Chapter 1 – A Life Filled with Regret
Become the world's greatest cartoonist.
That had been my dream ever since I was a child.
My name is Johan Seo.
I was thirty-four years old.
I walked away from a secure career at a government corporation, where I had already risen to the position of department manager, and picked up a pen instead.
I had started far later than everyone else.
Because I was behind, I sacrificed sleep and worked relentlessly to catch up.
Eventually, I became a webtoon artist on Korea's largest webtoon platform, Blue House.
My action series, Violation Code, climbed to 7th place among Wednesday webtoons.
It was a success I achieved through countless sleepless nights and unwavering determination.
For the first time in my life...
I was truly happy.
Every compromise, every sacrifice, every dream I had buried deep inside—it finally felt worth it.
But that happiness didn't last.
***
"Mr. Johan Seo..."
The doctor's expression was grim.
"From this day forward... you'll never be able to properly use your hands again."
"...What?"
My world stopped.
Because I had become crippled.
***
Late at Night
My studio apartment was silent.
Empty energy drink cans.
Half-eaten sandwiches.
Discarded triangle kimbap wrappers.
Everything was scattered across my desk.
I sat in front of my Cintiq drawing tablet and forced myself to pick up my stylus.
My hands trembled violently.
Pain shot through both wrists, as though the bones themselves were splitting apart.
"...Ugh."
The moment I lowered the pen toward the screen—
Clack.
The stylus slipped from my fingers.
It bounced across the desk.
"...Damn it."
I bent down and picked it up again.
Once more...
My fingers shook.
Clack.
It fell again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
After several attempts, I finally managed to draw a single line.
It came out crooked.
Uneven.
Completely lifeless.
I leaned back in my chair and squeezed my throbbing wrist.
Every muscle in my body trembled.
My face burned from frustration.
Then...
"...AAAHHH!"
I exploded.
With one violent sweep of my arms—
CRASH!
The expensive Cintiq monitor I'd spent months saving for crashed onto the floor.
It rolled across the room, its cracked display flickering weakly.
I stumbled backward and collapsed onto my bed.
Staring blankly at the ceiling, I tried to clench my fists.
I couldn't.
Not even that.
"...Why me?"
The diagnosis echoed inside my head.
Kienböck's disease.
A rare condition where the lunate bone in the wrist slowly loses its blood supply and dies.
Mine had progressed so far that surgery couldn't save my hands.
The doctors didn't know the exact cause.
But they believed years of excessive drawing had destroyed my wrists.
"...Ha..."
I closed my eyes.
So this was the reward for finally chasing the dream I'd abandoned as a child.
Was this really all there was?
A bitter laugh escaped my lips.
"What a joke..."
Out of everyone...
I became the cripple.
If I'd lost a leg...
If I'd gone deaf...
I could have accepted it.
But why...
Why did it have to be my hands?
The very hands I'd dedicated my life to.
"...If this was how it was going to end..."
"...Then why did I live like this?"
The strength left my body.
My eyelids grew heavy.
Maybe it was exhaustion.
Maybe despair.
Or maybe it was the bottles of soju I'd emptied without thinking.
"...Shit..."
My breathing slowed.
My vision darkened.
And little by little...
My consciousness disappeared.
***
Darkness
Nothing.
No light.
No sound.
Only endless blackness.
Was this a dream?
Or death?
Then—
A voice.
Deep.
Neither male nor female.
"Why do you love comics so much?"
I remained silent for a moment.
Then I answered.
"...To explain that..."
"...I'd have to go back to middle school."
***
The darkness shattered.
A faded memory unfolded before me like an old film reel.
"Johan, Mom's leaving for work."
"I left some money on the table."
"Make sure you eat."
"Okay... have a good day."
My mother.
She looked much younger.
She placed a 5,000 won bill on the table before hurrying out the door.
She worked late every night at a small noodle restaurant, raising me by herself.
That money wasn't allowance.
It was my meal for the day.
Back then, 5,000 won could buy a decent lunch.
But I never spent it that way.
I'd buy the cheapest cup ramen for 1,000 won.
Then I'd take the remaining 4,000 won and walk five minutes to the neighborhood comic rental shop.
I think it was called The First Country.
The yellow door creaked open.
A cheerful bell rang overhead.
"Oh, Johan."
The elderly owner smiled warmly.
"The series you were reading?"
"I saved the newest volume for you."
"Really?"
"Of course."
New releases cost 500 won.
Older books cost 300 won.
With 4,000 won...
I could rent nearly ten comics.
I stuffed them into a black plastic bag and hurried home.
Cup ramen.
A pile of comics.
That was my paradise.
The moment I turned the first page...
An entirely different world opened before me.
Some days I sailed the seas as a pirate.
Other days I became a ninja.
Sometimes I traveled through space and colonized distant planets.
Those stories became the family I never had.
The friends I couldn't make.
The childhood I couldn't live.
And before I realized it...
I had a dream.
"I want to become a cartoonist."
Not just any cartoonist.
The best in the world.
Even my irresponsible father—
the man who abandoned us and whose face I barely remembered—
used to say,
"A man's dreams should always be as big as possible."
So I started drawing.
I copied the artwork of my favorite manga artists onto scraps of paper.
Margins of textbooks.
Anything I could find.
Months passed.
Eventually...
People noticed.
"Johan, you draw really well."
"Can you draw my girlfriend?"
"For free?"
"I'll buy you kimbap."
"...Deal."
Drawing became the first thing I'd ever been praised for.
It made me happy.
For the first time...
I had found something I was truly good at.
***
I grew up in poverty.
When I came home, cockroaches greeted me like roommates.
Whenever it rained, water poured through the ceiling.
But whenever I drew...
I could pretend.
Pretend that one day I'd become a famous cartoonist.
Pretend that a brighter future was waiting.
Unfortunately...
Dreams don't always survive reality.
"Johan..."
"Couldn't drawing just stay a hobby?"
That was my mother's answer.
When I looked at her swollen hands—
hands rough from washing dishes until late every night—
I couldn't bring myself to argue.
Back then, becoming a cartoonist meant living in poverty.
Was my dream really worth making my mother's life even harder?
No.
So I buried it.
I studied relentlessly.
Won scholarships.
Entered a national university.
Graduated.
Joined a stable public corporation.
A secure salary.
Reliable benefits.
Steady promotions.
A future everyone envied.
But...
I was empty.
My savings increased.
I rented a larger apartment.
I hosted friends.
Went on blind dates.
Lived what people called a successful life.
Yet every day, one thought haunted me.
"...Why does my life feel so lifeless?"
I existed.
I wasn't living.
Then one morning, during my subway commute...
I saw an article.
The Golden Age of Webtoons—Artists Now Earning Billions Through Blue House
The article talked about creators earning fortunes.
Animated adaptations.
Movies.
International awards.
Recognition across the world.
Most people probably scrolled past it.
I couldn't.
Because something inside me woke up.
My dream hadn't died.
I'd simply buried it.
Six months later...
At thirty-one...
I resigned.
Without even telling my mother.
I devoted everything to drawing.
Every day became ten.
Every month became a year.
Competitions.
Rejected manuscripts.
More revisions.
More sleepless nights.
I had to succeed before my savings disappeared.
I gambled my life on one dream.
Two years later...
I finally won.
Grand Prize — Blue House Webtoon Competition
Winner: Johan Seo
Violation Code
"I did it..."
My series earned serialization.
At that moment...
I believed I'd finally reclaimed the life I'd always wanted.
I bought books.
Filled my shelves with manga.
Met veteran artists.
Learned from everyone I admired.
Everything I'd missed during the previous decade—
I poured into my work.
Until...
My hands gave out.
"...You idiot."
If this was how everything ended...
Why hadn't I chased my dream sooner?
Why had I always chosen the safer road?
Why had I convinced myself there would always be another chance?
There were so many things I'd wanted to do.
Attend an arts high school.
Study at an art university.
Open my own studio.
Live without regrets.
Instead...
I buried every one of those dreams.
And now...
It was too late.
If only...
If only I had one more chance...
I would never live the same way again.
***
Click.
A mechanical sound echoed through the darkness.
Then—
"Johan."
"..."
"Johan Seo?"
Someone was calling me.
Again.
And again.
I didn't want to answer.
If I opened my eyes...
I'd only return to a life where I could never draw again.
I'd rather stay here forever.
But the voice grew louder.
"Johan Seo!"
My eyes flew open.
Light blinded me.
A familiar musty smell filled my nose.
My vision slowly focused.
"...Mom?"
Standing before me was my mother.
Alysa Seo.
She looked decades younger.
No wrinkles.
No gray hair.
Her back was straight.
Her face was full of life.
She looked as though she were still in her late thirties.
She sighed.
"Johan, you're worrying me."
"When someone calls you, answer."
"...S-Sorry, Mom."
"I was distracted."
She smiled faintly.
"I'm heading to work."
"Study hard."
"I left some money on the table."
"Make sure you eat."
"...Okay."
She closed the door behind her.
Click.
Silence.
I slowly turned my head.
Water stains covered the ceiling.
Yellowed wallpaper peeled from the walls.
The cramped semi-basement apartment.
The place where I had lived until my second year of high school.
"...No way."
I looked down at my younger hands.
My heart pounded.
"Did I..."
"...go back in time?"
Johan frowned as the impossible reality settled in.
His life had begun again.