The Monkey Wrench of Dobong Elementary
Han Hyomin felt like she was about to pass out from the pain radiating through her lower abdomen.
“You're doing great, Mom! Almost there!”
If it hadn't been for the nurse's constant encouragement, she might have actually fainted.
After what felt like an eternity of agony, the baby was finally born—and with that, motherhood took root in Han Hyomin's heart.
My son.
The moment she laid eyes on the child's face, she was happier than she'd ever been in her life, as if she'd been handed the whole world. She felt like she could do anything, absolutely anything, for him.
“Father-in-law, if you don't change this child's name, you can expect never to see your grandson for the rest of your life.”
And so, having actually become a mother, she stood before her father-in-law—whom she normally dreaded—and declared her position without a shred of hesitation.
It goes without saying that her daughter-in-law's sudden ultimatum turned the entire household upside down.
After the whole family stepped in and begged her to reconsider, the child's name was settled as Jaerim instead of Jesus.
Jaerim, Mom did it!
Only then did Han Hyomin finally let out a sigh of relief.
Watching all of this unfold from the perspective of a newborn baby, I was speechless.
His name was going to be what? Jesus?
As with every regression, I couldn't fathom what my paternal grandfather had been thinking when he came up with that one.
Were we sworn enemies in a past life?
Nothing else made sense to me.
And frankly, even the name Jaerim had earned me plenty of mockery over the years.
All because my homeroom teacher once carelessly explained the origin of my name to the whole class.
Well, I was young back then, so I never imagined that the story behind my name would become fodder for ridicule.
But contrary to my expectations, the malice of young children was far more vicious than I'd given it credit for.
It reminded me all over again that the philosopher who claimed humans are born evil had a point.
Wait, was that Xunzi, though? The human nature is evil theory?
Whatever. Not that it matters. To a Korean like me, both of them were nothing more and nothing less than ancient Chinese guys.
Perhaps because of how nervous my mother had been during the confrontation with my grandfather, her heart was beating faster than usual.
And strangely enough, the sound of her heartbeat started making me drowsy.
...I'm getting sleepy.
Unable to fight off the wave of drowsiness, I slowly drifted into sleep in my mother's arms.
Time flew by.
Between eating, fighting, and eating some more, I somehow found myself in first grade.
This is a bit awkward to admit, but every single day of elementary school was ab-so-lute-ly miserable.
Because not a single day went by without those little gremlin children provoking me.
I'm someone who doesn't waver emotionally unless something truly extraordinary happens, but putting up with elementary schoolers was another matter entirely.
“Hey! Joo Jaerim, is it true your name was almost Jesus?!”
Even with my face clearly broadcasting zero interest, they'd come right up and start talking to me anyway.
And to top it off, the teacher would blather some nonsense about how we're all friends and should get along.
Still, up to that point, it was bearable.
“My mom says nobody uses the name Jesus except cults. Are your parents in a cult, Joo Jaerim?”
The real problem began after this mouse dropping–sized brat unilaterally went for my parents' throats.
According to the kids chattering noisily around us, the girl he had a crush on apparently liked me.
I couldn't care less, honestly.
Like I give a damn about an elementary schooler's love triangle.
But the love triangle was one thing—dragging my parents into it was a completely different story.
I let out a single sigh and rose from my seat.
If I wanted a peaceful school life going forward, a pecking order clearly needed to be established.
“That's right. I am the Monkey Wrench of Dobong Elementary, you little shit.”
Naturally, this incident got my parents summoned to the school.
Plenty of harsh words were thrown around about me throwing punches, but the moment my homeroom teacher recounted the full story behind the assault, the entire atmosphere flipped.
“Ah... Yeah, talking trash about someone's parents is a bit much. Honestly, he had it coming.”
The muttering of a young teacher in the staff room echoed through the silence.
“Ahem.”
The vice principal shot the teacher a cautious warning look, but it was already too late.
The parents of the victim(?) student, who had been pressing their case against my family, also flushed red—so they did have some sense of shame after all.
Given that they'd seen fit to impugn my parents' character, I finally understood the saying that children are a mirror of their parents.
“...Well, kids grow up fighting, don't they?”
The boy's father was, thankfully, someone reasonable enough to talk to.
He tried to smooth over the awkward atmosphere, and so the Dobong Elementary fight incident came to an end with me and the kid making up, shaking hands, and hugging it out in front of our parents and the teachers.
And then, that evening. On the way home.
“Jaerim.”
“Yes?”
“Good job. That's right—anyone who messes with your family deserves a beating.”
Dad beamed and ruffled my hair, while Mom let out a resigned sigh at the sight of him.
“Dad.”
“Yeah?”
“Don't skip your health checkups because they're a hassle. Get them regularly.”
I started nagging him about taking care of his health.
Even for a regressor like me, my parents' health mattered more than anything.
In my first life, the regret and grief of my father passing away before I could properly show him filial devotion still lingered in my chest.
They say parents who lose a child carry that grief with them for the rest of their lives, but children who lose their parents are no different—only in degree.
Two years passed after that.
I was now in third grade.
The fact that I still had nine more years until adulthood was genuinely despair-inducing.
School life had grown peaceful since 'that incident.'—probably because word had spread that I was a lunatic, kids no longer picked fights with me over my name.
Some people just don't understand words until they get beaten.
Clearly, humans aren't so different from beasts after all.
They probably still talked trash behind my back when I wasn't around, but I couldn't be bothered to care.
As long as they didn't insult my parents to my face, I had no reason to lift a finger.
Well... The kid I'd pummeled must have felt wronged, because he went on to lead a campaign of ostracism against me afterward. I didn't mind much.
If anything, him leading the ostracism was a huge help.
It meant I was freed from the gremlin children who used to pester me with small talk every break time.
Just my personal opinion, but nothing in this world is more useless to a regressor than elementary school friendship games.
Anyway. Saturday afternoon.
I'd just wrapped up a light session of ball-touch drills in a corner of the grassy field and was heading home.
“Wow. A kid that young doing fundamentals training without missing a single day. Impressive.”
“Which school's youth team is he with?”
The chatter of the ajusshis playing weekend football on the field went in one ear and out the other.
Anyway.
“I'm home.”
I walked back into the house to find my parents being affectionate in the living room.
They were the most ordinary, unremarkable parents you could find anywhere in South Korea—except for the sheer intensity of their love for each other.
“Ahem. Our son's home early today?”
“Y-you must be hungry, right? Mom will cook something up right away.”
Once again, I did my best to look away and pretend I hadn't witnessed my parents' steamy display of affection.
Not that I wasn't sincerely grateful for it.
After all, their love flowed directly to me as well.
Across dozens of regressions, this one thing had never changed—not even once.
In every single lifetime, my parents sent me the same unwavering love, and no matter how everyone around me changed, they were the ones who stayed constant to the very end.
Even in the early regressions, when I'd gone off the rails, the two of them always believed in me and waited for me to come back.
That's the only reason I've held on this long, really.
If it weren't for my parents, the pain of loss that came with each regression might have long since driven me into a drug-hazed half-life as a wreck of a human being.
That evening, my father—who worked as a camera director at a production company—brought up a variety show he was about to start filming.
“Jaerim, you love football, so how about giving this one a try?”
I didn't need him to explain what kind of show it was; I already knew. I'd heard about it dozens of times across my regressions.
And as always, I had no interest in kicking a ball around with a bunch of toddlers, so I was about to turn down the offer—
“Oh my, look at this! If you join, our Jaerim could make new friends!”
—but seeing my mother light up over the promo poster my father handed her, I changed my mind and decided to participate.
After all, this particular run was meant to be a breather for me.
From the moment I'd resolved to keep my South Korean citizenship, a World Cup title was more or less off the table.
My goal this life was simply to heal while watching my parents be happy.
Sure, my parents' memories would vanish if I failed the mission...
But I would hold on to the memories I made with them for as long as it took, so that I didn't lose my mind.
A few days later, I took my mother's hand and headed to the audition venue.
Since when does a soccer program for toddlers require an audition?
I did find it odd that something like this involved an audition at all, but the moment I stepped inside, I had to admit it made sense.
The audition hall was packed to the brim with kids my age.
And a little while later, the preliminary test began.
The criterion was fifteen or more keepy-uppies to pass.
Well, I passed without breaking a sweat.
If I bombed this, I'd have to face-plant into a dinner plate and die. How could anyone live with that kind of embarrassment?
Just as I was steadily juggling the ball, I hit the passing mark of fifteen and stopped—
“Huh? Is something wrong?”
The assistant director who'd been counting in front of me asked, looking flustered.
“You said fifteen passes.”
“Oh. Well, that's true...”
I could see the assistant director's expression shifting to this kid's a strange one.
Which made sense—every other kid my age had been busy showing off every trick they knew.
“Applicants who passed, please follow me to the next location!”
I followed the assistant director's guidance to the waiting area.
According to her, we were to wait here for a face-to-face interview with the main PD.
A short while later.
The door opened and one kid came out of the audition room in tears. The chain reaction was immediate—tears began welling up in the other children's eyes as well.
“Hmph! Real men don't cry over stuff like this!”
Some random brat started posturing about how tough he was, then sneered at me as he walked past.
What the hell is with that idiot?
Was he raised with kid gloves or something? Kids these days really are rude.
I want to smack him so bad.
While I was mentally carving the character for patience into my heart, the auditions moved along quickly, and then—
“Number 121, Joo Jaerim!”
After a long wait, my number was finally called.
“Jaerim, it's your turn. Go on in.”
As I approached the female assistant director calling out numbers, I noticed her pupils were half-unfocused.
Apparently, wrangling disobedient little children had sent half her soul packing.
“Mom will wait out here, please.”
At the assistant director's robotic, deadpan instruction, I carefully let go of my mother's hand.
“Mom, I'll be back.”
“Go get 'em, sweetie!”
I gave a slight nod toward my mother as she pumped her fists in encouragement, then headed inside.
I wasn't nervous. Not even a little.
This was the guy who'd called Camp Nou 'the club with no roots, chasing Messi's ghost' right before an away match there—and walked out alive.
Getting worked up over an audition for some ordinary TV show would've been the nonsensical thing to do.
“Hello. I'm Joo Jaerim.”
With the main PD and four others staring holes through me, I greeted them flatly.
The main PD seemed to like that I wasn't the least bit intimidated, a smile tugging at his mouth as he asked his question.
“What position do you feel most confident in?”
In Korean society, where even professional footballers are expected to be humble, the model answer would be: 'I'll give my best in whatever position I'm given.'
“All of them.”
But I saw no reason to be humble.
Through dozens of regressions, I'd learned one thing for certain: nothing in this world is more insufferable than a humble genius.
And honestly, watching myself act modest about my football credentials just felt pathetic.
Even as the staff's expressions hardened at my rude answer, the corner of the main PD's mouth kept curling upward—
Which meant passing the audition was as good as mine.