Prologue: Happily Ever After
There’s a phrase called “Happily Ever After”. Translated into Korean, it means “and they lived happily ever after”—a line typically used as the final sentence in fairy tales. It’s an optimistic assurance that, though the story in the book has come to an end, the protagonist and the people he loves will go on to live lives brimming with happiness.
The last line of the novel I wrote was almost exactly like that. It was a scene of the protagonist and heroine talking, and honestly, the vibe was so sugary sweet that it felt a little cringy even as I wrote it. But the joy outweighed that cringe by tens of thousands of times.
The protagonist who overcame countless hardships and trials to bring peace to the world. His longtime friend and steadfast companion, the heroine. I loved them—without exaggeration—as I set their story down in words.
Three years by the calendar. Two full years, nonstop. Excluding sleep—and sometimes even invading my dreams—I thought of them constantly.
To me, they weren’t just characters in a novel. I believed that somewhere in a world beyond this one, kids like them really existed. I truly felt like I was merely the scribe transcribing their lives.
And I gave it my absolute best. Hoping to convey their story with cooler expressions, a little more precisely, to share it with others. I thought that if I could capture it even 0.1% better than before, I could finish the book and die content.
How could I not cherish and love kids like that?
The day I suddenly became aware of my past life and realized I’d reincarnated as their child after dying—how could I not have been overjoyed?
Raised in an orphanage, I’d never known what parents were. But treating the protagonists in my novel like my own children had taught me what parental love felt like.
I was so happy. Happy enough to think nothing could top it. But that turned out to be a delightful miscalculation.
At eight years old, when a cute little sister came along and made me even happier than before, I swore off rash judgments.
I started harboring hopes that maybe, someday, I’d be far happier than I was then.
But this time, reality veered off in the exact opposite direction.
At fifteen, both my parents died overnight, plunging me into a misery that felt like a cruel joke.
And now, ten years after that, as I welcome spring at twenty-five...
I live for revenge—against those who took the protagonist and heroine from my novel, the parents I loved so dearly.