The notice was posted early in the morning.
A single sheet of white paper pinned to the school bulletin board, half-covered by other announcements. A few students stopped to read it, then walked away. There was no crowd. No excitement.
I read the title twice.
Language & Out-of-City Study Program Limited Selection
It wasn't a university program.
It wasn't overseas.
Just a major port city.
Busan.
In my previous life, I had seen the same kind of notice. I remembered standing in the same place, reading the same words, then turning away with the same excuse I always used.
I'm not anyone special.
That excuse didn't come this time.
I sat at my desk all morning, my thoughts unsettled. Not because I was afraid of failing, but because I understood one thing clearly.
If I let this pass again,
I would return to the same path as before.
During break, my friend came over with a drink and set it down in front of me.
"You saw the notice?" he asked casually.
I nodded.
"Are you applying?"
The question was light. Almost joking.
In my previous life, I would have laughed and shaken my head.
This time, I answered quietly, "Yeah. I'm going to try."
He stopped drinking.
"Seriously?"
I nodded again.
There was no speech.
No burning resolve.
Just one small decision
I had never made before.
After school, I brought the application form home.
The paper was thin. The contents simple personal information, grades, and one small box asking for the reason for applying. That box stayed empty for a long time.
At the dinner table, my mother noticed the paper first.
"What's that?" she asked.
"A school program," I said. "In Busan."
She fell silent.
My father, who had been wiping his hands, stopped moving.
"Busan?" he repeated softly.
I nodded. "It's just a selection. I might not even pass."
My father stared at the paper for a long moment. Too long.
There was something on his face I couldn't fully understand a mix of fear and recognition held back.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
I took a breath.
In my previous life, I had never been sure of anything. I waited. I delayed.
"This time," I said quietly, "I want to try."
My father looked at me, then nodded once.
That was enough.
That night, I filled out the form with neat but simple handwriting.
In the box for my reason, I wrote only one sentence.
I want to study in a place wider than the one I grew up in.
I didn't mention talent.
I didn't mention big dreams.
Just the truth.
When I closed the folder, my chest felt lighter not because I believed I would succeed, but because I was no longer standing in the same place.
Regression hadn't given me the right answers.
It had given me one thing only.
A chance to choose differently.
And that night,
for the first time,
I chose.