Warm spring sunlight filtered through the classroom window, lingering on my uniformed body. It was fifth period after lunch, and drowsiness was setting in. This moment, blending languid warmth and sleepiness, was the perfect time for a nap. The math teacher's voice drifted over like a parent's gentle lullaby, brushing past my ears.
Anything active like PE might've kept me awake, but complex math formulas? Perfect for dozing. He seemed passionate in his explanation, but none of it stuck. I gazed out the window to shake off the sleep, only for the sight of fresh green petals fluttering by to make my eyelids heavier.
Imagining sheep leaping in my mind brought a faint smile, and my eyelids grew leaden. The spring sun was to blame—my consciousness teetered on the edge of the unconscious. Just before slipping under, a voice called out.
"Lee Haru, asleep again? Stay awake."
The math teacher's gentle rebuke jolted me. My head snapped up, throwing off my balance. With no desk behind me, my body tipped backward, and my head plunged toward the classroom floor.
Oof... this is gonna hurt.
I sensed the fall and squeezed my eyes shut.
Thud!
The impact echoed in my skull with a vibration. My vision flashed white, and my head felt like it was splitting open. The pain was so intense I wondered if this was what shattered brain cells felt like.
"...Haru! Class rep! Take her to the nurse's office..."
The teacher's voice came from afar, but it felt different from drifting off to sleep. Similar, yet utterly alien. When I came to, my mind was in an unfamiliar building.
Where am I?
It was a strange one-room apartment, yet it felt achingly familiar. Every glance at it brought tears welling up, unbidden. And with them surged someone else's life—no, the life of who I must've been in a past existence.
Born, lived, grew, worked, and died. My only solace? Songs on the commute. Realizing that, the trickle of tears became a downpour.
In that instant, I understood. I was Lee Haru, a high school girl in Korea—and simultaneously, a nameless male office worker. Past-life memory or head-trauma hallucination? I couldn't say. But everything but a name flooded in sharper, faster.
No deathbed montage—this was vivid. Decades of life compressed, force-feeding my brain data on countless famous J-pop songs from my commutes.
Sensations I'd felt replayed: songs dissected, reassembled in detail. Artist names, song structures, instruments, software—minutiae unpacked. This vast library settled in as if it had always been mine.
*
I came to on a soft bed—the nurse's office, no doubt. I'd been here once before as Lee Haru.
"Ow, my head..."
Freshly awake, my memories were a jumble. Merging my past-life self—a presumed office drone—with my current one as Haru felt awful, no sugarcoating. As I tried sorting it, the school nurse approached.
"Awake already?"
"Ah... yes. I'll head out then."
"You can rest longer if you need."
My head still throbbed—not from pain, but that bizarre episode. Amid the chaos, one thing was clear: my past self was an orphan. No parents in those memories.
"Haru, you're back? You okay?"
"Uh... yeah."
Jisu, my close friend, eyed me worriedly as I sat. She was my only real friend since high school started. But even knowing that, she felt strangely distant now.
"What's up? Where's my usual Haru? You're way too quiet."
"Wha—I'm always like this. Just hit my head hard, that's all."
Even I knew I was off. To untangle this, I needed my phone. But this high school banned them in class—unlike my past life's laxer rules.
Whatever—this life's me had ignored J-pop; those memories were absent here. I had to check if those songs existed on my phone.
"Class dismissed. Clean up and go home."
Apparently, I'd blacked out long enough that school ended minutes after. I got my phone back. Holding it felt both alien and familiar.
"C'mon, let's clean."
"Yeah..."
"You're really not yourself today."
I followed Jisu to sweep the stairs. The broom's texture screamed this was real, not a dream. After, as she headed to the office for a checkup, I pulled out my trembling phone and opened NewTube's search.
First, a popular J-pop artist. Nothing. Tried a recent Korean singer's channel—only unfamiliar NewTubers.
My heart raced. Am I crazy? Hallucinating? Famous J-pop acts vanished from search. Maybe a glitch? I quit NewTube, searched "J-pop charts" on a search engine. Total strangers.
Latest hits from unknown artists—sweet, but no soul-stirring punch like my memories.
"No way..."
The whisper slipped out. Thousands of detailed songs in my head. A gift from God? Or a curse—fake past, pure delusion? Lost in thought, Jisu tapped my shoulder.
"Checkup's done. Haru, tteokbokki? You're off today, so my treat."
Her cheery voice snapped me back. Pre-memories me would've jumped, but now? Nah. Yet my body betrayed me.
Gulp.
Tteokbokki: carb-and-sodium bomb, nutritional nightmare, overpriced junk. Past me might've shrugged, but rational now-me wouldn't waste—
Couldn't resist.
Jisu linked arms, dragging me out. Familiar streets felt foreign. Even my uniform skirt chafed strangely.
"Hm~ Hm-mm~"
Her humming stirred my J-pop longing. We dodged crowds, reached a shabby joint: School Snack Bar. "School" in Korean on the sign was hilariously off, but packed with kids. The bell jingled as spicy scents hit us.
"Auntie, two tteokbokki... some sundae too."
"Auntie! One pick hatchu pork cutlet..."
Chaos of orders, but food came quick: vibrant red tteokbokki, fritters, sundae. Two high school girls eating all this? We demolished it in minutes.
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