Ugh… my head feels like it's about to split open.
I woke up to a throbbing headache.
The yellowed wallpaper on the ceiling spun slowly above me, as if I'd turned into a giant top.
My whole body was damp with sweat, and my mouth tasted like the bottom of a sewer.
"Damn it…"
Groaning, I pushed myself upright.
The moment I did, a pain like a hammer blow slammed into the back of my head and shot straight through my brain.
It looked like I'd passed out half-collapsed on one side of the bed, still wearing the clothes from last night.
The stench of stale alcohol mixed with the greasy aroma of grilled gopchang rose from my body.
Fragments of last night drifted through my mind like a film with missing reels.
Chewy gopchang from the pojangmacha.
Empty soju bottles piling up.
Just how much had Jinwoo and I drunk?
The last thing I clearly remembered was Jinwoo staring at me, saying there was something strange about my eyes, pressing me for answers.
The eyes of someone who's been through it all.
At his sharp observation, what had I said?
Something about almost getting into a traffic accident… some flimsy lie like that, maybe.
Or worse—maybe, drunk out of my mind, I'd said something completely insane.
Actually, I'm from the future.
…No way.
There was no way I'd said something that crazy.
I clutched my splitting head and shook it.
No matter how drunk I'd been, I had to believe I'd kept at least that much sense.
Probably.
Though, honestly, there's nothing less trustworthy than a drunk man's probably.
Cold sweat ran down my spine.
I staggered to my feet and opened the refrigerator.
I gulped down a glass of cold water in one go, and only then did the burning thirst ease a little.
That was when it happened.
With a loud ringtone, the slide phone I'd tossed onto the floor began to vibrate.
Caller ID: Lee Jinwoo (Dotori).
I flinched and hesitated.
Was he calling to interrogate me about my drunken rambling last night?
Swallowing hard, I pressed the call button with a trembling hand.
"H-hello?"
"Hey, Park Cheolmin! You awake? What's with that voice? You're still half drunk, aren't you?"
Jinwoo's voice on the other end was surprisingly normal—
loud, energetic, not a trace of a hangover.
"Uh… just got up. Thanks to you, buddy."
"You okay? You totally passed out last night. I barely managed to shove you into a taxi. Looks like you made it home, though."
"You did? Ah… my memory's kind of—"
"Memory, my ass. We killed four bottles of soju between the two of us. If you did remember, that'd be weird. I almost died this morning too—my wife gave me a solid backhand and said, 'You're a father now, get it together.'"
Jinwoo burst out laughing.
Thankfully, he didn't seem to care at all about my strange behavior last night.
To him, it was probably just ordinary drunken nonsense.
"Anyway, you get some haejang yet?"
"Not yet. Was about to."
"Come out. I know a killer sundae-guk place. We'll sweat all that booze right out of you."
His offer was way too tempting to refuse.
Better than lying around suffering alone, I figured—it'd be much better to sweat it out over some hot soup with him.
He was the first friend I'd made since regressing. I didn't want to lose this connection.
After a brief hesitation, I answered.
"Alright. Where do I go?"
And so, clutching my pounding head, I left my apartment to eat hangover soup with a friend—for the first time in my life.
The sundae-guk place Jinwoo recommended was tucked away in a quiet alley near Sillim Station.
A shabby sign and a worn-down exterior.
The peeling letters reading Original Grandma's Sundae-guk spoke of decades of history.
Just one look told you this was a real hole-in-the-wall gem.
When I stepped inside, Jinwoo was already seated, waving at me.
The alcohol from last night was nowhere to be seen—he looked perfectly fine, reading a sports newspaper.
"Hey, over here! What's with you getting all dressed up just to eat hangover soup? Did you sleep in last night's clothes or what?"
He teased me, comparing his tracksuit to my shirt and slacks from yesterday.
"I don't exactly have spare clothes lying around," I replied with an awkward grin as I sat across from him.
The chair felt sticky, but in a place like this, that was normal.
Despite the early hour, the shop was packed with middle-aged men nursing their hangovers.
Everywhere I heard contented groans and the clinking of spoons.
The rich smell of pork bone broth filled the air.
Just the scent alone made my hangover feel half cured.
"Auntie! Two special sundae-guk! Extra head meat! And more kkakdugi!"
Jinwoo ordered like a regular.
Soon, bubbling earthenware bowls were set in front of us, boiling like miniature cauldrons.
Minced seasoning, perilla powder, and chopped scallions floated invitingly on the milky broth.
I scooped up the soup first.
"Khh…"
The moment the hot, rich liquid slid down my throat, it felt like my blood vessels expanded, clearing everything that had been clogged up inside.
The hangover melted away instantly.
"Good, right?" Jinwoo asked proudly.
I nodded silently. No argument there.
For a while, we buried our faces in our bowls, shoveling spoonfuls into our mouths without a word.
When the bowls were about half empty, Jinwoo suddenly spoke.
"Hey… about what you said yesterday."
"What about it?"
"You know—about your eyes being strange. About almost getting into a traffic accident. Was that for real?"
Here it comes.
I set my spoon down and looked at him.
There was no idle curiosity in his eyes—just genuine concern.
A twinge of guilt hit me.
This was my first friend since regressing, and I was already building our relationship on a lie.
But I had no choice. I couldn't exactly say, I'm from eighteen years in the future.
I began telling the story I'd prepared, as calmly as possible.
"It was a few days before I quit my job. I was crossing the street when a dump truck ran the red light and came straight at me."
"What? Are you serious?! Damn! Were you hurt?!"
Jinwoo's eyes went wide, like he was about to spit out his food.
I shook my head.
"It stopped right in front of me. I still remember the smell of burning tires and the driver screaming curses. I really thought I was going to die. My whole life flashed before my eyes."
I spoke vividly, but kept my emotions in check.
The experience and composure of my forty-nine-year-old self made the lie sound disturbingly convincing.
Jinwoo let out a long sigh.
"Man… that was close. Just think of it as bad luck being burned off."
"After that, I felt like something changed. The way I look at each day—it's different now. That's why I quit my job."
That was the core of my story.
My sudden change.
The eyes that looked older than they should.
All of it wrapped up neatly as the shock of brushing against death.
It was a pretty solid scenario.
Jinwoo seemed completely convinced.
He put his spoon down and looked at me seriously.
"So that's what it was… Now it makes sense."
"Makes sense how?"
"From the moment I first saw you yesterday, you felt different. Same age as me, but way more… grown-up. Like someone who's already transcended everything."
Transcended?
I smiled bitterly to myself.
Not transcended—just dragged eighteen years through time.
"They say people change after facing death. My uncle did too, after his stomach cancer surgery. Before that, he was a total miser who lived only for work. Afterward? Always traveling, always eating good food."
Jinwoo tried to understand me through his own experience.
His innocent trust made me feel guilty all over again.
"So you quit your job and came to learn swing dancing. Good call, man. Seriously. That was the right choice."
He gave my shoulder a firm pat.
"Life's short. You only live once—might as well do what you want. Does money feed you? Well, yeah, it does—but still! Anyway, I support you, buddy."
His encouragement was sincere.
I couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes.
Under the title of confession, I was lying to my friend.
"Thanks," I said quietly.
"So what now? You can't just dance forever. How are you gonna make a living?"
A practical question.
I hesitated, then answered.
"I'm thinking of resting for a bit… maybe trying some investing."
"Investing? Stocks?"
Suspicion and concern crossed Jinwoo's face.
In 2007, being a full-time investor was practically synonymous with gambling.
"Hey, that's dangerous. Stocks are scary. One of our department heads lost an entire apartment last year."
"I know. It's risky. But… I'm kind of confident."
I gave him a deliberately meaningful smile.
He couldn't possibly imagine that my confidence was based on knowledge of the future.
Jinwoo tilted his head.
"I don't know what that's about, but be careful. Don't come crying if you lose everything."
"Don't worry. I'll buy you a building someday."
At my joke, Jinwoo snorted.
"Bullshit. Worry about yourself first, buddy."
We finished the rest of the sundae-guk, trading dumb jokes back and forth.
By the time we stepped out of the restaurant, last night's hangover was completely gone.
"Damn, that hit the spot," Jinwoo said, patting his stomach.
"Thanks for the meal."
"You can get the next one. I gotta head home—weekend or not, my wife's stuck watching the kids."
He was already back in dad mode.
"Alright. Get home safe. See you next week."
"Yeah! And next time, stop stepping on people's feet!"
Jinwoo waved cheerfully as he headed toward the bus stop.
I stood there for a moment, watching his back.
The heavy shoulders of a family man.
Yet his steps were light, filled with anticipation of going home.
In him, I saw both my past self and my future self at the same time.
A friend…
It wasn't bad.
For the first time since regressing, I felt like I had someone on my side in this unfamiliar era.
I genuinely wished for his happiness.
Back in my studio apartment, I sat down at my desk and opened a notebook.
My conversation with Jinwoo had given me new motivation.
Investing.
It was time to stop dreaming and start acting.
I stared at the KOSPI index chart I'd clipped from the newspaper.
Mid-August.
The KOSPI was breaking record after record, racing toward the 2,000 mark.
Every media outlet and so-called expert was preaching a rosy future.
Moths rushing toward the light.
I sneered inwardly.
But then I remembered—eighteen years ago, I'd been one of those moths too.
I knew what came next.
After the fireworks ended, an unbearable darkness would fall.
The subprime mortgage crisis.
A small crack that began in the U.S. would soon turn into a massive sinkhole, swallowing the entire world.
With a black pen, I wrote bold, clear letters in my notebook.
[Crash in… D-?]
Soon, a time would come when everyone would panic and throw everything away.
That would be my time.
In the middle of that fear, I would grin greedily and scoop everything up—
like a hyena catching the scent of blood.
My first hunt was about to begin.