The construction site was a beast, all grinding gears and choking dust. Kim Joon-ho stood in its belly, the summer sun baking his hardhat until it felt like a skillet on his head. At 32, his life was a far cry from the dreams he'd scribbled in notebooks as a kid blueprints for inventions, lyrics for songs, equations that danced in his mind like stars. Back then, they'd called him a genius. Now? He was just another grunt hauling rebar, his hands scarred and his future buried under concrete.
"Joon-ho! Pick up the pace!" Foreman Lee's voice cut through the roar of machinery, sharp as a whip. The man stood on a scaffold, clipboard in hand, his scowl as permanent as the site's mud.
"Yeah, got it," Joon-ho muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. His muscles ached, but not as much as his pride. He'd been the kid who solved calculus problems in his head, who could pick up a guitar and play a melody after hearing it once. Teachers had whispered about scholarships, universities, a life beyond Busan's cramped alleys. But life had other plans. His dad's illness, his mom's endless shifts at the fish market, his own teenage rebellion they'd chained him to this place, where potential was just a word for what might've been.
He glanced at the crane towering over the site, its steel arm swinging a load of concrete slabs through the hazy sky. Something was wrong. The cable twitched, the slabs tilting at a dangerous angle. Joon-ho's stomach knotted. He'd always had a knack for spotting patterns, for sensing when things were about to break. "Foreman!" he shouted, dropping the rebar. "The crane's off! The load's"
A scream drowned him out. Metal groaned, a sickening snap splitting the air. The cable gave way, and the slabs plummeted like a guillotine. Joon-ho's boots sank into the mud as he tried to run. His heart pounded, a single thought screaming in his mind: I was supposed to be more. The world blurred. Pain exploded. Then, nothing.
Darkness. Silence. Joon-ho floated in a void, weightless, expecting… what? Heaven? Hell? A hospital bed? Instead, a faint hum buzzed in his ears, like a radio stuck between stations. A whisper brushed his mind not a voice, but a feeling, urging him to open his eyes.
He did.
He was sitting in a chair. Not a hospital gurney, not a construction scaffold, but a hard plastic chair that creaked under his weight. His hands smooth, unscarred gripped a wooden desk scratched with initials and doodles. The air smelled of chalk, eraser dust, and the faint tang of adolescent sweat. A classroom. Rows of kids in navy uniforms whispered and giggled, their faces frozen in time. Park Min-soo, the class bully with a buzzcut and a permanent smirk, tossed a paper wad. Lee Soo-jin, the shy girl who'd always slipped him her notes, doodled in her notebook. And at the front, Mrs. Choi, the algebra teacher, glared at him over her glasses, chalk poised like a weapon.
"Kim Joon-ho!" Her voice cracked like a ruler on a desk. "Stop daydreaming and solve the equation on the board. Or do you want detention again?"
The class erupted in snickers. Joon-ho's mouth went dry. His voice, when he tried to speak, came out high-pitched, squeaky. "W-what?"
"Pay attention!" Mrs. Choi snapped, pointing to a quadratic equation scrawled in white chalk. "Solve for x. Now."
Joon-ho stared at the board, his mind a whirlwind. The equation was simple—child's play compared to the structural calculations he'd done on the construction site. But that wasn't the point. His hands, small and soft, trembled as he lifted them. His uniform, too big for his scrawny frame, smelled faintly of his mom's cheap laundry soap. He glanced at the window. Cherry blossoms swayed outside, pink petals drifting in the spring breeze. Busan Middle School, Class 2-B. 2007. His second year of middle school the year he'd started slipping, hiding his smarts to fit in, skipping piano lessons to smoke with the wrong crowd.
His heart slammed against his ribs. I'm back. Not a dream. Not a coma. He pinched his arm under the desk, wincing at the sharp sting. Real. He was 14 again. The crane, the accident it had killed him. And somehow, impossibly, he'd been given a second chance.
"Joon-ho!" Mrs. Choi's voice jolted him. "I'm waiting."
The class laughed again, louder this time. Min-soo leaned back, whispering something to his cronies that made them cackle. Joon-ho's cheeks burned, but not with embarrassment. Anger. Regret. He'd let these moments define him once laughing off his talents, coasting through classes, letting the world grind him down. Not this time.
"I've got it," he said, his voice steadier now. He stood, ignoring the stares, and walked to the board. The chalk felt foreign in his small fingers, but his mind was sharp, pulling up the formula like it was yesterday. He scribbled the steps, solving the equation in seconds. The class fell silent. Mrs. Choi blinked, her scowl softening.
"Well… correct," she said, almost reluctantly. "Sit down."
Joon-ho returned to his seat, heart racing. The other kids stared, some with awe, others with suspicion. Min-soo's smirk faltered, replaced by a narrowed gaze. Joon-ho didn't care. He wasn't the same kid who'd cowered under that gaze 18 years ago. He was a man who'd seen his life end, who'd carried the weight of wasted potential. This time, he'd be different.
The bell rang, a shrill cry that unleashed chaos. Kids surged toward the door, backpacks swinging, voices overlapping in a cacophony of plans for lunch. Joon-ho stayed seated, his mind spinning. A second chance. A clean slate. He could be anything scientist, musician, tech mogul. He'd always had the brains, the spark. All he'd lacked was discipline, focus, and the courage to chase his dreams over his family's struggles.
He opened his notebook, expecting the doodles and half-hearted notes of his younger self. Instead, it was blank, crisp, like it had been waiting for him. A fresh start. He clenched his pen, a resolve hardening in his chest. No regrets this time. He'd ace every test, master every skill he'd abandoned piano, soccer, coding, all of it. He'd make his mom proud, lift his family out of poverty, and become the legend he was meant to be.
"Hey, Joon-ho, you coming or what?" Kang Tae-min, his old best friend, stood by the desk, lanky and grinning, his tie loose and his hair a mess. Seeing him was like a knife to the heart. Tae-min, who'd stuck by him through middle school, who'd drifted away when Joon-ho chose the wrong path. The guy who'd gone on to open a small restaurant, while Joon-ho ended up hauling steel.
"Yeah, I'm coming," Joon-ho said, standing. His legs felt too short, his body too light, but he slung his patched backpack over his shoulder and followed Tae-min into the hallway. The school buzzed with life lockers slamming, kids shouting, the faint scent of kimchi and rice drifting from the cafeteria. It was overwhelming, like stepping into a memory painted in vivid color. Cherry blossoms fluttered outside the windows, and the spring air carried a promise of new beginnings.
"So, what's with you?" Tae-min said, nudging him as they walked. "You solved that equation like it was nothing. Since when do you care about math?"
Joon-ho smirked, a flicker of his old confidence returning. "Since today. I'm done slacking."
Tae-min raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Whoa, what's got into you? You sound like you're about to take over the world or something."
Maybe I will, Joon-ho thought. He opened his mouth to reply, but a strange sensation stopped him cold. A tingle ran down his spine, like static electricity. His vision blurred for a split second, and a voice not his own whispered in his mind: "Use it wisely. The gift comes with a price."
He froze, heart pounding. The hallway's noise faded, the world sharpening around him. The voice was low, almost metallic, like it came from somewhere deep inside him—or beyond. He glanced at Tae-min, who was still talking, oblivious. What the hell was that? Joon-ho's hands trembled as he scanned the crowd, half-expecting to see a shadowy figure or a glowing system interface like in the web novels he'd read on lunch breaks. Nothing. Just kids, lockers, and the hum of school life.
"You okay, man?" Tae-min asked, frowning. "You look like you saw a ghost."
Joon-ho forced a laugh, but his mind was racing. "Yeah, just… zoned out. Let's grab some tteokbokki after school."
Tae-min's eyes lit up. "Now you're talking! There's this new place by the station spicy as hell. You in?"
"Definitely," Joon-ho said, but his thoughts were elsewhere. That voice. That feeling. It wasn't just a second chance, was it? Something bigger was at play, something tied to his reincarnation. He remembered the web novels he'd skimmed systems, gods, cosmic forces granting powers with strings attached. Was that what this was? A gift? A curse? He shook his head, pushing the thought down. For now, he had a math quiz to ace, a life to rebuild.
As they reached the cafeteria, Joon-ho's eyes caught something odd. A girl stood by the vending machine, watching him. She was in their uniform, but he didn't recognize her not from his memories of 2007, not from his old life. Her dark hair fell over one eye, and her gaze was sharp, almost knowing. When he blinked, she was gone, lost in the crowd.
His stomach twisted. Who was that? He scanned the cafeteria, but there was no sign of her. Just another mystery to add to the pile. He gripped his backpack strap, resolve hardening. Whatever this second chance was gift, curse, or something else he'd figure it out. He'd use every ounce of his genius to carve a new path, no matter what stood in his way.
But as he stepped into the cafeteria, the voice whispered again, faint but unmistakable: "Time is short. Choose your path." And this time, a faint glow pulsed in his vision, like a screen flickering to life.