Chapter 8
Chapter 8
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: I've Got Plans
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The drinking session with Father dragged on until midnight, right when the national anthem started playing on TV.
As expected, Father knew next to nothing.
He was just getting royally screwed over and used like a pawn.
I swallowed my frustration and lay down in bed.
Well, it was something I'd anticipated anyway.
In the end, I'd have to protect myself and my family with my own strength—and get revenge on those damn Jo bastards.
Alright, let's think this through.
Heaven's given me this chance.
I can't just squander it carelessly.
First goal: escape servitude for me and my family.
That's the bare minimum, the absolute basics.
Second: merciless revenge on that vile Jo clan.
No mercy at all.
I'll give them a taste of hell before I send them there for good.
And then?
Just end it there?
Nah, no way.
This body's gone back in time.
With all this golden youth and my memories of the future intact, does it make any sense to stop at just escaping servitude and getting revenge?
In my original life, I got used and abused like a dog with zero joy, until I ended up sunk in the West Sea.
Back in middle and high school, I was Jo Min-cheol's lackey.
After Hye-jeong left, I gave up on everything and lived as a house servant, never knowing a lick of "happiness."
I didn't even get to date properly, let alone marry.
I like women too, you know.
Ah, damn it!
The curses just spill out.
The more I think about it, the more my life was a total shitshow.
How does a guy end up with such a pathetic, rag-of-a-life?
Yeah, escaping house servitude is great, revenge is great—but this time, I'm living my life for real.
Living it spectacularly.
I'll rake in mountains of cash, marry the kindest, prettiest, smartest, tallest woman with the biggest...
Damn, anyway—marry an amazing woman, have kids, and live well.
Better than anyone else in the world!
I've got the rough outline of a plan, and the skeleton's taking shape.
Like I told Father, studying is everything right now.
Study, study, and study some more.
And with help from my bodyguard buddies, I need to build skills tough enough to survive even if they toss me into hell.
In my old life, I tried half-assed revenge and got caught by Manager Kim, beaten senseless.
Hell, if I'd had real skills, I could've run or bided my time.
But with amateur moves, I just got pounded like a dog.
Training, training, and more training.
Once I get to college and out of this house, that's when the real action starts.
What can a first-year college kid do?
Heh heh heh. I've got plans.
Not plans that end with me getting my ass kicked, of course.
Jo Man-deok, the root of all evil.
This piece of shit suddenly got dementia three years ago, and it progressed faster than anyone expected.
By early last year, it was too much to handle, so he's been holed up in a VIP room at Cheonwang Group's general hospital.
Right around now, he's probably smearing shit on the walls and his own body, huh?
Ugh, what a shitty human.
Anyway, he'll croak in April two years from now—and there's one secret he takes to the grave without telling his kids or grandkids.
That secret comes out in about seven years.
But I'm snatching it first.
Without anyone knowing.
The next day, I dove into studying like a madman.
My brain wasn't the foggy goldfish memory of a 60-year-old anymore.
This teenage brain of mine spun at full speed—once I saw something, it stuck forever.
My originally sharp mind turned tough math formulas into my own advanced versions after just a couple solves.
Am I a genius or what?
Was studying always this easy?
Not sure if it's just a feeling, but my head felt even sharper than before.
Memories from both my old life and this one were crystal clear, like yesterday.
Man, what's going on here?
The timing was perfect too.
I'd regressed right after second-year finals, just before summer break.
No one to bother me—I could focus entirely on studying.
My only worry was Jo Min-cheol hassling me, but surprisingly, he left me alone.
A high school kid with just a year and a half till college entrance exams wants to study hard—who's gonna sabotage that? Not even him, easily.
Plus, it wasn't just me rushing for college exams.
This punk got reamed by his dad last month over that abortion fiasco.
Word was, Chairman Jo's yells echoed everywhere.
"You little shit! Do it outside! Do it outside, I'm telling you!"
Makes sense—he'd been caught three times this year alone, so even Jo Seong-gi, who usually let his eldest son slide, must've been pissed.
And crucially, this guy was secretly taking expensive private tutoring starting this summer, against the no-tutoring ban—so he had no time to mess with me.
Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
Meanwhile, I carved out at least two hours a day for intense workouts and training in the basement gym.
I started learning proper boxing from Brother Sang-sik, and judo from Brother Dong-ju, a national team reserve.
I mixed in Krav Maga and MMA I'd learned from a Blue House bodyguard in my old life, building my own martial arts system.
The bodyguards got curious watching me train, asking where I learned it—and ended up learning from me while teaching.
This was before MMA was even a term, and Krav Maga wasn't known in Korea yet.
That's how I spent the sweltering summer.
Come fall, midterms hit, and I got my report card.
That evening, I handed it to Father and spoke up.
"Father, this is my resolve."
"Huh? What's this?"
"What else? Midterm grades."
Mom, who'd already seen it and thrown a fit of joy, was beaming quietly behind him.
"Lemme see... Holy—10th!10th place!School-wide 10th!"
"This proves my determination, right, Father?"
"..."
Father just stared blankly for a moment.
A guy who'd barely scraped 10th in class once in a blue moon had hit school-wide 10th.
No wonder.
And then...
"Attaboy! Attaboy! That's my son! Hahaha!!"
Every parent's dream, right?
Kids competing at the top of the school.
Father threw both arms up like he'd conquered the world, beside himself with glee.
Man, seeing him this happy makes me wish I'd studied sooner.
No point beating myself up over wasting time, feeling sorry for myself as the house servant's son.
"Thanks, son—thank you! Your resolve? Crystal clear! Crystal! Haha!"
"Haha!"
He was so thrilled, he grabbed two bottles of beer from the fridge—ignoring Mom's protests about father-son talk—and we headed to the room.
"Here, drink up! One each today."
"Haha! Sounds good!"
Not much, but a full 4-hop bottle each.
A decent taste.
"Ahh! Hits the spot! Kang Hyeok."
"Yes, Father."
"Thank you. I saw your effort all summer and knew you were dead serious, but I didn't expect this. Honestly, your plan to get us out of this life sounded so impossible, I was half-doubting inside."
"Well, coming from a high schooler, it's natural to doubt."
No matter how solid the ideas, no adult buys it instantly from a kid.
"Anyway, thank you—and well done. I'll step up my efforts too."
"Yes, Father. And hey, this is 10th school-wide, but next time I'm aiming for top 5 at least. Then 1st. Don't get too excited over 10th, okay? Heh heh."
"Haha! Yeah, yeah! Attaboy, my son!"
"Father."
"Yeah? What?"
"Don't tell anyone else. Especially not the Jo family."
"Why... Oh, right. Damn it!"
After class ended, Jo Min-cheol came looking for me in our homeroom.
"Hey, Kang Hyeok. Heard you hit 10th school-wide?"
"Yeah, something like that."
"Ha! You sneaky bastard. No matter how hard you studied over summer, how? You were mid-pack like me."
"..."
How was averaging 15th out of 60 "mid-pack"?
That's top 25%.
And "like me"?
Min-cheol averaged around 40th.
How the hell am I like him?
Eh, whatever. He's always seeing what he wants.
"Guess I got lucky."
"Bullshit. Anyway, you get it, right?"
"Get what?"
"This can't get back to our old man?"
"Sigh..."
Yep, that was it.
His house servant's son—in the same school, same grade as his own kid—hits top 10 school-wide? I'd hate it too.
For a personality-lacking jerk like Chairman Jo Seong-gi, it'd be worse—and Min-cheol would catch hell.
So here he was, gagging me.
"Why the sigh, you rude prick? You get it or not?"
This asshole's the rude one—calling me rude?
Patience. Patience.
This punk, even after becoming chairman later, never shut up without "fuck" or "bastard" spewing out.
Stuck around him over 60 years, I caught it too—people always called my mouth filthy.
"Got it. Loud and clear. Don't worry."
"Tell Manager Lee and your mom too—no slip-ups at the main house."
His "auntie" meant my mom.
"I said I got it. Geez."
"Oh? Cocky tone there?"
"Sorry, sorry. Nerves are frayed lately—cut me some slack."
My fist itched, but now's not the time.
"Do good, punk. But easy does it. Shit, trying to play at the top all sudden. Scared me."
"..."
No answer needed.
Can't exactly throw a fight on purpose.
Anyway, I'd planned to tell my parents to keep quiet—but this nailed it down.
"You know what happens if it reaches Chairman Jo's ears? Headaches all around."
"Got it. Damn! Can't even brag about a smart kid."
"Hang in there. I'll make it so you can brag freely later."
"I lack the face to show my son."
"Enough of that. And Hye-jeong doesn't know—I told Mom to keep it from main house ears."
"Good call."
"Alright, Father. Now it starts. Let's run hard."
"Yeah! Let's do it!"
Winter came, and around winter break...
I didn't just hit 5th school-wide.
I took 1st.
Parents were thrilled, shaking like they'd been possessed.
Jo Min-cheol stopped picking fights once things hit this level.
Hell, he even got nicer.
Guess you gotta excel before people treat you right.
New year: 1982.
Early January, some out-of-nowhere news sent kids into a frenzy, just like before.
January 4th.
The Ministry of Education announced they'd break uniform conformity—freeing middle and high schoolers from uniforms and hair rules.
Middle and high school punks nationwide lost their minds in joy.
Me? Meh.
Uniforms got a one-year grace period for manufacturers—no biggie for us seniors.
Hair? Sports buzz cut's comfier anyway—no plans to grow it.
Just study, study, study.
Even in third-year first semester, I held 1st school-wide.
Kept training hard too—by early summer heat, Brother Sang-sik couldn't keep up anymore.
"Damn it! You really a high schooler?"
"Hahaha!"
"Wow! I sensed you'd beat me someday, but not this soon."
Brother Sang-sik ranked third in pure skill among bodyguards.
That's why his attitude never got him fired—too valuable.
A high schooler beating him? No wonder he was shocked.
"Hey, Kang Hyeok."
"Yeah? Another spar?"
"Nah. Serious talk—ever thought about going pro? You could beat Hagler or Durán."
"Pass."
Sports are a means, not the end for me.
That's how 1982 passed, leveling me up several times.
Finally, 1983 New Year.
January 13th, at Seoul National University entrance by Gwanak Mountain, I waited ages for a payphone booth.
Click! Click!
Dialed furiously with my fingers.
Then the ring...
Ring! Riiiing! Riiiing!
"Hello? Kang Hyeok? It's Mom—Mommy!"
"Yes, it's Kang Hyeok."
"Results are out, right?"
"Yes. Is Father there?"
"Yes, right beside me."
"Mom, Dad. I passed."
"Passed! Passed! Uh... sob... sob!"
Their sobs traveled down the line to me.
I'd gotten into Seoul National University's Business School.
Now it really begins.