Chapter 17
Chapter 17
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 17
Chapter Title: Grocery Blues and Timeline Twists
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I scrubbed the leftover plastic from the lunchbox with a scrubber.
After finishing the dishes, I set the plastic aside next to the sink for now.
I wasn't the sharp, decisive type. At least, not when it came to diligently handling housework.
A spotless kitchen without a single trash bag or recycling bag in sight would probably turn messy again in no time.
Come to think of it, I was running low on dish soap. I should pick some up next time I hit the mart.
And volume-based trash bags too. Toothpaste as well.
And bottled water to drink right away... Maybe I should just stick to tap water to save money?
This, that—before I knew it, my bank balance would dwindle away, plain as day.
Living alone costs way more than you'd think.
And there are plenty of moments when you check your balance and freak out belatedly.
I absentmindedly rubbed my belly. It was smooth, without a single ounce of flab.
Twenty-seven-year-old Lee Jin-cheol always cut back on food expenses when money got tight. Skipping delivery alone saved a bundle, and maximizing the diet meant filling up on eggs or tofu.
When he got really fed up, he'd even cook for himself. After all, there was an excellent cooking teacher right next door.
Weight dropped, then he'd splurge on pricey ingredients or whiskey, pack the pounds back on, lighten his wallet, pick at boiled eggs again, and repeat the cycle.
Meanwhile, twenty-year-old Kang Ji-min had no fat to lose.
Not some lip service from complaint-filing elders like "What fat? You're skin and bones!"—they'd see a plump chief nurse as scrawny too.
But this body?
It already looked like it couldn't afford to lose any more.
Still, I had to pinch pennies on groceries...
Current balance: 3 million won. With cash, that's 4 million.
Enough to last a while, but slack off and it'd vanish in a flash.
Rent. Utilities. Installments. Student loans. Every imaginable pitfall loomed.
So, time to cut living expenses first.
No ingredients in the fridge, and pinching pennies didn't mean surviving on convenience store lunchboxes or delivery.
I pulled out my phone and searched for nearby marts.
Yeah. Time for a grocery run. Dish soap was out anyway.
I slipped into the outfit I'd worn for mirror selfies earlier.
It felt embarrassing at first, but now it was kinda fun.
Long ago, I couldn't understand my little sister obsessing over dressing dolls. But with a doll this cute, who knows.
Halfway through, I even regretted my boring wardrobe.
Makeup was plentiful, but I had no clue what was what.
No plans to doll up anyway, so whatever.
Fully geared up, I checked the mirror—yep, fashion rides on your face for a reason.
This proved my disinterest in fashion stemmed from my old mug. Not thrilled, but facts.
I swept my hair back, and damn, it was a picture-perfect shot. The kind you'd regret not photographing.
...Saying that about my own face feels ridiculously narcissistic.
Come to think of it, my bangs were getting long. Might need a salon soon.
"Ugh..."
A groan slipped out unbidden.
Not because of another expense...
I just had no idea where to go.
As a guy, my regular barber cut it however.
What do women even say at a salon?
"..."
Even imagining it was daunting.
After stocking the fridge with onions, tofu, eggs, and the like, the place finally felt lived-in.
Not just ingredients—I grabbed ramen, pasta, oil, seasonings, everything. My arms ached from the load.
There was a decent-sized mart just nearby. About five minutes on foot.
Heading opposite the bustling district, it popped up right away. The more I learned, the better the location seemed. Map app showed a subway station close too.
Instead of feeling lucky, a chill ran down my spine.
This apartment... What was the rent like?
I flexed my fingers, revealing clear bag marks.
Wandering the mart, needs piled up—I dumped everything in the cart planning delivery.
But they said no deliveries.
-Uh. 2020.
-?
-...V-volume-based bags. Please.
So I lugged it all back, hands full, grunting the whole way.
Good thing it was five minutes. Really hammered home the strength gap between men and women.
Time loops aren't easy to adjust to.
Trivial stuff like this kept thrusting those five years in my face.
But deeper thought might yield ways to exploit the time gap.
The idea had hit ages ago.
Stocks or crypto.
-Just max out loans and dump into Bitcoin—isn't that money printing?
Come to think of it, the Bitcoin legend I knew kicked off around here.
Kept skyrocketing: Up more? More? Even higher? Yeah, I remembered.
So what're you waiting for?
Hero time!!
Hand over that online banking and cert right now!!
-Bitcoin -17%
-?
But grinning, I googled and... results differed.
Staring blankly in shock didn't last.
Previously hazy info sharpened crystal clear.
Lightning struck my brain.
Street folks I'd passed, that middle school boy staring at my chest, the part-timer dodging my eyes—all maskless.
-?
Searched Corona: just beer.
COVID-19 results? Barely any.
That's right. Shockingly, no pandemic in this world.
-...Ha.
Murky info clicked into place.
Yeah, mart deliveries exploded partly from COVID.
Asgard's boss slashed dev team post-COVID, then struck crypto gold.
Checked runner-ups to Bitcoin, but results varied subtly.
Some up, some flat, some down unlike memory.
Makes sense—world-shaking plague gone. No butterfly wings here.
Realized that, ditched stocks.
Full loan here? Forget hero—hero becomes beggar.
"Goodbye... my get-rich-quick dream."
Regret lingered, so I eyed Apple stock—thriving as remembered.
Tempted to go all-in, but crushed electric car stocks tumbling to hell killed the vibe.
God-tier EV stock for three years? Now half-crippled...
To forget, I sat at the computer.
Screw stocks, Odin's Daughter time.
Before launching the game, I checked Odin's Son Minor Gallery and voice chat.
...Voice chat friends list: no familiar names, but habit kicked in.
Kang Ji-min's list was pathetic. Few names, all offline.
No colosseum deadbeats I remembered, no call room dubbed morgue post-Grandmaster.
Wonder what those friends are up to.
No COVID, but celebs like Musk or Trump fine—so maybe still on OMaGal.
Quick phone peek: same old OMaGal.
Honestly, even I recoiled at first.
Dozens, hundreds of hours practicing combos on NPCs—poof, gone.
But modern only for combos, with reduced damage/afterimage bonuses. That eased my mind.
Occasional f-bombs heated things, but it blew over.
Kids grow through fights, make up eventually.
I wiped teary eyes.
Not the old 10-wins crew memorizing setups, but arena buzzing with randos.
Damn. Tears keep coming.
Must be this woman's body boosting emotions.
Watching warmly, another alert pinged.
The VTuber post I'd commented on.
"WW3's a stretch."
But space? Piece of cake.