Regret did not disappear with death.
It stayed.
In the last seconds of his life, Jim Mu had not thought about money, power, or the empires he built. He had thought about numbers. Equations. Decisions made in quiet rooms while the world still believed tomorrow existed.
So many points where he could have stopped.
So many warnings he could have listened to.
One formula abandoned.
One project delayed.
One decision different.
World War III might never have happened.
Billions of people might still be alive.
The weight of it pressed down on him even after the hands closed around his throat. Even after the bunker faded. Even after the pressure stopped.
It followed him into the darkness.
Then
Light.
A page turned somewhere nearby.
Jim Mu blinked.
The smell reached him first. Paper. Old paper. Dust that had been sitting undisturbed for years.
His eyes focused slowly.
Bookshelves.
Rows of them.
Students sat scattered between tables, heads lowered over notebooks. Pens scratched quietly. Someone coughed. Someone whispered.
Jim Mu didn't move.
The bunker was gone.
The concrete walls, the smoke, the poisoned ai, gone.
He stood inside a library.
For several seconds he simply stared.
His mind tried to make sense of it the only way it knew how.
Hallucination.
Neural misfire before death.
Residual consciousness constructing a memory.
His fingers touched the table beside him.
Smooth wood.
He pressed harder.
Solid.
He rubbed the surface again, slower this time, feeling every groove in the grain.
Too detailed.
Too consistent.
Not like a dream.
His breathing quickened.
He stood up suddenly and walked toward the exit.
Each step felt… wrong.
Too light.
His joints moved easily. No stiffness. No pain in the bones. No trembling muscles.
Outside the library doors, sunlight flooded the courtyard.
Bright. Warm. Clean.
Jim Mu stopped in the middle of the steps.
Air filled his lungs.
He froze.
The air didn't burn.
No metallic taste. No chemical sting. No ash.
Just air.
His heart began to pound.
He looked down at his hands.
Smooth skin.
No wrinkles.
No veins bulging through thin flesh.
Young.
Sixteen.
The thought formed slowly, like a crack spreading through glass.
Impossible.
Time travel violated causality.
Reversal of entropy at the macroscopic level required energy that exceeded planetary output.
There was no known physical mechanism that,
Something struck the back of his neck.
Not hard.
Just a playful tap.
"Hey."
Jim Mu turned.
A girl stood behind him, smiling.
Her hair was tied back loosely, strands falling over her forehead. Her eyes curved slightly when she smiled, like she was trying not to laugh.
For a moment Jim Mu only stared.
Then the recognition hit.
Hana.
Hana Park.
Memory rushed back like a broken dam.
They had been friends for twenty years.
Until the accident.
A car crash on a rainy highway when he was thirty-six.
She had never woken up.
Now she stood in front of him, alive, tilting her head slightly.
"You look like you saw a ghost," she said.
Her voice was exactly the same.
Light. Teasing.
Jim Mu let out a quiet breath that almost became a laugh.
Reality was playing a joke on him.
Hana crossed her arms and puffed her cheeks slightly.
"Don't tell me you forgot again," she said. "You've been studying like a machine for weeks. National exams are coming."
Jim Mu blinked.
She continued, wagging a finger at him.
"If you win district, then state, then national, you'll represent Korea in the Asian Science Competition. That's your dream, remember?"
The words hit him like falling stones.
Asian Science Competition.
Washington.
The stage where everything started.
In his first life, he had won district.
Then state.
Then national.
Then Asia.
He had traveled to Washington with five other students, two from China, one from India, and two from other Asian countries.
He finished second.
Second place had been enough.
Scholarships.
Research opportunities.
A path to America.
Citizenship.
Power.
Influence.
And eventually...
The technology that destroyed the world.
Jim Mu stared at Hana.
A strange smile formed on his face.
Was this some cruel loop?
Was the universe really sending him back to the exact road that led to catastrophe?
He almost laughed.
Maybe he had finally lost his mind.
A heavy hand suddenly thumped against his chest.
Hard.
Jim Mu stumbled half a step and looked up.
The boy standing in front of him was huge.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Thick arms folded confidently across his chest.
Min-jae.
The name appeared instantly in Jim Mu's memory.
Min-jae grinned down at him.
"Hey, genius," he said. "Don't forget our deal."
Jim Mu said nothing.
Min-jae leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"Exams are coming soon. Sit beside me again, okay?" he said. "You write your answers… I copy them."
He patted Jim Mu's shoulder heavily.
"Don't worry. Anyone who messes with you answers to me."
In their school hierarchy, that arrangement had worked perfectly.
Jim Mu provided answers.
Min-jae provided protection.
Small, quiet students like Jim Mu were easy targets for bullies.
But nobody touched the kid protected by the biggest bully in class.
Jim Mu looked between Hana and Min-jae.
Two people who had existed decades ago.
Two people who should not be here.
The courtyard.
The clean sky.
The weightless body.
His mind began spinning.
Something was wrong.
Something was terribly, impossibly wrong.
Without another word, Jim Mu turned and ran.
"Hey!" Hana called behind him.
"Oi! What's wrong with you?" Min-jae shouted.
Jim Mu didn't stop.
Behind him, the two of them watched in confusion.
"Did something happen to him?" Hana asked quietly.
Min-jae scratched his head.
"…No idea."