Chaebol

Thirty-five.

Not a young age by any means.

While my friends are settling down one by one… damn, I'm working part-time at a high school cafeteria.

"Huff. Huff."

Is it because it's hot?

The hill I climb every day feels unusually steep.

What can I do?

If it's hard, I have to rest.

Wiping the sweat off my chin, I lifted my head.

'Still a long way to go.'

Plod, plod.

Who mocks a thirty-something for just doing a part-time job?

'Countless people.'

Some tilt their heads and ask.

– Hey, you're an educated guy, what are you doing in a cafeteria?

– They say you're a novelist? Didn't you win several literary awards?

– Wouldn't it be better to teach at a university? You even went to grad school…

Yes, I'm a novelist.

I debuted through the Central Daily New Year's Literary Contest, and I've won the Young Writer's Award, Dong-in Literary Award, and Yi Hyoseok Literary Award every other year… So it's not wrong to say I've won several awards.

I did somehow graduate from grad school too.

'So what?'

You can't earn a penny from novels.

A writer who lives solely on literary work?

There might be about thirty of them at most.

Most who don't make it into that group sit in front of their laptops only after finishing their main job.

I'm no different.

Cafeteria…

The work is hard, but at least I can leave early, so it's fine.

"Ugh."

I barely made it to the cafeteria, breaking through the shimmering heat radiating from the concrete.

Buzz! Buzz!

The vibration from my pants pocket.

Taking out my phone, I saw a number starting with '02'.

I usually don't answer unknown numbers, but…

'Whoa, it might be a manuscript request.'

I pressed the call button, hoping.

(Hello, this is XX Hospital.)

Hospital?

Not a publisher?

My excitement deflated quickly, and I pouted.

(You had a blood test a few days ago, right?)

Ah, maybe because of my age.

The government provided a free health check.

I had a tough time preparing for the endoscopy the day before.

"What seems to be the problem?"

(It's about the results. You need to come in.)

"What kind of blood test requires a visit? If it's about liver values…"

(No.)

The answer was firmer than I expected.

(Your white blood cell count is too low.)

Just hearing the words 'white blood cells' made me feel like my blood was freezing.

"It's not… something like cancer, right?"

(You'll need a detailed examination to find out.)

With a voice that seemed to offer comfort.

"..."

I stared blankly at the old cafeteria.

I craved a cigarette.

After quitting so hard…

If I'd heard this before coming to work, I would have gone to the hospital just to clear my mind.

But now, I was already at the school.

After trudging up that damn hill, you know.

I searched my pants pockets for a cigarette that wasn't there.

'It'll be nothing.'

Yeah, I'm only thirty-five.

I haven't been drinking lately… I even walk to and from work as exercise.

Isn't that good enough?

'Let's not worry.'

I tried to convince myself.

"..."

Strangely, though.

One phone call made the world look different.

Usually, seeing an empty playground would calm my mind, but today it looked like a lonely island.

A deserted island with no one stepping foot on it.

As I stared blankly into the distance with unfocused eyes.

"Hey, why aren't you coming in?"

It was a younger colleague.

A kid who graduated high school this year and is working part-time before joining the army.

"The ladies are waiting. Come on in."

"Oh, yeah."

"By the way, remember what I told you before?"

"...?"

"MapleStory. I told you it's fun, you should try it."

Ha!

"You still haven't tried it?"

"..."

"I gave you a good recommendation, you should try it."

"I'm busy."

"That's just an excuse. I hunt while rubbing my sleepy eyes…"

What is it about games that makes people so obsessed?

If it's not cancer.

I might want to try it once.

I went into the staff break room and changed clothes.

Faded gown, elastic pants.

After putting on blue rubber boots, I went out to arrange the trays.

This school doesn't have a separate cafeteria.

Meals are made in the cafeteria and delivered to each class.

My job was the delivery.

After sorting trays and serving tools for about an hour.

"Food is ready!"

The nutritionist's voice echoed.

It was time to start delivering.

I started setting up meals in each class, pushing a cart here and there.

It's okay when delivering to the first and second grades.

Plod, plod.

By the time I get to the third grade classrooms, I'm pretty tired too.

"Ugh."

Moving a stack of trays is quite strenuous.

"..."

Sometimes I get dizzy lifting a full pot of soup.

The only relief is the cool shaded hallway.

How long did I run around like that?

I finally leaned against the wall to catch my breath.

When busy, I didn't notice, but once the sweat cooled, forgotten things came to mind.

Tsk.

They said I'm fine, right?

I'm fine.

"Phew."

I stood blankly in the hallway.

I had to act like a scarecrow because some kids would sneak out and steal other people's meals, using the bathroom as an excuse.

About ten minutes later.

Creak.

The back door of the classroom opened, and a student poked their head out.

But meeting my eyes, the student smacked their lips awkwardly.

Then, as if nothing happened.

"What's today's side dish?"

They asked me.

I shook my head instead of answering, and the student asked if they could check for themselves.

"Can you?"

"Seriously, you're just like the teachers."

The student gave up and headed to the bathroom.

Taking out a pack of cigarettes in the middle of the hallway was a bonus.

'This school runs smoothly.'

I checked the time on my phone.

Still quite a while before the end of class.

Hmm.

Instead of wasting time with useless health worries.

'I should write a novel.'

I opened the memo app and started typing random sentences.

Tap tap.

Like squeezing out the last bit of toothpaste.

Tap tap tap.

The effort put in compared to the output was negligible.

"..."

Still, better than wasting time.

When I had barely written about three sentences.

"'Wings' should be read now, right?"

A voice came through the slightly open door.

A Korean class?

Curiosity got the better of me, and I peeked into the classroom through the window.

A female teacher stood in front of the blackboard with chalk.

Neat outfit.

Ordinary appearance.

She seemed to be in her late twenties.

Holding a thick book, she began explaining Yi Sang's "Wings."

"The department store here symbolizes what? Capital. The department store has everything, right? Considering the era the author lived in…"

The students, bored with the lesson, buried their heads in their books.

The teacher also looked exhausted.

Perhaps because the scene was so different from the class she had hoped for when dreaming of being a teacher.

"If you don't understand, just memorize it."

I turned away with a heavy heart.

I wanted to distance myself from the scene in front of me.

'Let's think about the novel.'

I took out my phone again but found it hard to focus.

A Korean teacher explaining a work to fit the college entrance exam system.

And across from her… a novelist standing guard over the food.

Why?

Do you think you could do better if you were in her place?

'Oh, please.'

This is the path you chose.

What are you envious of now?

As I muttered to myself.

Ping!

Suddenly, my vision blurred.

And then the windows started shaking side to side.

'What's happening?'

Is it because I sweated too much?

The question didn't last long.

Swaying.

Overcome with sudden dizziness.

Thud!

I fell on my butt.

***

Three days later.

I was diagnosed with leukemia.

An acute form.

The doctor, while promising to do his best, calmly told me to prepare for the end of my life.

There are still so many books I want to read.

I have a mountain of stories to write.

'The end of my life? At thirty-five?'

Damn it.

For ten whole days, I denied reality.

After that, I reluctantly nodded.

Everyone has an end.

I'm just leaving a little earlier.

Yi Sang died at twenty-six, Kim Yu-jeong at twenty-nine, so there's no need to make a fuss alone.

Yes, if I'm going to die anyway.

I should finish my last work before going.

But my modest dream never came true.

Just forty days.

I left the world without even completing the first draft.

***

<1>

Seoul in the 1980s.

Chairman Park Yong-hak of Hyungang Group's mansion.

Chairman Park Yong-hak naturally sat at the head of the long table.

Next to him, designated as his successor, was his third son, Park Jong-in.

Though it was just a mealtime…

"..."

There was a strange burden in Park Jong-in's eyes.

Having fought his brothers to claim the position of vice chairman, Park Jong-in found the giant of his era, Park Yong-hak, to be daunting.

A father who insisted on being the chairman before a parent.

What can you do?

Being born into a special family means bearing this kind of hardship.

"Let's eat."

Only after his father's permission.

"Enjoy your meal."

Park Jong-in picked up his utensils heavily.

At Hyungang's dinner table.

No one spoke until Chairman Park Yong-hak opened his mouth.

Neither Park Jong-in nor his wife, Song Soo-hee, nor their young two children.

"..."

A cold meal with no common conversation topics.

Chairman Park Yong-hak broke the silence.

"Jong-in, how old are you this year?"

At the sudden question, Song Soo-hee quickly put down her utensils.

"Thirty-eight, Father."

"Isn't it tough for someone who graduated from Seoul University to stay at home?"

"It's fine, Father."

"Thirteen years have passed supporting your husband. It's time you live your own life."

Indeed, Song Soo-hee was an outstanding talent.

She graduated at the top of her class from Seoul National University Fine Arts and was preparing for further studies in Paris.

But that special talent completely changed her life path.

Recognizing her potential, Chairman Park Yong-hak promptly selected her as his daughter-in-law, and the families quickly agreed, rushing the wedding like cooking beans in a flash.

Perhaps lingering guilt from that day?

Chairman Park Yong-hak spoke slowly.

"In about ten years, we'll see female executives. Women will confidently step into society as full members."

"..."

"At thirty-eight, you have plenty of time to prepare. What do you think?"

Song Soo-hee couldn't easily open her mouth.

The suggestion was appreciated, but she was afraid she might have to learn directly from Chairman Park Yong-hak.

"Why? Do you dislike it?"

"It's not that, Father… I'm worried about whether I can do well. I don't want to burden Hyungang…"

"Who said anything about managing the company?"

"…Pardon?"

"I meant to try doing something you like, such as art."

"Art?"

"We're setting up a cultural foundation. How about you run an art museum?"

Was it a question needing no answer?

Chairman Park Yong-hak continued with a lifted corner of his mouth.

"You know the alley in Insa-dong that deals with antiques?"

"Yes, Father."

"Go there every day and bring back one piece you like."

"One piece… every day?"

"Why? Is it hard?"

"No, Father. I'll do it."

Satisfied with the conversation?

As Chairman Park Yong-hak picked up his utensils again.

"Grandfather."

A voice unexpectedly came from the side of the table.

It was the second grandson.

No one speaks at mealtime before Chairman Park Yong-hak does.

Park Jong-in and Song Soo-hee turned their heads in surprise almost simultaneously.

Swoosh.

Chairman Park Yong-hak raised his left hand, signaling them to stop.

Thinking he got permission, the second grandson straightened his posture and spoke.

"Grandfather, can I go too?"

"Where do you mean?"

"To Insa-dong. Can I go with Mother?"

At the grandson's question, Chairman Park Yong-hak responded with a new question instead of an answer.

"How old are you, Ji-hoon?"

"Fourth grade. Elementary school fourth grade."

"Let's see, fourth grade… You must be eleven this year. Why Insa-dong? Do you want to eat outside food?"

As all eyes focused on young Ji-hoon.

With a bright smile unique to children, he answered.

"You said there are art pieces there."

"...?"

"Old art pieces. I want to see them too."

"What for?"

"They say sometimes there are very valuable treasures hidden deep in antique shops."

"Why? Do you want to buy them and make money?"

"That would be nice."

Perhaps it was too childlike a response, but Chairman Park Yong-hak smiled slightly.

"Does the book also teach how to pick treasures?"

"No. I checked every book on the shelf just in case, but there was nothing like that."

"What?"

"There's no way to find treasures…"

"Before that."

"...?"

"Did you say you read all the books on the shelf?"

"Ah, books?"

Ji-hoon nodded quietly.

"I read them all."

"Are you talking about the books on your shelf?"

"I finished my room's books a long time ago. I've read everything in the living room cabinet too."

For a moment, Chairman Park Yong-hak's eyes narrowed.

Boasting to gain attention?

It's common for a ten-year-old boy.

But why from a typically passive and quiet second grandson?

As many thoughts swirled in Chairman Park Yong-hak's mind.

"You rascal."

His son, Park Jong-in, intervened.

"How dare you lie to your grandfather? Apologize immediately."

"It's not a lie."

"This rascal…"

As Park Jong-in glared, Ji-hoon's older brother, Yoo-geon, stepped in.

"Ji-hoon reads books every day. From Victor Hugo to Dostoevsky, Hemingway, Natsume Soseki. There's no author he doesn't know."

"No, Yoo-geon, even you…"

Perhaps thinking further conversation was futile.

Chairman Park Yong-hak looked at his son, Park Jong-in.

"It's just children's talk. Why press him?"

"Sorry, Father."

Chairman Park Yong-hak then turned his gaze to his daughter-in-law, Song Soo-hee.

"From tomorrow, one piece a day. Got it?"

"Yes, Father."

Finally, Chairman Park Yong-hak looked at his second grandson, Park Ji-hoon.

"If you've finished the living room books, check out my study. It should keep you busy for a year."

"Thank you, Grandfather."

And so, the unusually long mealtime slowly came to an end.

***

30 minutes later.

I was lying on my bed in my room.

'Did I say too much?'

Well, an elementary school fourth-grader reading hundreds of books.

'I guess they'd be skeptical too.'

'I'm a thirty-five-year-old living in eleven-year-old Park Ji-hoon's body.'

Isn't it better than saying that!

Tsk.

It's been almost a month since I ended up here.

If it took me ten days to accept death in my previous life.

It only took me three days to adapt to this new life.

Reincarnation? Possession?

I don't know what to call it.

But being born into Hyungang, which would later rival Apple in the U.S., seems certain.

A life of being abandoned and struggling as an orphan!

I was so tired of saying it that I just resigned myself to it…

Who would have thought I'd be reborn in a chaebol family!

And as the second son, no less.

Unlike the firstborn who had to inherit the business… I was in a relatively easy position.

Acting up during dinner earlier was to solidify that position.

I'm just a book-loving idiot with no interest in management.

So don't even dream of giving me management lessons.

But don't get on their bad side either… I occasionally flaunt my artistic talent to ensure minimum support.

'In novel terms, I laid down some foreshadowing.'

Luckily, I didn't cross the line, so I managed to wrap things up decently.

"Yawn."

Lying comfortably, I stared at the ceiling.

Even for just a month, I wanted to write novels without worrying about money.

I wanted to read all the books I loved.

A dream that seemed so distant.

But now it's become a natural reality.

Writing novels and reading books is a given, and I could even set up a huge publishing house.

Books not translated in Korea?

Hell, I can import them with my money.

'Ha-ha.'

Such a satisfying life.

Though there is one small downside.

'Being eleven is too young.'

It would be more convenient if I were at least a high school student.

As thoughts kept swirling in my mind.

Knock knock.

A sudden knock on the door.

"Ji-hoon."

It was Song Soo-hee.

Naturally, 'Song Soo-hee' felt more familiar than calling her 'Mom.'

But.

'Since I'm an eleven-year-old kid now.'

I opened the door myself instead of answering.

Sure enough, Song Soo-hee was in the hallway in a gray dress.

She was holding a plate with a piece of cake.

"Hungry?"

"...?"

"You left your meal because you got scolded by your grandfather."

That was just because I was full, hmph.

"Can I come in?"

"Of course."

Song Soo-hee looked for a place to put the cake.

Usually, you'd put it on the desk.

"What's all this?"

My room was filled with books.

The desk, the chair, the floor – all covered with books.

"Why so many?"

"I've been reading various things, and they piled up."

Song Soo-hee still looked around in amazement.

I tend to read books harshly… I scribble notes and underline freely.

So books I've handled are visibly marked.

Maybe because of that.

Song Soo-hee's gaze fixed on the notes I had written.

"Ji-hoon, do you know what existentialism is?"

"Sorry?"

"No, I mean, there's a note about Camus and Sartre here."

"Oh, that."

Camus, Sartre.

Giants of French literature… works too sophisticated for an eleven-year-old.

Scratch scratch.

What do you say in times like this?

Luckily or not.

It didn't seem to be a question needing an explanation.

Song Soo-hee kept looking around without waiting for my answer.

"Did you really read all of this?"

The scattered books were fascinating enough, and all had underlined passages.

Only the important sentences were marked.

"How did you read such difficult books…"

"I'm your son."

"…Huh?"

"A mother who graduated at the top of Seoul National University Fine Arts, isn't it natural for her son to inherit artistic talent?"

"No matter how much, but…"

Still not buying it.

What can I do?

'It's not a crime to read a lot of books.'

I just sat on the bed with a brazen face.

After some time had passed.

"Surely, you must have inherited some talent from your mother."

Song Soo-hee said unexpectedly.

"There are notes all over the literary and art-related books, but the economic books your grandfather reads… you barely looked at them."

In fact, I left the economic books alone because they looked like Chairman Park Yong-hak's!

But this misunderstanding…

'It's not bad.'

I just smiled innocently without making any further comment.