Chapter 4

EP 1 – Cause of Death

The mornings at Saebitneulbom Nursery are orderly.

This is because there is a strict rule to wake up at 7, make the bed, eat breakfast, and quickly go to school.

Those who disrupt this strict rule are (properly) educated by the delinquents who are in charge of the nursery's discipline.

Thus, it is absolutely impossible for children to act spoiled and say, "Ugh, let me sleep for five more minutes," as children in ordinary households might do. One reason for this is that there is no one to indulge such behavior.

However, this morning was a bit strange.

"What year is it this year? Why are you suddenly asking that?"

"Just answer quickly."

One of the four children sharing a room seemed to have suddenly gone mad, pestering Kwang-tae from the early morning.

Asking what year it is...

Asking the names of the friends in the same room...

"Ah! What year is it this year – !"

But the nursery is vast, and there are many crazy people. Adding one more crazy person isn't a big deal.

Surprisingly, none of the other three friends gave a proper answer to the question of what year it was.

"Don't know. Just make the bed."

"Can't be bothered? I won't tell you either. What can you do about it? Besides being annoying, what can you do? Yeah?"

"Bitch."

Meanwhile, someone became increasingly anxious as they watched their friends' reactions.

These unlucky guys were definitely the same as those in his old memories.

Why are those guys who used to share a room with me here? Can dreams be this realistic?

The boy extended his trembling hand.

"Phone... anyone who has a phone, give it to me quickly."

"We don't have phones."

"Oh, right."

Saebitneulbom Nursery does not provide smartphones or other electronic devices to the children to foster proper character development.

It's not because they can't afford the communication fees.

"What year... what year is it exactly..."

The answer was closer than he thought.

The calendar on the wall told him.

"..."

You are 10 years in the past.

And today is Christmas.

* * *

Christmas at Saebitneulbom Nursery is special.

It's not because they need to praise the Lord's grace.

Contrary to common misconceptions, the nursery is not a government institution but a private facility. They only receive government funding.

Naturally, the welfare budget is never generously distributed to all nurseries. Therefore, the nursery operates on private donations. Most of these donations come from religious organizations, and most of those organizations are Christian.

(Not because Buddhist monks are less generous, but because the combined number of Protestants and Catholics naturally makes up the majority.)

In any case.

Christmas at Saebitneulbom Nursery is special.

Since most of the major donors attend churches or cathedrals, they donate more during Christmas, and the nursery prepares events for them.

This year was no different.

Saebitneulbom Nursery rented out a nearby school gymnasium to prepare a large Christmas party.

They made plaques to thank the high donors, and the children diligently prepared for a talent show.

But that's where the incident happened.

"What did you say – ?!"

Bang Jeong-a, the life guidance counselor at Saebitneulbom Nursery, was shocked.

"Yeon-seop, you! You forgot all the choreography?!"

"Teacher, I really can't remember it..."

"What do you mean! We've been practicing for weeks, and you can't remember it now?"

Bang Jeong-a thought rationally.

Rather than thinking that the kid in front of her had regressed from the future, she concluded that he was going through puberty now that he was in fifth grade.

So, Bang Jeong-a knelt down and tried to smile, making eye contact with the child.

"Yeon-seop, now that you're 12, you might feel a bit embarrassed doing cute dances to Christmas carols..."

"Teacher, it's not that the dance is embarrassing, I really can't remember—"

"But... everyone coming today has supported us. Wouldn't it be nice to show them a good performance as a way of saying thank you? It's not just you; everyone will be doing it together."

But no matter how kindly she tried to persuade him, this stubborn kid insisted he couldn't remember.

If it were a less reputable nursery, curses and physical punishment might have followed, but Saebitneulbom Nursery is a Christian nursery filled with faith, hope, and love.

This means that instead of punishing and threatening the rebellious child, they wrap him in the warm 'love' of seniors and juniors.

Bang Jeong-a called Ma Gi-hoon, a high school sophomore and a fitness genius who serves as the discipline leader among the nursery children.

She explained the situation and quickly left.

Ma Gi-hoon smiled.

"Do you want to get beaten, you bastard?"

* * *

Children dressed as Santa and Rudolph danced cutely on stage. Among them was Moon In-seop, who looked unfocused.

Watching the performance, Bang Jeong-a muttered,

"What? He's dancing just fine."

"Apparently, he remembered the choreography when we talked to him nicely?"

"Teenagers are so exhausting, aren't they~"

Meanwhile, Moon In-seop, dressed as Rudolph, was trying his best to follow the dance, glaring at the person in front of him.

'What's going on?'

He had returned to the past.

'What am I doing?'

Dancing to the music.

'How did I end up here?'

He died.

'Why did I travel back in time?'

He didn't know.

'Am I dreaming?'

No.

'Oh my God.'

Moon In-seop knew the answer.

But it was hard to believe.

* * *

Saebitneulbom Nursery is a Christian nursery.

It's hard to say whether it's Catholic or Protestant, as the director shuttles between both to secure donations.

In any case, thanks to the director's connections, the nursery's finances were abundant, and a large oak tree was planted in the spacious yard.

I leaned against the tree.

"Phew..."

Looking up, I saw a bright red winter sky.

White clouds drifted by, and whenever the wind blew, the snow on the branches gently fell.

Birds spread their wings and followed the wind, and the planet I stood on must have been following its orbit.

Despite the natural flow of the universe, I had traveled back against the flow of time.

10 years.

I had traveled back 10 years in time.

The 22-year-old suicide victim was now a 12-year-old elementary school student.

Traveling back in time was somewhat understandable. How could a human, a tiny speck of dust in this vast universe, understand all the grand workings of the world?

The universe is full of truths and laws that science has yet to uncover. Some of these might even fall into the realm of theology.

But 10 years is a kind of 'unit.'

A unit created by humans.

People agreed to call the time it takes for the Earth to orbit the Sun once a 'year.' Even this isn't an exact calculation.

So, the concept of a 'year' is more legal than scientific. It's a result of human intellect, not a natural law.

For this reason, the fact that I traveled back exactly 10 years suggests that someone with an understanding of human intellect was involved.

Who is this person?

Who is the transcendent being who made a failed suicide victim on Christmas Eve open their eyes 10 years in the past?

Santa? Jesus? Buddha? Allah?

Santa originated from the legend of Bishop Saint Nicholas, Jesus was a saint in Roman times, Buddha was a prince in India, and Allah or Yahweh is the monotheistic deity that emerged from polytheism in ancient Middle East.

Who is this person?

Is it a god?

To begin with, does God exist?

While I was pondering these questions, someone asked me,

"Hey, Moon In-seop. Aren't you going to eat?"

"I'm not really in the mood."

"If you don't eat, Gi-hoon will scold you."

"I'll go."

Even during dinner, the tangled threads of my thoughts wouldn't unravel easily.

Was I seeing my life flash before my eyes just before I died? Was the 22 years I experienced just a nightmare for my 12-year-old self? Was I just a squishy pink brain in a jar?

As I thought deeper, I couldn't control my young body.

My facial muscles relaxed, and the soybean soup dribbled down.

"Ugh..."

"Hey! How old are you to dribble food like that!"

"Sorry..."

I couldn't shake off my thoughts easily. Anyone would have all sorts of thoughts if they suddenly traveled back 10 years.

But when I returned to the dorm and looked at the bookshelf, my worries vanished.

"Huh?"

Joy replaced the worries that had filled my mind.

The joy of encountering the bright memories of my childhood.

"These are...!"

Magic Land, Survive Series, Greek and Roman Mythology, Why?, Les Misérables, Comic MapleStory...

Each title brought back the pure dreams of my childhood.

No, they were more like simple desires.

I loved books.

I loved writing.

I loved reading.

Any further description would be an exaggeration.

This was all I had initially.

I just loved it. I loved it so much.

It was a dream that shone like a candle.

And as I grew older, kindling was added to this flame.

I won a student writing competition and received countless praises, which made me want to write even better.

I was bullied for being an orphan and resolved to become someone greater than those who bullied me.

I learned that my parents, whom I thought were dead, were actually alive and had entrusted me to the nursery instead of raising me. I endured painful days by pouring my heart out onto the pages.

I naturally came to understand how difficult it is to succeed as a writer. So what? I would leave behind a masterpiece that no one could diminish.

I realized that in a capitalist society, a human is merely a cog in the system unless born into a wealthy family. I don't care! True beauty lies within.

These resolutions gradually accumulated.

Little by little, kindling was added to the candle,

and it finally burned into a massive dream.

I was born insignificant but wanted to create something beautiful. I wanted to possess an immortal fame that even the wealthiest and most powerful couldn't achieve. I wanted to touch the souls of the wounded. I wanted to rise from the lowest to shine like a star. I wanted to create a wonder that couldn't be described as merely beautiful, making the whole world marvel.

I had such dreams.

I wanted to become such a novelist.

But the world told me to wake up.

You have a gene that predisposes you to lymphoma at age 22.

"Shit."

I cursed and paced around the room like a madman.

I bit my lip, tore my nails, and circled the same spot like a goldfish in a tank.

Then I suddenly looked in the mirror.

And froze.

There was a 12-year-old boy.

An innocent child was looking at me.

I stared at the boy for a long time.

Then I touched the mirror.

"..."

The boy was incredibly beautiful.

This feeling was far more vivid and miraculous than the nostalgia I felt when I found my old yearbook and looked at my innocent self.

The 12-year-old me possessed the very beauty that the 22-year-old me had struggled to achieve.

To confirm that I was the owner of this body, I pinched my cheek. The boy in the mirror pinched his cheek.

My cheek was incredibly soft and delicate, a purity that could be described as such.

There were no dark circles from overwork, no red and blotchy skin from alcohol, and no scabs from constantly biting my lips.

Only the lifeless, dull eyes remained the same.

Only those eyes were evidence of who was controlling this body.

No matter how I changed my expression, I couldn't smile with the innocence of a child. The boy in the mirror would never smile like a child again.

At that moment, I realized my sin.

Who had abused this innocent child?

Who had slowly destroyed him with alcohol, cigarettes, and depression?

Who had finally killed him?

It was me.

"No..."

No, who am I?

I never killed myself.

Like all suicides, I simply found it harder to find the courage to live than to die.

And it wasn't me but the world that made me this way. This damn world pushed me to this point.

"Paper... paper..."

With trembling hands, I found a writing tool in the corner of the room. The pencil case fell over, spilling out plastic rulers and erasers, but that wasn't important now.

I took out a scrap of paper from the bookshelf and

lay on the floor, starting to write down the culprits who had killed me.

Like a prisoner in an interrogation room naming accomplices.

I pointed out many accomplices to shift the blame.

The one who killed me wasn't a massive, invincible villain but the numerous pains of everyday life.

In my childhood, the child who locked my glasses and wouldn't unlock them. The child who stole my indoor shoes and wouldn't return them.

The teachers who forced me to call those children my 'friends' and get along with them.

The teaching assistant who, without a second thought, revealed that I was from a nursery when I entered university to hide my past.

The immature young students who, even at that age, couldn't stop bullying orphans.

The critic who harshly reviewed my writing, the literary awards I never seemed to win, poverty, lack, and loneliness.

The professor who thought of me as a cherished student but wouldn't allow me to marry his daughter.

The resentment towards my parents for abandoning me during their divorce, the longing for them, and the disillusionment with myself for feeling both emotions simultaneously.

The bus driver who, on a rainy day, carelessly drove and drenched me with water. The nursery guidance counselor who, while showing affection, strictly enforced rules.

The delinquent high school students who locked me in a bathroom and beat me up, the convenience store owner who refused to pay me and made ridiculous demands.

The downstairs neighbor who would come up at the slightest sound and complain, and the ex-lover who said she loved me but eventually left.

All of these things killed me little by little.

I didn't commit suicide one day after being diagnosed with lymphoma; I collapsed from the accumulated pain and suffering since the day I was born.

Yes, I'm not the culprit!

I was just one of many accomplices...

"Ha... Ha..."

When I came to my senses, I was drenched in cold sweat.

The sweat drops fell and soaked the paper.

The paper, filled with messy handwriting, turned black.

I lifted the paper, as I always do, cradling it like a newborn baby.

If I polish and refine the language written here, another novel will be born.

Yes, that's enough.

"Ha ha..."

I laughed for the first time since returning to the past.

And I realized.

I realized what I didn't know.

I don't know why I was thrown into this flow of time. I probably won't know in the future. Unless, at some point, an angel's revelation appears before my eyes.

But there is something I do know.

What I know is that I am a novelist.

So, I should write.

"Life..."

Nothing has changed.

Before I traveled back in time, did I know why I was born into this world? Did I know why I had to endure the pain of life? I didn't know then either.

Everyone lives like that.

People, insects, cats, sunflowers—none of them know why they were born into this world.

But unlike insects, humans can dream. Even if we don't know why we were born, we can choose why we live.

And my dream is to be a novelist.

So, I should write.

If I write,

If I live to write,

Whether I am 12 or 22 is no longer important.

Both of them share the same dream.

"Life is..."

I don't know why I was born.

I don't know why I traveled back in time.

But I can choose why I will live in the future.

That's how I staked my life on writing.

Now, death cannot break me.

* * *

"Damn it, I want to quit acting!"

A girl shouted at the mirror in the waiting room.

Then she slumped into a chair, exhausted.

"Ah... Life..."

Kim Byul, 15 years old, an actress with no particular dream.

And her name isn't her real name.

She has a different real name, but it was changed to 'Kim Byul' because it was more advantageous for her acting career.

To her, the stage name seemed more outdated than her real name, but she had no choice.

Becoming an actress and changing her name were all decisions made by her mother.

All she had to do was stand in front of the camera like a marionette controlled by strings. She had been doing this since she was young.

"Why do I live?"

Kim Byul, 15 years old, an actress.

She was at an age when life was particularly difficult.