The mascot floated in place, arms crossed proudly, as if it had just delivered the most reasonable explanation in the world.
"Now then," it said, its tone shifting slightly. "Before you misunderstand, let me clarify a few important things."
Min-jae stayed silent, his eyes fixed on the little mascot hovering in front of him.
"I or rather, the system—won't give you free handouts. This won't be like the novels or anime you've seen where you suddenly gain everything. If that were the case, wouldn't the one sponsoring you lose all the fun?" it said seriously.
"…Figures. Wait. I thought it was because of my past kind deeds that I was able to come back. What sponsor?" Min-jae asked.
"Of course that alone isn't enough," the mascot replied smoothly, smug as if it were discussing the weather. "Your sponsor took interest in you and graciously allowed you to return to this point in time. Naturally, I was included as well."
"But enough of that for now," it paused before continuing.
"You will grow only through effort. Your body, skills, and mentality will change according to realistic limits. If you slack off, progress will slow. If you overdo it, you will break."
The screen flickered again, briefly displaying faint outlines,numbers too blurred to read.
"Your current physical condition," the mascot said bluntly, "is… unfavorable."
Min-jae looked down at himself again.
Heavy shoulders. A rounded stomach. A body that felt sluggish even when standing still.
"In this state," the mascot added, almost kindly, "idol-level training would result in injury within minutes."
Min-jae exhaled slowly.
"So I really am starting from the bottom," he said.
"Yes," the mascot replied. "Lower than the bottom you remember."
That stung more than he expected.
"This version of you gave up earlier than you did in your previous life," the mascot continued. "So he left you to deal with this mess, since you both share the same goal."
"What? Becoming an idol or something?" Min-jae asked.
"No. Family," the mascot said simply.
Min-jae clenched his fists.
We do have the same goal.
Since he gave me his life, I'll do what he wanted.
His thoughts drifted to his past, his family, his regrets.
Before he could sink further—
"Oppa!"
A voice rang out from beyond the door.
Min-jae stiffened.
Footsteps approached, quick and light.
"We're eating already!" a girl called out. "Mom said to stop sleeping all day and come down!"
The doorknob rattled.
His heart skipped.
"…My sister," he whispered.
The door opened slightly, and a young girl peeked inside.
She looked about fourteen. Long hair tied loosely behind her head, her school uniform cardigan half-buttoned. Her eyes were sharp,too sharp to miss anything.
She froze.
"…Why are you staring like that?" she asked.
Min-jae stared back.
The same annoyed expression she used to make when she was alive and healthy.
"Kang Min-seo," he said without thinking.
She frowned. "What? Are you sick or something?"
He swallowed. "No. I'm coming down."
She eyed him suspiciously, her gaze flicking to the messy room. "You better. Dad's already home, and hyung's waiting."
Hyung.
His older brother.
She turned to leave, then paused.
"And wash your face. You look gross."
The door shut.
Silence returned.
Min-jae stood there, unmoving.
A family he hadn't seen in years.
"…They're alive," he murmured.
He washed his face, changed his shirt, and headed downstairs. His parents' house was modest at best. They weren't financially wealthy—but it was a happy home.
Kang Min-jae descended the stairs slowly.
The smell of food reached him first—warm rice, soup, something fried.
The dining table came into view.
His father sat at the head of the table.
Kang Hyun-soo ate in silence, his back straight, movements measured. His hair was thinning slightly at the temples, glasses resting low on his nose as he checked his phone between bites. He didn't look up often, but when he did, his eyes flicked around the room out of habit—checking, counting, making sure everyone was there. A man who rarely spoke his worries, but carried them anyway.
Across from him was his mother.
Lee Sun-young moved between the table and the kitchen, setting down side dishes, adjusting placements that didn't need fixing. Fine lines rested at the corners of her eyes, earned from years of smiling and worrying in equal measure. His older brother was already eating.
Kang Min-ho leaned back in his chair, sleeves rolled up, posture relaxed but confident. His expression was calm, almost bored—the look of someone who knew exactly where he stood in the world. He spoke easily with their father, voice steady, occasionally checking his phone. Messages from work, no doubt. The kind of person who always seemed to be moving forward, even while sitting still.
Then—
"Oppa! You're late!"
His younger sister, Kang Min-seo, sat with one knee tucked onto her chair, chopsticks in hand. Her hair was tied messily, eyes sharp and bright. She glanced at him, frowned briefly, then shrugged like she didn't care.
But her gaze lingered longer than she probably intended.