He lay in bed, wide awake, staring at the ceiling. The faint ticking of the clock on the wall echoed like a drum in the silence, marking the passing time like a countdown. He wasn’t ready to sleep — not yet. There was too much to process, too much to plan.
I have eight years.
Eight years until the IMF crisis.
Eight years until the world starts falling apart for everyone else.
But for me… it already has.
He quietly pulled himself out of bed and sat by the small desk beside the window. It was too childish — scattered with colored pencils, a stack of cartoon sketchpads, a few crumpled math worksheets. He swept it clean with a single motion and pulled out a blank notebook from the drawer.
The moonlight spilled through the window, illuminating the page as he opened it and wrote at the top:
THE LIST.
Names came first — names that echoed in his memory like poisoned echoes.
Jinsung.
Min-seok.
Chairman Yoon.
Uncle Woo-jin.
Ji-hye’s father.
His pen pressed harder with each stroke. By the time he wrote the last name, the ink had bled through the paper.
Tae-hyun sat back, breathing hard. The room felt too small, like the air was thick with ghosts.
He scribbled more.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“Build capital before 1997.”
“Invest in real estate. Tech. Foreign currency.”
“Leverage news from the future: Windows, Hoondai, Daewoo collapse.”
“Stay invisible. Stay quiet.”
“Track Ji-hye. Protect her.”
He underlined that last line twice.
His hand hovered over the page, trembling. He clenched it into a fist.
He couldn’t afford to be a ten-year-old boy anymore — not mentally. That part of him had died with her.
And now, this second chance was war.
He must’ve dozed off at some point, head slumped over his desk, pen still in hand. The morning sun crept in slowly, soft and golden, warming his skin.
A gentle knock stirred him awake.
“Tae-hyun, honey,” came a voice he thought he’d never hear again. “You’re going to be late for school!”
He blinked, groggy. Disoriented. The notebook stuck to the side of his face.
Shit. School.
“Coming!” he called out, voice cracking slightly.
He tucked the notebook into the drawer quickly and ran his fingers through his hair. His reflection in the mirror across the room caught his eye — the same young face, dark circles now faint under his eyes, a hint of defiance where there once was innocence.
Downstairs, the smell of doenjang jjigae and toasted seaweed wrapped around him like a warm memory. He hesitated before going into the kitchen.
His mother stood by the stove, hair tied loosely, humming softly to herself — alive, glowing in the morning light. He didn’t realize he was staring until she turned around.
“There’s my sleepyhead,” she said, smiling. “Did you stay up reading again?”
“Something like that,” he muttered, rubbing his neck.
She raised a brow. “At this rate, you’ll grow up too fast. You need sleep, Tae-hyun.”
If only she knew.
He sat at the table, watching her move — the way she wiped her hands on her apron, the way she tasted the stew before nodding in approval. He had forgotten how much comfort lived in these small things.
“Eat up. You’ll be late,” she said, placing a steaming bowl in front of him.
Tae-hyun hesitated for a second before picking up his spoon. “Thanks, Mom.”
She ruffled his hair as she passed by, just like she used to.
And as he ate, he made a silent vow to himself.
He would protect this version of her. The one who still laughed. The one who hadn’t been crushed by the Hwarang name. He wouldn’t let their poison touch her again.
Not this time.