boy on my left arm.
"I'm kicking a ball."
"Knew it! Taeyang rocks!"
The boys pouted; the girls cheered victory and swarmed me. Ball games I could handle. House? Hard pass. If I went along, I'd be locked as "mom." Pure nightmare fuel.
"Leeeet's gooo!"
A few cute girls latched back on, dragging my arms and body toward the ball pit. Once inside, it was less "ball play" and more chaotic running around. Tag, hide-and-seek, Red Light Green Light... we dashed every which way.
Natural contact happened amid the frenzy, but I still felt no lust or dirty thoughts. Still, we'd all grow up eventually, right?
"Fun?"
"Yeah!"
The first girl who'd grabbed my arm beamed and tackled into my chest. More like clung, cicada-style. I patted her head like a pet. She seemed to love it, nuzzling closer to my chest.
My hand slid down to toy with her soft cheek—springy yet squishy.
"Wanna do something more fun?"
"More fun?"
She looked up, eyes sparkling. Time crawled anyway, and killing it with educational comics was wearing thin. Living like this, I might die of boredom before I even hit puberty.
"Yeah!"
Snagging a few cute ones and raising them my way didn't sound half bad. At least time would fly.