The night air in Busan's cramped apartment was thick with the scent of seaweed soup, a familiar comfort that tugged at Kim Joon-ho's heart. He sat at the wobbly kitchen table, the glow of a single bulb casting shadows over his textbooks. It was well past midnight, the clock ticking toward 1 a.m., but sleep eluded him. In his 14-year-old body, he hunched over algebra problems, his mindhoned by 32 years of survival on construction sites racing through equations with ease. This second chance wasn't a gift to squander. He'd died under a falling crane, his genius buried in dust and regret, but now, he'd claw his way to the top.
The first week back in 2007 at Busan Middle School had been a whirlwind of focus. That first day in Class 2-B, when he'd solved Mrs. Choi's equation with a steady hand, had been a spark. The math quiz on Monday? A perfect score, finished in ten minutes while Park Min-soo scowled and the class whispered. The science pop quiz on Wednesday? He'd explained cellular respiration with such detail that even the stern Mrs. Choi had raised an eyebrow. By Friday's history exam, the whispers turned to awe "He's a genius." Word spread beyond his classroom, and soon, he was the smartest student in the school, a title that felt both alien and deserved.
But it wasn't just about pride. It was about his family. In his past life, they'd been his world and his undoing. His dad, Kim Dae-sung, a weathered fisherman turned factory worker, had died in a car accident when Joon-ho was 20, alongside his mom, Park Soo-mi, and his younger sister, Hye-rin. The crash had been a blur of rain and screeching tires, a drunk driver stealing them on a dark night. Joon-ho had worked himself to death literally hauling steel to honor their memory. Now, through this reincarnation, he'd found them again, alive and whole.
The reunion had hit him like a tidal wave. That first night back, he'd stepped into their tiny apartment the same peeling wallpaper, the same creaky floorboards and there they were. Dad, hunched over a newspaper, muttering about fish prices dropping. Mom, stirring seaweed soup with a tired but warm smile, her hands rough from years at the market. And Hye-rin, 10 years old, her pigtails bouncing as she tugged at his sleeve, begging him to help with her multiplication tables. Tears had burned his eyes, but he'd swallowed them, vowing to protect them this time. No car accident. No loss. He'd use his genius to lift them out of this life, starting with straight A's.
"Joon-ho, you're up late again," Mom called softly from the kitchen, her voice a gentle reprimand. She wiped her hands on her apron, peering at him with concern.
"I'm fine, Mom," he said, turning a page. "Gotta keep up."
Dad lowered his paper, a rare grin breaking through his stern face. "Your teacher called today. Said you're the top student. Never thought I'd hear that about my lazy boy."
Hye-rin giggled, climbing onto a chair beside him. "Oppa, teach me too! I wanna be smart like you!"
Joon-ho ruffled her hair, the gesture grounding him. "Deal. But bed now, okay?" She pouted but shuffled off, and he returned to his books, the weight of his past fueling his resolve. He'd save them financially, emotionally, completely.
The next morning, the school cafeteria hummed with the clatter of trays and the sharp scent of kimchi stew. Joon-ho sat with Kang Tae-min, picking at a bowl of tteokbokki, the spicy rice cakes a fiery jolt to his senses. His grades were soaring, but he knew influence started small. School was his battlefield, and he'd conquer it step by step mentoring Hye-rin, helping Dad find better work, building a reputation that could one day shape the world.
"You're different, man," Tae-min said, slurping noodles. His crooked grin faltered as he studied Joon-ho. "Top grades, no slacking. What's your secret?"
"Focus," Joon-ho replied, smirking. "And a second chance I won't waste." The words felt heavier than he intended, a nod to the crane that had ended his first life and the faint voice from yesterday, "Use it wisely," echoing in his memory.
Tae-min laughed, oblivious. "Well, keep it up. Min-soo's been glaring at you since the quiz."
Joon-ho glanced across the room. Min-soo, slouched with his cronies, shot him a venomous look. The bully's taunts had quieted, but the envy was palpable. Joon-ho didn't care. He'd faced worse on the construction site foremen's shouts, near-misses with machinery. This was nothing.
Lunch ended, and the courtyard beckoned. Tae-min dragged him outside, where boys kicked a soccer ball under the cherry blossoms. Joon-ho's eyes lingered, a pang of regret stirring. He'd been good at soccer once fast, strategic, a natural leader. But he'd quit at 16 to work part-time, helping his family. Now, with this second chance, he could reclaim it. Tae-min tossed him the ball, and Joon-ho caught it, his small hands fumbling before steadying. Muscle memory kicked in. He dribbled, weaving through imaginary defenders, the ball a blur under his feet. The boys stopped, staring.
"Whoa, since when can you do that?" Tae-min said, eyes wide.
Joon-ho grinned, kicking the ball back. "Just felt like trying." But his mind drifted to that voice again "Time is short. Choose your path." Was soccer part of his path? Or a distraction from his studies?
The courtyard quieted as a shadow fell over him. He turned, and there she was the girl from yesterday. Her dark hair framed a face both familiar and alien, her school uniform pristine despite the dusty ground. She stood by the cherry tree, watching with those sharp, knowing eyes. The air grew heavy, the chatter fading.
"Who's that?" Tae-min whispered, following his gaze.
"I don't know," Joon-ho said, his voice low. He took a step toward her, but she turned and walked toward the school building, disappearing around the corner. His gut twisted. He had to follow.
"Tae-min, I'll catch up," he said, breaking into a jog. The courtyard blurred boys shouting, petals falling and he rounded the corner, expecting to see her. Instead, the hallway was empty, save for a faint glow on the floor. A symbol, etched in light, pulsed like a heartbeat: a circle with strange runes. His breath caught. This was no coincidence it tied to the voice from yesterday.
The glow flared, and the voice roared in his mind "Kim Joon-ho, your purpose is set. Become the most influential person in the world. Begin here, or forfeit your gift." Pain seared his skull, dropping him to his knees. The hallway spun, the symbol expanding into a translucent screen. Words scrolled: "System Activated. Mission: Global Influence. Starting Point: School Life. Accept or Decline."
Joon-ho gasped, clutching his head. A system? Like those web novels he'd read on lunch breaks? The pain intensified, a warning. Two options glowed Accept in green, Decline in red. The girl's face flashed on the screen, her eyes glowing with the runes. "Accept," she whispered, her voice overlapping the system's.
"Tae-min!" Joon-ho called, his voice cracking as his friend rounded the corner. The screen glitched, the options pulsing. The voice roared, "Choose now, or the choice is made!" The ground trembled, the screen crackling with energy. The girl's image sharpened, her hand reaching out as if to pull him in. His heart pounded accept, and he'd commit to a path of influence, starting with school. Decline, and… lose his reincarnation? His family?
He reached for Accept, his hand trembling, but the screen surged, the runes flaring red. "Decision locked. Trial begins. Survive the first test or lose everything." The hallway darkened, the girl's laughter echoing as the screen vanished, leaving a single glowing rune etched into his palm. The pain subsided, but a new weight settled in his chest. Influence. The world. Starting here.
"Tae-min, did you see that?" Joon-ho panted, scrambling to his feet.
"See what?" Tae-min frowned, scanning the empty hall. "You just… collapsed. You okay?"
Joon-ho nodded, but his mind raced. The system was real, and its mission was clear. Influence didn't just mean grades it meant leadership, impact, power. He'd start with school, outshine Min-soo, guide his classmates, maybe even coach the soccer team. But that trial… what was it? The rune on his palm pulsed faintly, a reminder of the stakes.
The bell rang, pulling him back. He followed Tae-min to class, his thoughts churning. At home, he'd protect his family teach Hye-rin, support Dad's dreams, ease Mom's burdens. At school, he'd build a foundation. But as he sat down, the rune flared again, and the girl's voice whispered, "The test is near. Prepare." His desk shook slightly, unnoticed by others, and a cold sweat broke out on his neck. Whatever this trial was, it was coming and fast.