3. A Dreadful Meeting
Y unho stifles a hysterical laugh as he slips out of his car and assesses the world of his past, one unfolding now.
He skirts around the marketplace in his hometown, where the memories of his adolescence accumulate.
People still stroll the streets at night. Some are drinking, some dancing. Others are singing old country songs. Kids are playing Jegichagi instead of busying themselves on their iPads, using their feet to kick paper jegis into the air rather than tapping their fingers on fuzzy glass screens.
Threads of smoke waft amid the bitterly cold night, reminding Yunho of the incomparable street food stands he used to visit frequently with Wooju. This would be the perfect time to order himself a plate of soondae , but the longer Yunho lingers here, the more anxious he feels.
He whirls incessantly, his hands clutching his hair in distress. It’s like something is pounding against his head, urging him to wake up. It hurts—everything hurts so bad—and yet, somehow, it all feels nostalgically good, too.
Okay, calm down, Yunho. You either bumped your head really hard, or you’re dreaming, he tells himself.
He takes everything in again, starting with the magnolia trees, the gradually dissipating crowd as the clock hits midnight, and parents calling their kids back home. The kids, in turn, hide their little jegi in the green shrubs. It reminds Yunho of his childhood.
But he knows this is crazy. He’s going crazy.
“Excuse me.” He finally seeks a random stranger, a little girl in a pink dress with a piece of mandu in one hand. “You. What year is it?”
The little girl cocks her head, confused. “Why do you ask? Are you my dad’s friend or a stranger?”
“Huh?”
“My dad told me not to talk to strangers, so if you are a stranger?—”
“I’m your dad’s friend,” Yunho says quickly, kneeling down to the girl’s height, his hurried tone desperate for answers. “Now tell me, what month and year is it?”
“It’s the month the summer break ends,” the girl replies with a grin as bright as the pink petals falling around them. “August 17, 2014. It’s back to school tomorrow.”
August 17, 2014?
Yunho gulps, then forces out a snort.
“Ah, shit, I know what this is.” He springs up, his laughter growing louder as he looks around himself, then at the child, then everywhere else—toward the sky, to his left, his right, the ground. Finally, he notices the big tarpaulin of a newly opened chicken restaurant with the year printed underneath its Now Open sign. 2014.
“I’m in Running Man , aren’t I?” Yunho mutters to himself. He places an index finger over his chin as he scavenges the now eerie area with his gaze, searching for a sign of any hidden cameras from Running Man , which would be the perfect variety show for celebrities like him.
Of course, there’s no hidden camera.
“No way,” Yunho grumbles as he scuttles past the crowd restlessly, his strides loud with dread as he moves beyond the soondae cart and climbs back into his car.
He has to check something else. His cell phone, or even the clock—anything to prove he’s sane!
Yunho pants as he rattles through the passenger compartment. He finds a box of tissue paper, a registration card, more paperwork, a brand-new dildo ?—
“What the hell!” Yunho tosses the plastic toy in the back seat, momentarily dismayed and dazed as his dirty mind rouses, obscuring his revenge-filled brain. Now, if the little girl is right about today’s date, then he turned eighteen two weeks ago. His father must have thought he would need an adult toy to keep himself sane while studying.
“Really, Appa ?” he mumbles, feeling embarrassed as he once again rummages through his father’s chaotic birthday gift, hoping to find a phone and not another misplaced sex toy he can’t imagine himself using right now.
But no. There is no sign of the phone. He must have left it at home, or at the school library. That would explain why he’s still wearing an ID badge around his neck when back to school is supposedly not until tomorrow. Unlike other kids, young Yunho rarely used a cell phone unless absolutely necessary. He loved books and movies too much, and aside from Wooju, he didn’t have many friends to chat with. Right?.?.?. Wooju.
But he didn’t even exchange phone numbers with Wooju until August 18, 2014, right?
Yunho reclines against the leather seat, anxious beads of sweat forming over his forehead like a summer flood. A light yellow flicker catches his eye in the rearview mirror.
“Fuck,” he huffs, his breathing erratic and grating as he jolts upward and examines himself closer.
His hair!
Yunho’s eyes widen, and his eyebrows arch. Just a few minutes ago, he had a prison cut that made it look as if he barely had any hair on his head. Now, magically, he has his shoulder-length, sandy blond hairstyle tied back in a ponytail. Then there’s the plain tee and the wrinkled jeans he’s wearing—a reminder of his lack of fashion sense in high school, the brand-new smell of his Mercedes-Benz, the science textbooks sitting in the backseat, the tempting Meiji chocolate bars, and the wine bottle lying in the passenger seat with a note saying:
Here’s my birthday gift to my one and only son. I told you I’d get you a car and something to keep you company, right? I know you’re not nineteen yet, but I think you could use one of each for when you just want to relax in your apartment and forget about school, even if it’s just for a day. P.S. Don’t tell your mother.
Son, sometimes you have to stop studying and remember that it’s your birthday.
Love,
Dad
“Is it really 2014?”
Yunho swears under his breath.
He shakes his head before grabbing the bottle of wine and chugging half of it in less than a minute. His throat burns, and it’s probably from the wine. As soon as the warmth spreads through his chest, he sets the bottle down.
Yunho turns on the air conditioner and thinks again.
If he truly isn’t dreaming, then he has no idea how he made it back here—back to being the eighteen-year-old boy who had no dreams until Jo Wooju entered his life. All he has are theories that don’t make sense: a head injury, time travel, the afterlife, dreams, and a sprinkle of magic.
Huh? Magic?
He tries to come up with other possibilities that could have led to his current dilemma.
Have I been watching too much Harry Potter?
When nothing else comes to mind, he slams a hand against the steering wheel and curses in frustration.
Of course, his outrage is useless.
Yunho punches the car horn so hard it blows, catching the attention of a random passerby who casts him a disapproving look. She must be thinking he’s a psycho, and there’s nothing he can do about it.
Maybe he is a psycho.
He doesn’t even have a friend to rant to about his current situation, someone he can ask whether or not he’s being punished or given a chance at reclaiming the life he worked so hard for.
Or if he’s just crazy.
Yunho was a loner until he met the lively Wooju. The only people he’d talked to before breaking out of his shell were his parents and his little sister, and he could really use them right now. However, if the random girl with the mandu wasn’t lying about the date, that means his family isn’t home. They would be at a beach in another country, bathing in the sun without him because he’d insisted on staying home and studying for school to remain at the top of his class.
“Aish,” Yunho grumbles. “What the hell is happening?”
This world is definitely a nightmare. A living nightmare.
But if I’m back where it started, it means I can change my future , Young realizes, his expression turning grim as he takes another sip of his wine. Why do I feel scared?
As the sky darkens, Yunho drives himself back to his private apartment. Upon arriving, he uses his old code to unlock the door and enters. With an unsteady gait and blurry vision, he ambles toward his room.
As he makes his way to his bed, careful not to stumble over his own feet, a glimmer of hope emerges in his mind. Perhaps a good night’s sleep is all he needs to find the right answer to this surreal dilemma of his. When he wakes up tomorrow, everything will be back to normal.
Maybe even better.
“Fuck.”
Nope. He’s still here in his 2014 king-size bed, where everything is black and white. Yes, he’s still grappling with a slight hangover, but that doesn’t mean he’s not mentally sound.
He is?.?.?. sound.
Or at least, he thinks so.
As the soft morning light filters through the ivory drapes, Yunho casts a drowsy gaze around his orderly room.
It’s spacious and bleak with only the full-sized Ri family picture hanging at the center of the milky white walls, a two-foot-tall plant sitting on the windowsill, and a closet filled with black and white clothes.
Next to the draped bay windows, there’s a stack of spiral notebooks organized neatly on his white L-shaped desk.
The absence of color and chaos keeps Yunho’s mind at peace. Ever since he rose to stardom, he’d changed almost everything about him, even his style. He went from minimalistic to flashy, with silver, gold, blue, and red elements filling his room and his closet. Strangely, he sounded more mature at eighteen than at twenty-eight.
Yunho slaps himself on the cheek.
“Yep. That hurt.”
Then he pinches his arm.
He lets out a small yelp.
“Damn it. Is someone nipping me in my sleep?”
A pause.
“Or did I really?.?.?.”
He’s still in his room.
“No way?.?.?. Why am I still here?” he mumbles, stroking the satin mattress beneath him.
Most people would panic outright if they were in his shoes. He is, too, but part of him is also excited. Yunho is so over with prison, his haters, the paparazzi, and Jo Wooju. Especially Jo Wooju. This time, he has to remain optimistic.
A sly smile shines on his face as an idea pops up in his head: he is going to run as free as a lion in its territory, and he is going to change his destiny. No more studying until his nose bleeds, no more running away from liberation, and no more Jo Wooju for his own salvation.
Just?.?.?. no more.
Regardless of his circumstances, he has nothing to lose this time around. Leaving behind a life that has already gone astray is not a loss at all—it’s a rare opportunity to change something, big or small. Yunho simply wants to seize this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to live with no regrets and avoid bombarding himself with questions that could hold him back.
From now on, he’ll do just that.
Alas, he still has to go to school. He won’t be able to alter the future if he ends up becoming a bum.
“What’s there to be scared about?” Yunho talks to himself. “I actually feel good for the first time in two years.”
This realization plants a desire to stay here, wherever here is. Maybe his dedication to work can win him an award earlier than what the stars have already written for him. Maybe.
Such wishful thinking.
With newfound motivation, Yunho jerks forward and gets up on his feet. He dashes to the bathroom and takes the longest icy-cold shower he’s ever had. After drying his hair and tying it into his signature half-ponytail, he dons his collared white school uniform from Choomin High and puts on his black shoes. Suddenly, his stomach growls.
Does he even have food here?
Yunho saunters over to the refrigerator, swings it open, and scans inside. Upon spotting a pack of gimbap , he breaks into a grin. He seizes the package, flips it over, and recites the expiration date, “August 30, 2014? Oohoo. Perfect.” With a playful chuckle, he tears open the packaging and bites into a piece of gimbap, allowing its sweet and tangy flavors to explode in his mouth.
After breakfast, he steps out of his apartment and makes his way directly to the closest beachfront. There, he starts jogging and relishing the mild breeze of Monday morning.
It has been so many years.
Returning home after a long time feels like a peaceful drift toward heaven. The air he breathes is fresher and cleaner than downtown Seoul, and every person walking past him says good morning with a radiant smile. Nobody is stalking or pursuing him relentlessly for useless scoops, either. Yunho misses this kind of peace.
Eventually, his feet usher him to the towering gates of Choomin High. He realizes too late that he didn’t even bring a bag. Or a piece of paper. Not even a pen.
At least I’m not naked.
Albeit already out of breath from all the running, Yunho still manages to put on his best smile as soon as he enters, his cheeks flushing with excitement as students weave their way toward the large statue of the school founder and through the cobbled courtyard. Some of them have friends to keep them company, some walk alone.
Then there’s Yunho, admiring the sentimental view as if he’s been reborn. He moves through the courtyard and continues until he comes upon the recreational field, its grass neatly trimmed and painted with white lines. It’s good to be back , he thinks as he strolls around it.
Yunho has always regretted not participating in any sports. Back then, it was enough for him to watch others play on the field and imagine himself kicking the ball into a guarded goal. It’s different now. It has to be.
He’s no longer in a school drama or a variety show made for adults acting like high school students. He doesn’t have to pretend to be one of those kids on the field, chilling or laughing with their group of friends or hanging around with a book in hand to keep themselves entertained.
He can actually be one of them now.
This time, Yunho promises himself that he will make more friends, improve himself, and live like there’s no tomorrow.
How hard can it be?
With one last look at Choomin High’s sports field, Yunho shoves his hands into his pockets and heads straight to his classroom. First and foremost, he needs a plan.
Perhaps he can create a bucket list or a to-do list to turn his life around. Maybe a few steps on how to avoid Wooju, too, or how to break an old friend’s heart. He needs to do it quickly, before history catches up and repeats itself.
Making friends is seriously not as easy as it sounds.
“Ri Yunho?” Mr. Koh, the wrinkly homeroom teacher for Class A, continues calling attendance.
Since Yunho’s classmates keep complaining about being given homework instead of icebreakers right after summer break, the roll call is dragging on. Yunho doesn’t mind, though. Their disturbance gives him more time to think about his next steps.
Should he just become a YouTuber? Maybe start dating?
“Present,” Yunho answers absently, spinning a pencil around his thumb as he ruminates on what to write on his blank sheet of paper. Fortunately, his seatmate and previous academic opponent, Jang Jihoon, offered the school supplies to him moments earlier without a fuss.
Jihoon must be celebrating internally after noticing Yunho’s lack of enthusiasm for school. If that isn’t the case, then it seems too far-fetched for someone like him to even consider helping Yunho out of kindness.
“You seem out of it today,” Jihoon says quietly, adjusting his black-rimmed specs as he trains his gaze on the board. “Aren’t you afraid of losing your spot as a top student?”
“I’m just tired.” Yunho sighs as he rests a hand over his chin. He doesn’t have to look into Jihoon’s jet-black eyes to unearth the nefarious intentions hidden beneath them. Yunho has always been aware of his classmate’s relentless ambition to beat his rank.
“You shouldn’t have come here, then,” Jihoon says calmly. “It’s no fun.”
Yunho’s brows crease as he whips his head in Jihoon’s direction, triggered. “You punk,” he grouches, his knuckles turning white. This is why he has no friends.
Yunho pauses to study Jihoon’s innocent features: the fluffy, soft cinnamon-colored curls and long lashes that flutter softly whenever the boy blinks. The good but mischievous face of a devil disguising himself as an angel by holding a cute doraemon pen in his hands.
This is my enemy?
This reminds Yunho of the time Jihoon accused him of cheating his way to the top by paying the teachers to give him the answer keys to every test. One day, the boy would be nice to his face, and the next, he would talk about him behind his back to the whole school.
However, despite Jihoon’s manipulative and petty personality, Yunho knows that the four-eyed boy will still become a CEO in the entertainment industry. Instead of the irrelevancy Jihoon currently endures, people will one day know him as the handsome CEO who makes everyone’s dreams come true. It’ll be cringe-worthy.
But if Yunho retires from being the top student, what happens if Jihoon takes over his academic throne?
I bet he would become even more insufferable, Yunho muses, fidgeting helplessly with his pencil. Wait, why am I even sitting next to him? Have I lost my mind? His face flushes with anger as regret simmers in the marrow of his bones.
Yunho gives himself a light smack on the head. All right, let’s focus on changing what I can about the past. Anyone except Jihoon just needs to be the top student if I want to get through whatever is going on with me with peace of mind. Someone like ? —
“Oh, there you are! You must be our new transfer student,” Mr. Koh exclaims, ushering a boy in.
Putting his thoughts on a brief hold, Yunho follows the teacher’s gaze toward the front door and instantly regrets it. His eyes land on said transfer student—Jo Wooju.
The loose, wavy style of Wooju’s dark hair makes the boy look like the star he’s always been. Yunho wants to hate that hair so badly. He thought he could.
With his chest heaving, Yunho struggles to catch his breath. He had no idea a reunion would be this bad or that he would mistake this hatred for longing.
If Yunho remembers correctly, the moment Wooju opens his mouth to speak today, most of the girls in the class will fall for his bright smile.
Wooju will cordially say something like: “Hey, everybody! My name is Jo Wooju. It’s a pleasure to meet all of you. I just transferred here from Jeju High School, and?.?.?. I love drawing. I hope we can all get along. Please take care of me!” Then Wooju, with his confident stride and sunny smile, will raise himself onto the platform and impress his classmates with his satirical jokes. Everyone will love him.
Just like before.
Yunho doesn’t recall this new version of Wooju, though. The boy looks so down and timid as Mr. Koh nudges him lightly on the back of his shoulder, pushing him to speak up and failing miserably.
Yunho waits.
He tries counting backwards in his mind from ten to one, but all he gets in return is the deafening silence of a boy who cannot express any emotions.
The blue-eyed boy does not say a word, nor does he offer their classmates a reassuring smile. Wooju keeps his eyes glued to his feet, and Mr. Koh allows him to, as if he knows the boy has a logical reason for acting aloof.
Just like how he had a logical reason for framing me, huh?
“All right, then.” Mr. Koh clears his throat and smiles awkwardly. “Class, this is Jo Wooju. He’s from Jeju High School. He’s new and still shy. Please be nice to him.”
“Nice to meet you, Jo Wooju!” The class sings in unison. Some of the girls at the back are even squealing. The rest of them respond unenthusiastically, all while Yunho breaks the pencil he’d been clutching in his hand.
Yunho can’t help but dread what will happen next. From what he can remember, Wooju will ask the homeroom teacher to assign him a seat next to Yunho. That seating arrangement was the root of their budding friendship.
To Yunho’s dismay and confusion, Wooju doesn’t glance his way, not even once. Instead, Wooju plants himself at the corner of the last row, next to the tall, curtainless window, allowing the sun to kiss his unblemished skin.
Yunho doesn’t have to do anything at all.
Wooju is slipping between his fingers on his own.