The red X slashed across the calendar filled me with a strange mix of liberation and crushing responsibility.
A clean break from the past.
Easy words to say—but the consequences of that choice were mine alone to bear.
From that day on, I consciously avoided thinking about my wife and Seoyoon.
As if they had never existed in my life to begin with.
Only by doing that, I felt, could I keep my resolve from wavering.
A week had passed since I quit my job.
The sense of freedom didn't last three days.
Waking up every morning without an alarm soon turned into a dull emptiness.
Every day, I clocked in at the library instead.
In the mornings, I pored over economic newspapers, tracking how far the fallout from the subprime mortgage crisis was spreading and how the domestic stock market was reacting.
In the afternoons, I wrestled with books on real estate.
My fragmented memories alone weren't enough. I needed to understand the exact regulations and policies of 2007—otherwise I'd end up making airy, reckless mistakes later.
But when night came, loneliness inevitably followed.
The empty studio apartment.
The only sound breaking the silence was the hum of the old refrigerator.
Sometimes I turned on the TV, but the slang and unfamiliar celebrities from eighteen years ago only made me feel more like an outsider.
That was when it happened.
With a loud ringtone, the slide phone on my desk vibrated.
Caller: Kim Dongcheol.
My best friend since high school—the only person I could truly call a close friend.
I hesitated for a moment, then pressed the call button.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Park Cheolmin! Did you ever 연락 the woman I introduced you to last week or what?"
The moment I answered, Dongcheol's booming voice slammed into my ear.
This guy hadn't changed one bit.
"Ah… about that. I've been busy."
"Busy my ass! Didn't you say work's light for you these days? Hey, she said you came off like a total old man. What the hell did you do to get that reaction?"
Ah. Right.
I'd forgotten.
Before regressing, I had been going on blind dates nonstop, worn down by this guy's nagging.
The woman was an elementary school teacher. Kind, decent—
but to the me who had returned from the future, she was nothing more than a complete stranger.
"..."
"Look at this bastard—nothing to say again, huh? Man, I got seriously embarrassed. There's no one decent left around me anymore. I don't even have anyone to introduce you to now!"
Dongcheol continued his sigh-filled rant.
Eighteen years ago, I would've felt guilty and frustrated.
But now, I was almost relieved.
It meant I wouldn't have to go on forced blind dates anymore.
"Yeah, sorry. You don't have to look anymore."
My easy acceptance caught him off guard.
"What? Hey—are you seriously not getting married?"
"I mean… I'll handle it myself. I've thought it through."
"Thought through my ass! You'll die alone if you keep this up! Anyway—just one more time. One last time."
Persistent as ever.
"I said no…"
"No, listen! This one's really it. My last card. If you ditch her too, I'm done. Got it?"
In the end, the call only ended after I was dragged into another blind date appointment.
Saturday afternoon.
I stood blankly in front of my open wardrobe.
The clothes thirty-one-year-old me used to wear were either painfully outdated or completely incompatible with the sensibilities of my forty-nine-year-old mind.
I never wanted to hear the word "ajusshi" again.
That was a matter of pride.
Even if a forty-nine-year-old soul was trapped inside a thirty-one-year-old body, I refused to look the part too.
In the end, I pulled out the shirt and chinos I'd splurged on a few days earlier with the money from selling my A Electronics shares.
They were fashionable for the time—not too tight, not too baggy.
Standing in front of the mirror, I looked… decent.
My shoulders looked broader. My legs, longer.
At the very least, I'd avoid being called an old man.
I awkwardly styled my hair too. Hair wax in 2007 was sticky and smelled awful.
The meeting place was Sinchon.
As I exited the subway station, the vivid air of 2007 wrapped around me.
Big Bang's "Lies" blasted nonstop from street speakers, and outdated slang like "wanso" and "ansup" floated through the crowd.
A street overflowing with youthful energy.
I arrived ten minutes early and waited near the massive clock tower in front of Sinchon Hyundai Department Store, killing time by watching people pass.
According to Dongcheol, this woman worked in the executive secretariat of his company.
The executive office.
For some reason, a small spark of anticipation flared up.
At the same time, I made a promise to myself.
This is really the last time. After this, stop forcing connections.
Soon, right on time, I saw a woman walking toward the clock tower.
Even in the crowd, she seemed to shine.
She was tall.
Even accounting for her heels, she looked to be at least in the upper 160s.
A slender figure wrapped in a flowing chiffon dress.
Each flutter of her skirt in the breeze tickled my heart.
Pass.
No—more than pass.
I had a few firm rules when it came to women.
First: height.
Second: skin.
Those were non-negotiable.
She'd cleared the first hurdle easily—beyond expectations.
Smiling slightly, I walked toward her.
As the distance closed, her facial features came into focus.
Oh?
I couldn't help the silent exclamation.
Her face was flawless.
An oval shape, delicate features perfectly arranged.
Especially her slightly drooping eyes and full lips—she looked uncannily like Sung Yuri, once the ultimate male fantasy in Korea.
My heart began to beat pleasantly.
Kim Dongcheol, you son of a bitch—
you finally did something right.
I stepped right in front of her and spoke.
"Um, excuse me—"
She turned toward me with a bright smile.
And in that instant, I froze.
Her skin, revealed under the sunlight.
The features were absolutely Sung Yuri's.
But the skin covering that face…
It was like Park Ji-sung's at his peak—
the oxygen tank who ran the field for ninety minutes straight.
Uneven texture. Enlarged pores. Roughness that makeup couldn't fully hide.
The heart that had been pounding moments ago went cold, as if doused with ice water.
Was this what it felt like to fall from heaven straight into hell?
Hah…
I let out a deep sigh inwardly.
Second hurdle.
Failed—
in the worst possible way.
A siren blared in my head, announcing the inevitable end of this blind date.
That bastard Dongcheol definitely introduced her based on photos alone.
At this point, wasn't this fraud?
"Yes, you're Park Cheolmin-ssi, right? Hello, I'm Kim Minji."
Clueless to my inner turmoil, she smiled brightly and extended her hand.
Her voice was clear and pretty—just like her face.
In a split second, countless thoughts ran through my head.
Should I just turn around and run?
No—that wouldn't be fair to Dongcheol.
Didn't he say this was his last card?
At least have one cup of coffee. That way I'd get cursed at a little less later.
I forced a smile and took her hand.
"Yes. Park Cheolmin. Nice to meet you."
"It's really hot today, isn't it? Have you been waiting long?"
"No, I just got here."
The mid-August sun felt like it would burn my skin.
A perfect excuse.
"It's way too hot—should we go somewhere cool? I know a decent café nearby."
"Yes, sounds good!"
She nodded enthusiastically.
I led her to a nearby franchise café—one that was hugely popular back in 2007.
Cold air poured out from the air conditioner. The place was packed.
We barely found seats by the window.
I ordered an iced Americano; she got a caramel macchiato.
The sweet caramel scent tickled my nose.
"I've heard a lot about you from Dongcheol-ssi. He said you're really diligent and a good person."
She spoke first.
I tried to keep my eyes away from her skin and focus on her Sung Yuri-like eyes, nose, and lips.
But once a flaw catches your eye, it keeps pulling your gaze like a magnet.
If only her skin were better…
Swallowing the sigh, I replied,
"Oh, I see. I've heard a lot about you too. He said you're very pretty."
"Oh no, not at all."
She waved her hand shyly, though the corners of her lips lifted slightly.
No woman dislikes compliments.
But my praise was only half sincere.
I couldn't bring myself to say "only your face."
We chatted about trivial things—hobbies, weekends, favorite movies.
She was brighter and more pleasant than I'd expected.
Good reactions. A warm laugh.
If her skin had been smooth like porcelain, I might've fallen for her right then and there.
But my eyes kept drifting back to what I didn't want to see.
I felt guilty for my shallow gaze—yet frustrated by instincts I couldn't override.
A second life didn't mean my fundamental preferences magically changed.
About an hour later.
The awkward but friendly conversation was winding down, and I was preparing to leave.
I'd send Dongcheol a textbook response: "She's a good person, but we didn't quite click."
Then—
"Cheolmin-ssi, your skin is really nice. Do you get special treatments or something?"
Kim Minji asked, looking at me with genuine envy.
Her innocent question struck straight at my core.
I was momentarily speechless.
My skin wasn't good—it was just average for a thirty-one-year-old man.
It only looked good because hers was so bad.
I laughed awkwardly.
"No, not at all. I just use lotion."
"Wow, I'm jealous. I had terrible acne growing up… and the scars just stayed like this."
She said it casually, but her voice carried a deep-seated complex.
I studied her face again.
And then—
another memory flashed through my mind.
Around 2015.
My wife had undergone an expensive laser procedure called Fraxel at a dermatology clinic.
Back then, it was also called skin resurfacing—a revolutionary treatment that stripped and regenerated the skin.
She'd said,
"Honey, there's nothing money can't fix these days. Even skin—you buy it with money."
Right.
Money.
With enough money, her skin could be changed.
In a few years, once I made enough, I could take her to the best clinic for the best treatments.
Thinking that way, her biggest flaw no longer felt like a flaw.
It felt like a problem I could solve.
Should I just try dating her?
A terrifyingly materialistic thought took over.
Good personality. Pretty face. Great figure.
The one issue—skin—could be fixed with future money.
Wasn't that… perfect?
But another thought rose up immediately.
No. This isn't right.
This wasn't love.
It was like buying a broken doll with plans to fix it later.
It was deception.
What if I looked for something more natural instead?
I remembered advice from a previous matchmaker.
"Don't force it. Why not join a club or something? A lot of office workers are learning swing dance these days…"
Right.
A swing dance club.
If my memory was right, it was a huge trend in 2007.
There, maybe I could meet someone naturally—
dancing, sweating, without calculations.
Someone completely new.
I stared at Kim Minji, lost in thought.
Choose the reality I could fix with money?
Or chase the romance of an uncertain new encounter?
Once again, my second life stood at a massive crossroads.