Chapter 1
It was a sunny day in Korea.
I, Kim Ji-ah, woke up drenched in sweat, heart pounding like I'd just sprinted through hell. My chest felt heavy—like I'd either been hit by Truck-kun or had two tiny devils parked on my lungs.
Which, honestly, it wasn't far from the truth.
The twins—my younger siblings—were sprawled across my body like limp octopuses, snoring with the smug peace of demons who'd just kicked me in their sleep.
"Ugh... get off, you goblins," I muttered, elbowing them off with the grace of someone recovering from toddler-induced trauma.
As I peeled one off my ribs, I looked around.
The ceiling fan above me squeaked every third turn—just like it used to.
The faded pink curtains.
The dent in the wardrobe door.
The tangled headphone wires on my desk.
My hand reached out automatically for my phone—but instead of my sleek new model, I found an old, cracked Nokia brick from a decade ago.
I froze.
Then blinked. Once. Twice.
On the wall, the K-pop posters I'd ripped down in a fit of teenage rebellion were back—glossy, loud, untouched.
My breath hitched. My heart started to race.
This wasn't just a weird dream.
This was real.
I had regressed.
Back to fifteen. One month before my mother death.
The scent hit me next—kimchi stew, hot rice, and something crispy frying in the pan.
My throat tightened. I sat up slowly, my hands trembling as I touched the blanket.
Same smell. Same weight. Same warm, worn-down feel.
This room had once been a cage.
Now, it felt like a second chance wrapped in cotton.
From downstairs, a voice called out:
"Kids! Breakfast!"
Mom.
Her voice. Alive. Real. Whole.
Tears burned in my eyes. I wiped them fast, swallowing the sob that rose in my throat.
The twins groaned and rolled off me like lazy cats.
"Yah! Move it or I'll eat your eggs," I snapped, voice cracking.
"Mmmph—nooo," one of them groaned.
We shuffled into the kitchen, where the usual chaos greeted us—metal clanging, rice cooker hissing, the twins bickering over egg portions like they were state secrets.
Mom stood in her apron, frowning at the slightly burnt jeon.
Dad peeked over his glasses, saw my puffy eyes. He didn't say anything—just slid the juiciest piece of meat from his bowl into mine.
That did it.
My eyes stung again.
God, I missed this.
Mom glanced at me. "Sorry I nagged you yesterday," she said softly, almost wary.
I got up without a word and hugged her from behind.
She flinched a little, surprised.
"I'm... sorry too," I whispered, pressing my face into her shoulder. "I missed you so much, Mom."
She stiffened. "What's gotten into you?"
But I didn't answer.
Because no one else knew.
No one remembered what was coming.
But I did.
I remembered everything.
---
Mom didn't die in an accident.
She was murdered.
Because she helped a little boy escape the mafia. Hid him when they came looking. Protected him until the day they made her pay for it.
They slit her throat like she was disposable.
And the police… they covered it up. Called it robbery gone wrong.
No it's not the truth.
My father was the one who told me. Although he gave up after my mom died as these things will not bring her back, only could endanger his children.But now I know, i will change it.
(My mom was murdered by mafias.)
