Chapter 5
Memories of the Past
“It doesn’t feel like a dream.”
Judging from everything that had happened, what he’d experienced — that “future” — didn’t seem like a dream at all.
“But then… why did I come back to life?”
He had been murdered, brutally. There was no mistaking it.
So why was he alive again?
“I don’t know.”
What was certain, however, was that he was alive — and that his being alive again meant the future would change.
“At least one thing has already changed.”
Judging from the text messages exchanged late at night, things seemed to be going well. They were supposed to be keeping it secret, but since they shared the same room and bunk bed, he couldn’t help but hear the sound of incoming messages every time.
“Well, that particular tragedy probably won’t happen again.”
That worthless bastard who was supposed to become his brother-in-law was now in prison — and would likely stay there for at least ten years. Which meant his sister probably wouldn’t meet that miserable end again.
“The problem… is me.”
Now that he’d been given another chance, he had no intention of dying meaninglessly like before.
He was good at law — that much hadn’t changed. So that’s what he should focus on.
The problem was time.
“I don’t want to waste it.”
School — the place every student was required to go.
But for the current No Hyung-jin, it wasn’t exactly a place of value.
“There’s no one there I really need to meet.”
He’d spent all his time buried in study, and it wasn’t as if he’d ever met anyone influential or important enough to justify staying.
And yet, he still had a year of middle school, three years of high school, four years of college, two years of judicial training, and two years of military service ahead of him.
“That’s a problem.”
But given the current system of laws, there was no helping it. He could only sigh.
“Should I just let the time pass…”
Maybe that was the only option.
At least, that’s what he thought — until an unexpected turn appeared out of nowhere.
***
“Why haven’t you been going to school?”
“…What?”
“Your homeroom teacher called. He said you’ve been running off as soon as class ends lately. You’re skipping after-school study, and even your cram school says you’ve barely shown up for the past month.”
‘Ah…’
He hadn’t considered that — school and cram school.
Apparently, skipping to handle Park Gwang-seok’s problem had been more noticeable than he thought.
“I’d like to hear your reason.”
Hyung-jin’s parents weren’t the kind to explode first and listen later. They always wanted to hear their child’s side before deciding anything — just like now.
“It’s just that…”
He hesitated.
He couldn’t talk about Gwang-seok’s case. That would mean admitting he’d come back to life — and saying that out loud would more likely get him dragged to a mental hospital than believed.
‘What do I say…’
After a moment of thought, an idea came to him.
It might sound absurd, but it could also save him a great deal of time.
“There’s nothing left for me to learn at school.”
“Nothing left to learn?”
His father frowned slightly — not angry, but wary. Every kid who said something like that usually turned out badly.
“I don’t mean the kind of nonsense about ‘school knowledge being useless in life.’ What I mean is literally — the knowledge they’re giving me there doesn’t hold any more meaning for me.”
“You’re saying you already know everything they’re teaching?”
“Not just know it — I can study it better.”
“Better?”
“Yes.”
His parents looked puzzled.
“To be honest, I already understand everything the teachers are teaching us. Going there just to hear it all again feels pointless.”
“You’re being rather bold.”
They already knew their son was smart — but to hear him speak with such confidence was something new.
“So what do you plan to do, then?”
“I want to study law.”
“Law?”
“Yes.”
It was something he said on impulse, but as he spoke, a clear plan began to take shape.
‘There’s no law that says I have to follow the standard path.’
Middle school and high school weren’t really necessary for him.
He hadn’t met anyone during those years who was crucial to his future.
The way he saw it, the entire curriculum was filled with “dead knowledge” — facts that served no purpose in real life.
‘I’ll skip middle and high school — that’ll save time.’
If he passed the GED exams, he could skip four years.
Then, by passing the high school equivalency exam, he’d qualify to take the university entrance test.
‘Actually, forget college. My goal’s the bar exam.’
Most people mistakenly believed you had to graduate from university to take the bar exam.
In truth, anyone with at least 35 credits in legal studies could qualify.
And through a credit-bank system, even credits from private academies counted.
That meant he could complete those credits within a year.
‘If I skip one year of middle school, three years of high school, and four of college…’
That’s eight years saved.
Even if he allowed another year for legal coursework and another for review, he’d still gain six years of life back.
But his father’s face showed a different concern.
“Is someone bullying you?”
It was a fair assumption — the recent Park Gwang-seok case had been all over the news.
But Hyung-jin shook his head. His reason was different — he had a goal.
“No, I just… have an objective.”
“An objective?”
“I want to become a lawyer.”
“A lawyer?”
“You have a concrete plan for that?”
“I do.”
Then, step by step, he explained his plan.
To anyone else, it might sound impossible — but in truth, it was entirely logical.
‘I’ve solved more bar exam questions than I can count.’
In his previous life, he’d taken the exam himself — and passed.
He knew every past question by heart.
And as for the essay questions? Please. He’d once handled billion-won cases as a professional attorney — writing essays was the least of his concerns.
“Hmm.”
His parents couldn’t bring themselves to scold him.
If he’d been a childish kid, maybe — but Hyung-jin had always been mature for his age. Lately, even more so.
“Honey, what do we do?”
“I’m not sure…”
They were clearly unsure.
Passing the GED wasn’t hard — the issue was academic background.
Society still valued school names over skill.
Even if he passed the GED, employers still preferred formal graduates.
“I understand what you’re worried about,” he said. “But that’s a flaw of society, not the system.”
“Well, yes, but still…”
It was true — passing a test proved ability far better than simply sitting through mandatory classes.
But reputation still ruled the world, and in Korea, “school lineage” was practically a caste system.
“Then let’s make it conditional.”
“Conditional?”
“I’ll take the CSAT.”
“The CSAT? The college entrance exam?”
He was only in his second year of middle school.
There was a rule — only high school graduates or those with equivalent certification could take it.
“I’ll finish my middle and high school equivalency exams by the end of this year. Then I’ll take the CSAT.”
“You’re only in middle school.”
“If I don’t do it that way, you’ll never believe I have a reason not to attend.”
“You’re that confident?”
“If I don’t get a high score on the CSAT, I’ll go to high school without a word.”
That was reasonable.
Even with the GED, he could still attend high school.
But if he passed and did well on the CSAT, he’d effectively save at least four years.
“Hmm…”
His parents exchanged a look. Then, after a long pause, they nodded.
It wasn’t a risky choice for them — the odds were impossible anyway.
Only five months remained until the exam.
Finishing two GEDs and the CSAT in that time? Unrealistic.
‘Let him fail once. Maybe it’ll humble him.’
Perhaps their son was simply overconfident.
If he hit a wall, maybe he’d quiet down and focus again.
“Fine. Do as you wish.”
At his father’s approval, Hyung-jin smiled broadly.
***
“So boring.”
Relearning what he already knew — it was agony.
He’d solved CSAT papers every year just for mental exercise, so regular classes felt like torture.
“What are you doing? Studying CSAT algebra?”
His friends glanced at his desk during break and shook their heads.
“You serious?”
“Yeah.”
“But… the CSAT? Why?”
“I’m taking it this year.”
“Can you even do that?”
“If not, oh well.”
“This guy’s lost it.”
A middle schooler talking about the CSAT? It was laughable to them.
“Hey, come on, let’s play basketball.”
“I’m busy.”
“Busy? Sure you are.”
“I need to go through Math Essentials before the exam.”
“Math Essentials? That’s a high school book!”
“Exactly.”
“Crazy…”
“Call me crazy, but I’m still busy.”
“Fine, do what you want.”
As his friends left for the court, Hyung-jin returned to his book.
Soon, his strange behavior spread through the entire school.
Most called him insane.
Even the teachers tried to talk him down.
“You don’t have to rush like this.”
“I’m running out of time.”
‘If I don’t prepare now, I’ll face the same fate again.’
He couldn’t waste years repeating a meaningless life.
And honestly, he never cared much for school life — he’d always valued efficiency over friendship.
“But you realize if you fail, everyone will laugh at you. The whole school.”
“I can handle that.”
The teacher could only sigh.
In the end, the school couldn’t stop him.
He poured everything into his CSAT prep, ignoring regular lessons.
And when his grades actually went up instead of down, no one could say a word.
