The rain fell like needles against the pavement.
Seo-joon stood under the flickering light outside a convenience store, his cheap uniform damp and clinging to his skin. His shift had ended an hour ago, but he hadn't gone home yet.
There wasn't much waiting for him there anyway.
He stared down at his phone. The screen was cracked, the battery barely holding on—just like everything else in his life.
"I think we should stop seeing each other."
The message still sat there, unread in his notifications, even though he had already read it a dozen times.
He let out a dry laugh.
"Of course."
Three years. Gone with a single text.
No explanation. No closure. Just… gone.
He slipped the phone back into his pocket and leaned against the wall. Around him, Seoul buzzed with life—cars passing, neon lights glowing, people laughing.
But none of it belonged to him.
At twenty-five, Seo-joon had nothing.
A dead-end job as a night security guard.No savings.No connections.No future.
Even the one thing he thought he had—someone who stayed—was gone.
"…Pathetic."
He pushed himself off the wall and started walking, hands in his pockets. The rain soaked through his shoes with every step, cold seeping into his bones.
He didn't care.
His mind wandered, drifting like it always did.
If I just had money…
That was always the answer.
He wasn't stupid. He understood business. He followed the stock market. He knew trends, investments, strategies—things that could've made him rich.
But knowledge meant nothing without capital.
Without money, he was just another nobody with ideas.
A man who knew how to win… but never had the chance to play.
He stopped at a crosswalk, the red light glowing through the rain.
Cars sped past, tires hissing against the wet road.
His reflection stared back at him from a puddle—tired eyes, unshaven face, a man worn down by life.
"Is this really it…?"
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
No one answered.
The light turned green.
Seo-joon stepped forward.
That's when it happened.
A blinding flash of headlights.
A horn—loud, desperate—
And then—
Impact.
Darkness.
At first, there was nothing.
No pain.No sound.No thought.
Just… emptiness.
Then—
A smell.
Rotten. Damp. Suffocating.
Seo-joon's eyes snapped open.
"…Huh?"
The first thing he felt was pain.
Not sharp—dull, heavy, like his entire body had been beaten and left to rot.
His vision blurred as he pushed himself up, coughing violently.
"Where…?"
His voice came out hoarse, weak.
This wasn't a hospital.
This wasn't even a room.
He was lying on dirt.
Cold, uneven dirt.
Around him were broken wooden planks, scraps of cloth, and walls that barely held together. The air was thick with the stench of decay and poverty.
His heart started to race.
"…What the hell is this?"
He looked down at himself.
The uniform was gone.
In its place were ragged clothes—thin, dirty, and torn.
His hands trembled.
Different.
Thinner. Rougher. Covered in small cuts and grime.
A chill ran down his spine.
"This isn't… right."
He scrambled to his feet, nearly collapsing as dizziness hit him. His legs felt weak, unfamiliar, like they didn't belong to him.
Outside, voices echoed.
Low. Rough. Speaking a language he understood… but not quite the same.
He stumbled toward the entrance and pushed aside the hanging cloth.
The world outside froze him in place.
No neon lights.
No cars.
No skyscrapers.
Instead—
Narrow dirt roads.People in worn hanbok.Wooden buildings stretching into the distance.
Smoke curled into the gray sky.
Seo-joon's breath hitched.
"…No way."
His mind tried to reject it. To rationalize. To make sense of it.
But deep down, he already knew.
This wasn't Seoul.
This wasn't his world.
"…Joseon…?"
The word slipped out like a whisper.
As if confirming it, a group of men passed by—talking about taxes, officials, and grain shortages.
Joseon Dynasty.
Not a dream.
Not a hallucination.
Reality.
His knees buckled.
"…You've got to be kidding me…"
He laughed—once, twice—before it broke into something closer to despair.
He had nothing in his old life.
And now?
He had less than nothing.
No identity.No money.No safety.
Just a broken body in a world that would chew him up and spit him out.
"…So this is how it ends."
His stomach growled violently, snapping him out of it.
Hunger.
Sharp. Immediate. Painful.
He hadn't felt hunger like this in years.
It clawed at him from the inside, reminding him of one simple truth:
He was going to die here.
Slowly.
Pathetically.
Forgotten.
Seo-joon clenched his fists.
"…No."
The word came out low, shaky.
But real.
"No… I'm not dying like this."
Not here.
Not after everything.
If this was really Joseon—
Then things were different.
Opportunities were different.
Power worked differently.
And knowledge…
His eyes sharpened slightly.
"…I still have that."
Even without money, he had something no one else in this world did.
Modern knowledge.
Business sense.
Understanding of value.
"…If I survive…"
The thought barely formed before his stomach twisted again.
Reality hit him hard.
Survival came first.
He needed food.
Water.
Anything.
He staggered forward, stepping into the unfamiliar world.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
His vision blurred.
His breathing slowed.
"…Just… a little more…"
But his body had already reached its limit.
The last thing he saw—
Was the dark entrance of a cave, hidden behind overgrown bushes at the edge of the slums.
Something about it pulled at him.
Like a whisper.
Like fate.
"…There…"
He took one step.
Then another.
And collapsed.
Inside the cave…
Something waited.
Buried in the dirt.
Silent.
Ancient.
A pot.