The rain poured down heavily, mad as hell, like the sky itself was pissed off at the world and unleashing its fury on the unsuspecting streets below. Puddles formed instant lakes, reflecting the neon lights of the city in distorted, shimmering patterns that looked like broken dreams. In the midst of this chaotic downpour, a young man sprinted through the night, his breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps. His name was Jimsoo Park, twenty-seven years old, but right now, he felt like a scared kid again, running from shadows that had haunted him for far too long.
"Shit, shit, why me?" Jimsoo muttered between heaving breaths, his sneakers splashing through the water, soaking his jeans up to the knees. The cold seeped into his bones, but it was nothing compared to the icy grip of fear clutching his heart. He didn't know who these unknown people were—gangsters, debt collectors, or just some random psychos—but they were relentless. Their footsteps echoed behind him, closer with every second, like a predator's growl growing louder in the dark.
He darted through the urban maze, weaving between parked cars and overflowing dumpsters, his mind racing faster than his legs. "Gotta lose 'em... gotta find a way out," he thought, panic fueling his adrenaline. Up ahead, a dark alleyway beckoned like a sinister invitation, narrow and shrouded in blackness. Without hesitation, he turned left, plunging into its depths. The walls closed in, graffiti-covered bricks whispering tales of past violences. The rain hammered louder here, amplified by the confined space, drowning out everything but his pounding heart.
But the pursuers were catching up. Jimsoo could hear their taunts now, cutting through the storm. "You can't run forever, you little prick!" one shouted, his voice rough and mocking. Jimsoo's legs burned, muscles screaming for mercy, but he pushed on. Then, disaster—a brick wall loomed at the end of the alley, unyielding and final. A dead end. "No... fuck no," Jimsoo whispered, skidding to a halt, his back slamming against the cold stone. He turned around, chest heaving, confronting the unknown people chasing him.
They emerged from the rain like ghosts materializing from mist—a group of gangsters, five in total, their faces twisted in cruel amusement. Leather jackets glistened with water, tattoos peeking from collars like warnings. Leading them was a man with a scar on his face, a jagged line from eye to jaw that spoke of battles won and enemies crushed. His eyes were dead, devoid of pity, fixed on Jimsoo like a hunter on prey.
"Well, well, well," the scarred man said, his voice a low rumble that sent chills down Jimsoo's spine. He stepped forward, rain dripping from his buzzed hair, a smirk playing on his lips. "Got nowhere to run now, kid. You're all out of options, trapped like a rat in a trap. How's that feel, huh? Scared yet?"
Jimsoo's body trembled, not just from the cold, but from the raw terror of facing death head-on. His mind flashed through his life—a string of failures, bad choices, and regrets that had led him here. He was no fighter, just a guy trying to scrape by, but now? Now he was cornered. "W-what do you want!" he shouted, his voice scared and trembling, cracking under the weight of impending doom. His hands shook as he raised them defensively, eyes wide with fear.
The scarred man laughed, a cold, heartless sound that echoed off the walls. His minions chuckled along, shifting their weight, eager for blood. "Well... I'm here to kill you," he said in a cold voice, flat and emotionless, like he was discussing the weather. There was no rage, no passion—just business. Deadly business.
Jimsoo's stomach dropped, bile rising in his throat. "Why? I don't even know you! Please, man, there must be some mistake!" he pleaded, his voice breaking, tears mixing with the rain on his cheeks. Desperation clawed at him, emotions swirling in a storm of fear, confusion, and a spark of anger. Why him? What had he done to deserve this?
The scarred man tilted his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Mistake? Nah, kid. You pissed off the wrong people. Debts, secrets—doesn't matter. Your time's up." He nodded to his minions, who closed in, daggers appearing in their hands like magic tricks from hell. The blades were wicked—serrated edges that could hurt people seriously, designed to tear flesh and leave scars that never healed.
The first guy lunged, a burly thug with a shaved head and a sneer. His dagger slashed through the air, aiming for Jimsoo's chest. Time slowed; Jimsoo's instincts kicked in. He dodged sideways, the blade grazing his arm, drawing a thin line of blood. "You missed, asshole!" Jimsoo yelled, adrenaline surging. He countered with a punch to the gut, his fist connecting with a satisfying thud. The guy curled like a ball, dropping to his knees in the puddle, clutching his stomach. "FUCK! I'll end you, little shit!" he gasped, his face red with rage and pain, spitting curses as he writhed. His emotions boiled over—humiliation mixing with fury, making him look pathetic in the rain.
But there was no time for victory. The two other guys closed in, eyes blazing with vengeance for their fallen comrade. "Get the bastard!" the second one snarled, his voice dripping with hate. He lunged with his dagger, faster, more precise. Jimsoo tried to react, twisting away, but he wasn't quick enough. The blade sank into his guts, a white-hot explosion of agony that made him scream. "Ahhh! You motherfucker!" Blood bloomed on his shirt, warm and sticky, mingling with the cold rain.
In pain, Jimsoo pushed the guy away, staggering back, one hand holding the injury in his gut. "Get off me!" he growled through gritted teeth, his vision blurring from the shock. The thug stumbled, laughing maniacally. "How's that feel, huh? Bleed out, you worm!" His triumph was short-lived as Jimsoo glared at him, a mix of defiance and despair in his eyes.
But then, a wave of dizziness hit Jimsoo like a freight train. The world tilted, colors fading to gray. "What... what's happening?" he slurred, legs buckling. He didn't know that it was poisoned—the dagger coated in some vile toxin that raced through his veins like fire. His knees hit the ground with a loud THUD, splashing water everywhere. Laughter rang out from the gangsters, mocking and victorious. "Sweet dreams, loser," the scarred man taunted, his cold voice the last thing Jimsoo heard as darkness claimed him.
Death's embrace was cold, empty... until it wasn't.
Jimsoo's eyes snapped open, and he jolted upright, gasping for air as if emerging from underwater. His heart raced, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool classroom air. Wait—classroom? He blinked rapidly, taking in the familiar sight: rows of desks, chalkboard scribbled with math equations, posters of historical figures staring down judgmentally. This was his high school, the same one he'd left behind ten years ago. The clock ticked lazily at 10:15 AM, sunlight filtering through the windows in cheerful beams that mocked his confusion.
"What the fuck...?" he whispered, rubbing his temples. The stab wound—it should be there, killing him—but his gut was fine, just the phantom ache of memory. His classmates, those acne-riddled teens he'd forgotten in the haze of adulthood, turned to stare. Laughter erupted like a dam breaking.
"Look, the loser woke up! Hahahahah!" Minho, the chubby class clown with a perpetual grin, pointed at him, slapping his desk in hysterics. His eyes sparkled with mischievous delight, the kind that fed on others' embarrassment. "Dude, you were out cold! Snoring like a pig—hilarious!"
Next to him, Sora, the flirty girl with pigtails and a skirt that pushed school rules, giggled uncontrollably. "It looks like he was dreaming something wild! Hahahahah! Probably about girls or some fantasy shit—oh wait, Jimsoo dreaming about girls? That's comedy gold!" She tossed her hair, her voice a mix of tease and hidden curiosity, her cheeks flushing as she leaned forward, enjoying the attention. Her role as the social butterfly was in full swing, emotions playful yet cutting.
The class joined in, whispers turning to roars. "Hey, Jimsoo, you okay? Or did you wet yourself?" another kid, Hyun-woo, chimed in, his tone half-joking, half-bullying, his face twisted in comedic exaggeration. Emotions ran high—amusement, cruelty, the pack mentality of high schoolers bonding over a shared target.
Jimsoo looked around, confused as hell. This wasn't right. He remembered dying, the alley, the poison. Was this heaven? Hell? A hallucination? Not in embarrassment but in pure confusion, he stood up shakily, ignoring the jeers. "Shut up," he muttered under his breath, but his voice lacked conviction. He headed out, the door creaking as he pushed through, the laughter fading behind him like echoes of a past life.
In the hallway, the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows. Students milled about, lockers slamming, chatter filling the air. As he headed to the bathroom, he met an old comrade along the way—Taehyun, his childhood friend, lanky with messy hair and a easygoing smile. "Yo, Jimsoo! Man, you bolted out of class like your ass was on fire. What's up? You look like shit—pale as a ghost. Bad dream or something?" Taehyun punched his arm lightly, his voice laced with brotherly concern and a dash of humor. His eyes searched Jimsoo's face, emotions genuine: worry mixed with loyalty, the kind of friend who'd have your back no matter what.
Jimsoo barely focused on him, his mind a tornado of questions. "Not now, Tae. Just... need a minute," he replied absently, brushing past. Taehyun frowned, hurt flickering across his features. "Alright, bro. But if you need to talk, I'm here. Don't be a stranger, yeah?" His role as the supportive sidekick shone through, even in rejection, his emotions raw and open.
Jimsoo pushed into the bathroom, the door swinging shut with a thud. The mirrors reflected a younger version of himself—seventeen, awkward, no lines of hardship yet etched on his face. He turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on his face, the shock grounding him momentarily. Droplets ran down his cheeks as memories crashed in: the rain, the scar-faced man, the dagger's bite, the poison's haze. "I died... in that alleyway, ten years in the future. How am I here? Time travel? Bullshit."
He gripped the sink, knuckles white, emotions churning—disbelief, fear, a glimmer of hope. "This can't be real. I must be dreaming... or dead." But the water felt too cold, the tiles too solid. Then, out of nowhere, a system window popped up in his vision, glowing blue and translucent, like something from a video game.
>"Congratulations! You have returned back ten years in the past. You're now bound by The Reputation System."<
Jimsoo stared at the popup window, confused as fuck. "What the hell is this? A prank? Hallucination?" He waved his hand through it, but it remained, insistent. His heart raced, a mix of terror and excitement bubbling up. This might be his second chance now—a do-over, a way to fix the messes that led to his death.
As the system window said he was bound to the system, he felt a surge of energy, like electricity coursing through his veins. Light filled him once again, warm and invigorating, chasing away the shadows of doubt. And now he will have the chances to turn his life around...