Go Woo-chan, brimming with confidence, raised both his hands, mimicking Chow Yun-fat's iconic dual-wielding pistol stance. He flashed a mischievous grin and said, "Ji-ho fell asleep earlier."
"That's because it wasn't a Jackie Chan movie playing," someone quipped, chuckling under their breath.
In the past, Ryu Ji-ho never missed a single Jackie Chan film. He had a particular fondness for Fast Food Van, especially the climactic scene where Jackie squared off one-on-one against a Western karate master. For Ji-ho, that moment was one of Jackie's finest—constantly backed into a corner, beaten to a pulp, yet always managing to pull off an almost impossible victory.
"Jackie Chan's movies are kind of childish, don't you think?"
"When it comes to real martial arts, Bruce Lee's the best."
"Bruce Lee's a legend of the past."
"All Jackie Chan does is flashy choreography. Bruce Lee was the real deal."
The debate among their friends grew more animated, each passionately defending their favorite action star. Ji-ho, overhearing all of this, just smiled to himself. There was a certain warmth in the conversation—laughter, camaraderie, and irreplaceable memories from their shared past. Moments like these made him feel that his decision to return to his high school days, specifically the first year, was the right one.
"No time to waste! Let's go!" Go Woo-chan suddenly shouted, his voice ablaze with enthusiasm. He strode forward with big, energetic steps, his friends trailing behind him, their laughter and playful banter filling the air.
But as they moved on, Ji-ho lingered for a moment, pausing behind them. "Do I have to go along with all this nonsense?" he muttered softly to himself, slipping his sunglasses back into his pocket. For Ji-ho, friendship was important, but acting childish in public wasn't exactly his idea of fun.
"Ji-ho! Hurry up, don't fall behind!" one shouted back.
"You guys go ahead. I'll catch up later," Ji-ho called back, waving them off half-heartedly. He had no interest in joining their silly antics.
"The brotherhood of the martial arts world has shattered into pieces!" Go Woo-chan cried out dramatically, quoting a line from My Young Auntie. He wore a mock-serious expression as if he were truly in the middle of some epic martial arts showdown.
Ji-ho sighed, quickening his pace to distance himself from the ruckus. He pretended not to hear their shouts, focusing instead on walking away, far from the absurdity of it all.
******
Anemone Bar had something unique, something that set it apart from the typical pubs of its time. With an elegant interior more akin to an exclusive lounge, it exuded a striking yet magnetic atmosphere. In one corner, a group of students from Yeonha University were enjoying makgeolli, while Ryu Ji-ho stood watching the room, a deep sense of nostalgia creeping into his chest.
Near the kitchen door, a middle-aged woman stood with a cigarette between her fingers. Her face was bare of makeup, yet her eyes looked empty, as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her life—an odd kind of relief. There was a faint trace of beauty on her features; perhaps in her youth, she had been praised for her looks. Even now, with just a bit of polish and a more carefully arranged hairstyle, she could easily appear elegant, even alluring.
This woman was Chae Yeonji, the owner of Anemone Bar. As Ryu Ji-ho took in the scene around him, he reached into the fridge, pulling out two bottles of soju. He glanced over at the kitchen, where Yeonji still stood, lost in her own world.
"Take these two," he said flatly.
Yeonji gave a slight nod, barely acknowledging Ji-ho's presence.
Ji-ho let out a soft sigh. There was something unsettlingly familiar in the emptiness of her gaze—a look he had once seen in himself, back before everything fell apart. The look of someone defeated, someone who had lost something irreplaceable and had since surrendered to life, forgetting the ambitions of their younger years.
The name of the bar, Anemone, wasn't chosen at random. The flower was often associated with regret, loss, and unrequited love. Betrayal, grief, bittersweet love—those meanings were intertwined with the flower's symbolism. Ryu Ji-ho had used it frequently as a motif in the mature scripts he had written in the past. Yet now, the flower's meaning felt deeper, more personal.
"Could Chae Yeonji have her own tragic story?" Ji-ho wondered, trying to recall if he had ever heard anything about the woman. He and his friends had frequented the bar back when they were in high school, but Yeonji had always been a shadow, running her business without passion. Still, the bar had endured, even as the world around it changed.
"Why do I even care?" he thought again, shaking off the feeling. "She's none of my business."
With the bottles in hand, Ryu Ji-ho made his way back to the table. But before he could sit down, Kim Jun-Woo caught his eye with an eager expression.
"Who do you think would win?"
"Win what?" Ji-ho asked, confused.
"If Rambo and Commando fought, who would win?"
His friends, apparently, had moved on from Hong Kong action movies to Hollywood.
"Those two? One of *Earth's Mightiest Heroes* could take them down easily," Ji-ho shrugged, clearly uninterested.
"Who's that?" Jun-Woo asked, his curiosity piqued.
"Superheroes, defenders of justice. They team up to take down bad guys, one after another."
"What's a superhero?" Jun-Woo looked more confused than ever.
"Well, they exist," Ji-ho replied curtly, dodging further questions.
He then raised his glass to join the others in a toast. It was the first time he had drunk alcohol in a long while, and the warm burn of the soju down his throat was oddly comforting. With his old friends surrounding him, the night felt familiar, almost cozy.
Yet, something was off this evening. It was also the first time he had drunk since returning to his past. As he downed more soju, a sense of dizziness began to creep in, making it hard to distinguish between the present and the swirling memories of the past flooding his mind.