The first thing Tae-Hyun felt was warmth.
A soft ray of sunlight, filtered through thin curtains, kissed his face, stirring him from a heavy sleep. His lashes fluttered, and he turned his head into the pillow instinctively, breathing in the scent of linen — oddly clean, untouched by the stench of cheap cigarettes and stale alcohol that had become so familiar in his later years.
He sat up with a start, heart hammering against his ribs.
Where...?
The room was small, neatly kept. A shelf stacked with colorful children's books stood against the wall. Crayon drawings were pinned crookedly on a corkboard. His gaze darted around wildly, confusion clawing at him. He swung his legs off the bed, feet landing on a soft rug embroidered with cartoonish animals.
Everything was wrong.
His hands trembled as he raised them to his face. Small. Smooth. No scars. No tattoos. No sign of the rough life he had carved for himself with blood and grit.
For a long, frozen moment, Tae-Hyun simply stared, the world tilting beneath him.
And then the realization hit him like a punch to the gut.
This was... his room. His old room.
The one he had not seen in thirty-six years.
On shaky legs, he stumbled toward the desk near the window. A familiar object caught his eye — an old red calendar featuring cartoon tigers, faded around the edges. With a trembling hand, he flipped to the current month.
There it was, printed in bold, blocky numbers: March 1989.
He gripped the edge of the desk to steady himself.
Thirty-six years ago.
He was back before the accident. Back before the betrayals and the endless downward spiral that destroyed everything he had once loved.
The realization was too massive to fit into a single thought. It came in crashing waves:
Father... alive.
Mother... smiling.
DoHyun... still running around, innocent and trusting.
Tae-Hyun squeezed his eyes shut, the emotions swelling, drowning him. But when he opened them again, something colder had settled behind his gaze.
He had time now.
Time to rewrite fate itself.
The floodgates broke without warning.
Tae-Hyun collapsed onto the floor, a silent sob ripping from his chest. He buried his face into his small, childish hands and wept — for the years lost, for the family torn apart, for the boy who had once been so full of hope.
He grieved for himself. For all the things he had never been able to protect.
He could almost see them — his mother's soft smile as she called him for dinner, his father's warm chuckle rumbling from the living room, DoHyun's little fingers tugging at his shirt asking for another bedtime story.
The pain of it was unbearable.
But somewhere within that storm of grief, a steel wire pulled taut. Rage. Resolve. Purpose.
He scrubbed his cheeks dry with the sleeve of his pajamas and stood, swaying slightly but upright.
"I won't make the same mistakes again," he whispered to the empty room, voice raw and fierce.
"I will tear apart anyone who dares threaten my family."
And for the first time in a long, long while, Tae-Hyun felt truly alive.
He forced himself to think logically, ruthlessly. Strategy first, emotions second.
He sat cross-legged on the floor, mapping it out in his mind.
First, information.
He knew which relatives would smile to his face and stab him behind his back.
He remembered the markets that would boom and crash. The companies that would rise and fall.
Knowledge.
That was his weapon.
At six years old, he couldn't act too obviously. No one would take a child seriously. But he could plant seeds. Seeds that would grow into an empire no one could topple.
His first objective was simple yet vital: build power quietly. Protect his family before the wolves even realized he was a threat.
Tae-Hyun's fingers dug into the soft carpet.
This time, the game was his to win.