Chapter 3: A New Beginning in an Unfamiliar World
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Kim Jihoon. That was his name now. As days passed, the initial shock of being reborn as a toddler in a new world started to dull. The confusion remained, but it blended with a growing sense of curiosity and acceptance. After all, this was his second chance—the opportunity he had always wished for.
Jihoon—or Karan, as he still thought of himself in the quiet corners of his mind—found himself in a small, modest house in the bustling city of Seoul, South Korea. The year was 1985. This world seemed similar to his previous one, yet starkly different. Advanced technology intertwined seamlessly with the daily lives of its people. Even the small black-and-white television in the living room seemed sophisticated for its time, capable of broadcasting crystal-clear images with detailed graphics that Karan had never seen in his own childhood during the 1980s.
Despite being trapped in the body of a two-year-old, Jihoon's mind was sharp. He spent most of his time observing, absorbing every detail around him. His parents—now his new family—were a humble, middle-class couple. His father, Kim Dong-hoon, was a diligent office worker, while his mother, Lee Min-ah, was a homemaker. They lived in a small but cozy apartment in a quiet neighborhood on the outskirts of Seoul. It wasn't luxurious, but it was filled with warmth and love.
Dong-hoon was a man in his late thirties, with thick, neatly combed hair and glasses perched on his nose. His work at a local technology firm kept him busy, and often he'd return home late at night, exhausted but always greeting Jihoon and Min-ah with a smile. Min-ah, on the other hand, was a gentle woman, her features soft and nurturing. She dedicated her days to caring for Jihoon, keeping the house in order, and occasionally visiting the neighborhood market.
Jihoon watched their routines with fascination. He observed the way Min-ah would carefully measure rice and meticulously prepare the dishes for their meals, the way she'd hum a soft lullaby whenever she thought no one was listening. He noticed the deep sigh Dong-hoon would let out after a long day, followed by a determined nod as if telling himself that tomorrow would be better. These were ordinary people, with ordinary lives—yet, to Jihoon, they felt extraordinary.
Adjusting to his new body was an entirely different challenge. As a two-year-old, he lacked the coordination and strength of his adult self. Simple tasks like lifting his head, crawling, or grasping objects required immense effort. There were moments of frustration—when his tiny fingers wouldn't wrap around a toy properly, or when his legs wobbled as he tried to stand. But each small victory—each step, each word that formed clumsily on his lips—filled him with a sense of accomplishment.
"Jihoon-ah, come to eomma," Min-ah called softly one day, kneeling a few feet away from him. Her smile was encouraging, her hands outstretched.
Jihoon hesitated, his chubby legs trembling. He knew he'd fall. He always did. But something in Min-ah's eyes pushed him forward. With a deep breath, he took one wobbly step, then another. The world swayed, and he stumbled, nearly falling. But at the last second, he managed to catch himself.
"Good job, Jihoon-ah!" Min-ah exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine pride.
He reached her, his small hands grasping onto her skirt for support. She scooped him up into her arms, hugging him close. He could feel the gentle beat of her heart, hear her soothing words. And in that moment, for the first time since being reborn, Jihoon felt a strange sense of belonging.
The days turned into weeks, and slowly, Jihoon adapted to his new life. He learned to crawl properly, then to walk. He began to understand more of the language, the rhythm of everyday conversations. Though he couldn't speak fluently yet, he could comprehend most of what was being said around him.
His parents were patient, encouraging. They'd read him children's books, teach him simple words, and applaud every small achievement. Jihoon found himself looking forward to these moments, the praise and love showered upon him. It was something he had never experienced before—not even as Karan, where he had spent most of his life striving for recognition and validation in a world that rarely gave it.
Despite his progress, there were moments when the weight of his past life would creep back in. He would sit quietly, staring at his small hands, wondering what had become of his scripts, his words that were left unwritten. Did anyone remember him? Or had he already faded into obscurity?
But each time these thoughts surfaced, he'd shake his head, reminding himself that this was his second chance. Dwelling on the past would only hinder him. He had to focus on this new life, on what lay ahead.
One evening, as Dong-hoon returned home earlier than usual, Jihoon watched him set down a strange-looking device on the kitchen table. It was sleek and metallic, with blinking lights and a small screen embedded into its surface—something that definitely shouldn't exist in the 1980s he knew.
"What's that, appa?" Min-ah asked curiously, glancing at the device.
Dong-hoon smiled, a proud glint in his eyes. "It's a new prototype from the company. They're testing a small portable computer that can store more data than the largest computer we have today. Can you imagine? Something this small could hold an entire library's worth of books!"
Min-ah's eyes widened in amazement. "That's incredible! But… is it really possible?"
Dong-hoon chuckled. "In this world, anything is possible."
Jihoon's heart skipped a beat. This world was far more advanced than the one he had known. Technology that belonged to the 21st century was already making its mark in the mid-1980s. It was as if history itself had been rewritten. He realized then that he needed to understand this world better—its people, its customs, its technological prowess. Only then could he find his place in it.
His curiosity grew each day. When Dong-hoon brought home books on engineering and technology, Jihoon would glance at them, wishing he could read. When they watched television, he'd pay close attention, absorbing every image, every word. There were shows that highlighted inventions, dramas that revolved around futuristic cities and scientific breakthroughs.
It wasn't just the technology, though. Culturally, this world felt different. People revered the minds behind these inventions, the visionaries and the thinkers, much like how Korean drama industry in his previous life valued scriptwriters. It was a place where creativity was celebrated, where he could, perhaps, finally be seen for who he truly was.
As he lay in his crib one night, staring up at the ceiling, Jihoon made a silent promise to himself. He would embrace this new life, learn everything he could, and when the time was right, he would write again. He would create stories that would resonate across this world, no matter how different or advanced it was.
This was his second chance—a chance to be more than just a shadow, more than a ghost. He would become the light that shone brightly, a name that would be remembered.