Solutions Over Sympathy
I tend to offer solutions rather than sympathy. After arriving in San Francisco, I parted ways with Whittaker and headed to Might's house. There was Young-hoon, passed out in bed. The fact that he'd been thrilled about taking the bus—despite barely sleeping while sitting up the whole time—was just absurd.
I left Young-hoon behind and went out alone to buy gifts for the family. Then I stopped by Grandfather's estate and regaled them with tales of my exploits. Having watched my fight live, the family treated me like a bit of a hero.
"I never knew Leon was such a cool guy~?"
"I'm full of unexpected charms."
"Exactly~ You made your Big Uncle look like nothing by comparison?"
Grandmother and Big Aunt smiled at my words, showering me with praise. Might's younger siblings' eyes sparkled as they talked about me. They even asked for photos, so I posed with them. Being treated like a hero in a military family felt damn good. Maybe it was just my imagination, but it hit different from winning by grappling.
Right on cue, Might called, and we chatted. He mentioned having fans at the military academy and even set up a FaceTime so I could talk to them briefly. Time passed, and I headed back to Might's place. Young-hoon was already up and exercising the moment he woke.
"Time to clean the house."
"Got it."
After finishing the cleaning, we did some light sparring before calling it a night. Then I fed Young-hoon all the In-N-Out burgers he hadn't tried yet, and we boarded the plane home.
"Did you pick up any workouts from this trip that you think you need to learn?"
"Wrestling."
"Unlike me, your weight class has plenty of helpful spots even in Korea. Look into it yourself. If there's nothing, I'll help set you up to train with Brother Hak-su."
"Yes, sir!"
Finally on the plane, I felt a bit more alive. I tinkered with my laptop for a bit, then lay back and slept.
Back in Korea, the kids' eager faces after so long apart had the whole family hitting the pool. Hayun just isn't close to me, but watching her play with Harin and Beom-jun made me think siblings really are siblings. The problem? Half the time, I couldn't tell if Beom-jun was being friendly or picking a fight. With all his pranks, Hayun ended up yelling a lot. The good thing was, she hid her happiness well but showed her anger plainly—just like Mom when she was little.
"I said don't!"
"Heehee!"
Beom-jun got a knuckle rap from Harin after squirting Hayun in the face with a water gun. We went out for a family meal like that, then headed home. Back at the house, Harin was playing with Hayun. They were doing pretend play, but Hayun was stubbornly sticking to her own ideas in the storyline. This was probably the moment when Hayun talked the most.
Mom came over and sat next to me.
"Anything happen while I was gone?"
"What could happen? Unlike some people, these kids listen well."
"Yeah, until they cause a massive disaster~"
"Like you?"
Mom had a way of leaving me speechless. With the tattoo I'd gotten, I'd decided to live as a sinner in her eyes.
"Can you make some braised short ribs and kimchi jjim?"
"Of course."
Harin and Beom-jun whipped their heads around at the mention of food.
"I'm scared they'll eat me if the food runs out."
"They really do have huge appetites."
I don't have that strong a food obsession myself. My goal is just to eat my fill, and even if that counts as gluttony, it's not like theirs—no burning craving for tasty stuff. Back in my U.S. days, I lived off cola and donuts for years. Just look at their eyes lighting up at Mom's cooking talk. And yet they never got fat, probably thanks to Dad's genes and their high activity levels. Harin was training taekwondo like Mom, too.
"I'm worried Hayun's too shy."
"Why? Were you like that as a kid, Mom?"
"Spot on. Girls avoided me and hated me~ I had no friends until I joined the taekwondo club. At least Hayun has her big sis and bro to play with."
Mom agreed so readily to my casual probe that I had nothing to say. From what Dad told me, they met at a bar, got drunk, and conceived me, but it wasn't some wild lifestyle. Not exactly.
"Massive disaster..."
"Shut it."
Mom's smile carried a killing intent, like she'd read my mind. I clamped my mouth shut. She'd never caused a minor accident—just registry-file-level catastrophes. I definitely took after her. Seeing Hayun so inactive made me wonder how Mom even did taekwondo.
"Maybe enroll Hayun in taekwondo now that she's getting bigger?"
If my personality was like Mom's... maybe she did it out of habit, not fun. Even before regression, daily workouts felt natural.
"Best for self-defense."
For women, lower-body power is key over upper-body strength. Mom's kicks hurt more than WFC fighters', despite her size. So taekwondo beats boxing for protection.
My training schedule differed from Young-hoon's. I hit intense morning sessions and recovered in the afternoon. His started after school, so no overlap. Family issues kept him from focusing—mom's cancer battle and 400 million won in debt. I'd meet her ASAP.
I scouted for my private gym. Ideally near home, but where? Dad's building? Nah, if I got famous, it'd leak. Grappling-heavy or not, I'd become champ—no kimchi soup dreams.
First time with Korean real estate, so I researched prices. Found a decent two-story commercial building in Huayang-dong near Konkuk University—not too far. After five days, I bought it and asked Dad to handle interiors. Ordered pro equipment from overseas for upstairs, all rehab-focused like underwater treadmills for knee injuries.
Weekend at Dad's dojo, training, when Young-hoon showed for workout.
"Let's meet your mom today."
"...Pardon?"
"Kept forgetting to scout gyms while saying I'd call."
Young-hoon contacted her. After morning session, we visited his place—a semi-basement with one room connected to kitchen, external bathroom. No computer, books piled up—no shelves.
"It's pretty rundown..."
"It's fine~ Where's your mom?"
"At church. Told her, she'll be here soon."
Soon, his mom entered. Beanie in summer heat hid her hairless head from chemo. She bowed 90 degrees at my sudden stand.
"Hello!"
"I've heard so much."
"Haven't heard much about you. Haha."
Awkward laugh—not funny. I sat and pulled out heaps of supplements.
"No need for all this..."
"Can't visit empty-handed."
"...I'll take good care of them."
"Young-hoon has real talent in fighting."
"....."
Too direct?
"I want to invest. So he can focus on training."
"...No rush on that."
"Pardon?"
Training's best young. My post-regression skeleton proved it—shape it before growth plates set.
"Study hard first, then that path..."
Young-hoon cut in. "I suck at school. Even killing myself, I can't hit top of class."
"....."
"Don't wanna miss chances on uncertain futures. More than that, I want to train."
Mom closed her eyes. Looked like shut doors, so I asked Young-hoon to step out. Now she eyed me straight.
"You could think I'm some trashy woman begging refunds out of pride."
"I swear on God, never crossed my mind."
"Husband died when Young-hoon was 7. Four years later, my cancer. I tried suicide with my little boy."
"....."
"Eleven-year-old barely literate from playing, cried he'd study and wanted to live more."
Her calm face hid brutal words.
"Every time I wanna quit, that day's Young-hoon hits me—thick-skinned against self-loathing till now."
"...Ah."
"I know it's opportunity. Teaming with someone handing out millions casually, not even adult."
"....."
"My husband was a ssireum wrestler. Chased 'talent,' wasted life, no skills left—construction accident killed him."
Made sense why refuse. If Young-hoon inherited talent, it'd be real. But not for ssireum—his body couldn't handle it.
"You're sharp, so you get it."
I'd always lacked empathy. No big feels for others' pain. Solutions over sympathy.
Problems money can't solve? Throw more money—that's the wisdom.
"One thing wrong in what you said, ma'am."
"...Pardon?"
"Saying I toss hundreds of millions at strangers."
She stared, curious my angle.
"Never donated, never gave cash meaninglessly to unknowns."
Heard 400 million debt, cancer, but no med aid as basic welfare recipient.
"Hundreds... For my people, billions no issue."
"...Pardon?"
"Was making security firm anyway. 40 million annual, half bonus—600 million for Young-hoon's 10 years."
Stable job? Make one.
I stood, eyed her shock.
"Comparing me to the weirdo who seduced your husband? Can't prove verbally I'm different."
"....."
"So next weekend, I'll return with company, contract, cash. Tell me proof needs then."
Bowed to her, slowly rose. No other way to convince at my age—'94-born, Korean high school senior.
"Young-hoon's someone I won't quit on. Seeing him think of you often, you deserve happiness too. He won't stand you unhappy."
"....."
"Thick skin past 7 years? Stay healthy till grandkids' grandma days end."