Do you happen to know the odds of a person being struck by lightning?
They vary slightly depending on the source, but roughly speaking, it's about one in several hundred thousand.
Someone once joked that it's still more likely than winning first prize in the lottery. Well, maybe. At the very least, I've seen people around me win the lottery—but I've never seen anyone get hit by lightning.
On one weekend in July 2025, in the middle of a torrential downpour, I became the owner of that infinitesimal probability.
"Dad! The tent's going to collapse! There's too much rain!"
My daughter, Seoyoon—born in 2015 and only a sixth grader—cried out through the roar of the rain, her voice striking straight through my eardrums.
Born in 1977, forty-nine years old, I lay inside a damp sleeping bag and answered lazily.
"It's fine. Dad drove the pegs in nice and deep. That flash? It's just lightning. It's far away, so—"
Krrr—BOOM!!!
Damn it. They say words can jinx you, and they weren't kidding. A deafening crash, like an explosion right in front of the tent, made my wife and daughter scream almost in unison.
I flinched instinctively.
"What kind of weather is this?!"
I cursed at the sky for no good reason.
The weather forecast had said it would stay clear until the afternoon.
What the hell was that so-called "supercomputer" even predicting?
The beer I'd had in the evening turned out to be the real problem.
My bladder was sending urgent distress signals, on the verge of bursting.
Just imagining walking fifty meters through this downpour to the communal restroom made my vision go dark.
But what choice did I have? The bladder of a forty-nine-year-old breadwinner wasn't exactly resilient.
"Honey, I need to use the bathroom."
"Are you insane? In this weather? Just go somewhere over there and—"
"Our daughter's right here. How could I?"
Ignoring the worry in my wife's eyes, I slipped into my sandals with grim determination. The moment I opened the zipper, icy rain and wind rushed in.
"I'll be right back!"
I took a single step.
The entire world turned white.
No—being swallowed by light itself would be a more accurate description.
Along with a thunderous roar that felt like it tore through my eardrums, hundreds of millions of volts of electricity surged straight through my body.
That was where my story began again.
Beep— Beep— Beep— Beep—
A shrill electronic sound stabbed at my ears.
Without thinking, I reached out and turned off the alarm.
This wasn't the gentle classical melody that used to fill my bedroom in 2025.
It was a crude, monotonous mechanical beep.
…Huh?
As I sat up, the creaking of a cheap single bed accompanied a scene that felt both unfamiliar and strangely nostalgic.
My one-room apartment from 2007.
On the wall hung a faded poster from Tazza. On the desk sat what was practically a relic now—a bulky white 17-inch LCD monitor with an absurdly wide bezel and a 4:3 aspect ratio.
Beside it lay a neatly placed Anycall slide phone, its battery swollen and bulging.
"...."
My head felt blank.
I had definitely been struck by lightning at the campsite. So why was I here…?
Staggering to my feet, I walked over to the mirror.
Reflected back at me was a thirty-one-year-old version of myself—no crow's feet around the eyes, no graying hair in sight.
"…This is insane."
I rushed to the desk and flipped open the slide phone.
Clear digits glowed on the tiny screen.
[Monday, July 23, 2007]
The blinking numbers burned into my retinas.
My hands trembled uncontrollably.
My heart thrashed against my ribcage as if it had a mind of its own.
A choking sound escaped my throat, like someone who'd forgotten how to breathe.
A dream?
Yes. It had to be a dream. I just hadn't woken up yet from the shock of being struck by lightning.
I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again.
Nothing changed.
The cramped studio apartment was still there. The desk calendar. The unfamiliar face that was somehow my own.
Trying to steady myself, I staggered forward—and slammed my shin hard against the corner of the desk.
"Ah!"
I collapsed to the floor, clutching my leg.
A sharp, vivid pain shot from my throbbing shin straight to my brain.
This wasn't a dream.
If it were, it wouldn't hurt this much.
As I sat there in a daze, the slide phone chimed again, announcing seven o'clock.
Time to go to work.
"…Work?"
Right. Thirty-one-year-old Park Cheolmin was a salaried employee.
A perpetual assistant manager at a tiny structural engineering firm in Bangbae-dong—Jeongin Structural Engineering.
Should I go?
In a situation this insane, what did work even matter?
But if I didn't go—what else could I do?
I might as well have had no money at all in my pocket.
My bank account from 2025 didn't exist here.
In the end, I dragged myself up like a zombie.
I showered, then pulled on a suit from the old wardrobe—one I couldn't even remember the last time I'd worn.
Apparently, I'd been much thinner eighteen years ago. The waistband hung awkwardly loose.
Everything felt unfamiliar.
I boarded Line 2 of the subway.
Instead of everyone staring at smartphones, people were reading sports newspapers or fiddling with the cords of their MP3 players.
I looked at my reflection in the window.
It was my face—yet it wasn't.
Smooth skin without a single fine wrinkle. A young man whose blank expression looked free of any real worries.
That was me.
And inside his body was the forty-nine-year-old version of myself.
"…."
A hollow laugh slipped out.
After a hellish commute, I stood in front of the office on the third floor of an old commercial building in Bangbae-dong.
Jeongin Structural Engineering.
A name synonymous with nightmares for me.
I took a deep breath and opened the door.
As if they'd been waiting, a shout flew straight at me.
"Park Cheolmin! Do you even know what time it is?! Don't you own a watch?!"
A man with greasy pomaded hair and a luxury tie stretched over his protruding belly.
Even after eighteen years, that punchable face hadn't changed.
President Kim.
"What about the 'A Electronics new headquarters' project I told you to review yesterday? We have to submit the basic design proposal today!"
The moment his booming voice hit my ears, something inside my head snapped.
"…A Electronics?"
The name that came out of his mouth jammed itself into my mind like a rusted key, forcing open a warehouse of sealed memories.
My vision spun, and a strange scene swept past me like a panorama.
"…Ultimately, A Electronics has entered the process of delisting. Unable to overcome reckless expansion and allegations of technology leaks—"
It was a memory from 2010: me in this same tiny studio, drinking canned beer after work while watching the nine o'clock news.
Back then, I had a lot of money invested in A Electronics.
In my mid-thirties, desperately trying to escape this miserable salaried life, I'd thrown in everything I had.
My hope.
And the despair of watching that hope turn into worthless scraps of paper.
"…Right. That's how it was."
I remembered it clearly.
A Electronics had once drawn attention with flashy new technology, only to completely collapse three years later due to reckless investments and the leakage of core technologies.
And now, in 2007, President Kim was trying to stake our company's entire future on that very project.
"Assistant Manager Park, why are you spacing out? A Electronics asked us to send our portfolio and a rough structural concept by today!"
President Kim tapped his desk impatiently.
I slowly lifted my head.
Eighteen years ago, I would've been trembling, shouting, "Yes, sir! I'll take care of it right away!"
But not now.
The confusion over whether this was a curse or a blessing tilted decisively in one direction.
This wasn't a curse.
It was an opportunity.
That fragment of memory wasn't just a recollection of the past.
It was the future itself.
President Kim…
I muttered inwardly.
You're finished.
Unaware of the subtle change in my expression, President Kim clicked his tongue and returned to his seat.
"Tch. Always so scatterbrained…"
I didn't respond.
Instead, I returned to my desk and turned on the old computer.
This boot-up speed is driving me insane…
While waiting for the painfully slow startup, I began forming a plan in my head.
First: stop the A Electronics project.
No—don't stop it outright. Make it so our company naturally gets dropped from consideration.
Second: sell all my A Electronics stock.
That would be the bare minimum seed money I needed to escape this hellish company life.
Something hot began to boil inside my chest.
Eighteen years filled with regret and despair.
The chance to be compensated for all that time was right in front of me.
Alright. This is the beginning.
The Windows XP desktop—its endless blue meadow—finally appeared.
Slow as it was, to me it was more powerful than any supercomputer in the world.
The first thing I did was log into my securities firm's HTS (Home Trading System).
An outdated program with a clunky, hideous UI—rarely used now. Thankfully, I vaguely remembered my ID and password. Human memory was funny like that; things long forgotten surfaced easily in the right moment.
Once logged in, the pitiful reality of my account appeared.
[Available Cash: 32,450 won]
[Total Evaluation Value: 4,567,800 won]
I let out a dry laugh.
So at thirty-one, my entire net worth was barely 4.6 million won.
And yet with this money, I'd eventually buy a house, a car, get married, and raise a child. Suddenly, my 2025 self felt oddly admirable.
I checked my holdings.
[A Electronics: 300 shares | P/L: +1,230,000 won]
[B Precision: 50 shares | P/L: -45,000 won]
[C Bio: 100 shares | P/L: -178,000 won]
A Electronics, with a return nearing 40%, was singlehandedly dragging this pathetic account forward.
Eighteen years ago, I would've been thrilled seeing those red numbers.
But now I knew.
They were a mirage—soon to fade into sickly blue, then vanish into gray ash.
There was no need to hesitate.
I moved the cursor over A Electronics, entered 300 shares, and clicked Market Sell without a second thought.
[Sell order successfully executed.]
In an instant, the shares were gone, and over four million won appeared in cash in my account.
My heart beat pleasantly fast.
The first step toward changing the future.
The first success in correcting a past mistake with my own hands.
This money is the seed of my new life.
Next came the second plan.
I launched the CAD program. As a tiny firm, Jeongin Structural Engineering obviously didn't have the latest software. The outdated CAD felt awkward—yet familiar—after eighteen years.
President Kim's order: Basic design proposal for A Electronics' new headquarters.
Of course, I had no intention of doing it properly.
But I couldn't just copy and paste nonsense either. I needed to fool President Kim while making the client think, This firm is incompetent.
So I deliberately applied the most inefficient structural calculation methods.
Safe—but requiring obscene amounts of materials and dragging construction time into eternity.
In short, I was creating a "safe but garbage design."
Just as I was deeply immersed in this so-called artistic endeavor—
"Assistant Manager Park, what are you working on?"
Assistant Manager Lee Eunju, who had joined just a year ago, approached with a cup of coffee.
"Oh, this? It's for the A Electronics project."
"Wow, if we land this, it'll be huge for the company, right? I use an A Electronics phone—the design is so pretty…"
Her face was filled with innocent excitement.
Eighteen years ago, I would've eagerly agreed.
"Yeah, if this goes well, maybe we'll even get bonuses."
But now, I knew the dark future that awaited behind her hopeful smile.
I gave a faint smile and said,
"Well… big projects tend to come with big problems."
"…What?"
"Oh, nothing. No need to celebrate before it happens."
She tilted her head, puzzled.
I didn't respond further and fixed my gaze on the monitor.
On the screen, my first act of revenge—my first creation—was slowly taking shape.
This wasn't just about screwing over President Kim.
It was a declaration of war.
From forty-nine-year-old Park Cheolmin
to the incompetent, timid, regret-filled thirty-one-year-old Park Cheolmin.
Just watch.
I'll show you how I live this life.
And so, I began drafting the blueprint for my second life.