Chapter 2: Cause of Death

Chapter 2: Cause of Death

There is a novel called Metamorphosis.

One day, waking up from an uncomfortable sleep, a man finds himself transformed into a giant insect, and the story narrates his subsequent apology, struggles, and eventual death.

An individual, who becomes an insect for no apparent reason, gradually becomes alienated from the world, society, and his family, ultimately leading to his death.

This book, which teaches that a person, who can no longer earn money or speak, and looks like an insect, will be treated and discarded like one, even if they retain their human essence, was not a favorite of mine.

Because suffering and dying after being harshly thrust into the world is enough of a reality.

Anyway.

The reason this novel suddenly came to mind is simple.

I, too, have transformed.

I have transformed into my 12-year-old self.

After waking up from a very

A very long and uncomfortable dream.

EP 1- Cause of Death

The mornings at New Light Spring Orphanage are impeccably organized.

Due to the strict rule of waking up at 7 AM, making the bed, eating, and quickly going to school, everything operates like clockwork.

Those who dare to break these sacrosanct rules are educated (quite harshly) by the enforcers responsible for maintaining discipline in the orphanage.

So, acting like a spoiled child from a typical family, begging for just 5 more minutes of sleep is simply not an option. One reason being theres no one to indulge such whims.

But this morning was a bit unusual.

What year is it? Why are you asking that all of a sudden?

Just answer me, quickly.

One of the roommates in the four-person room seemed to have fallen into a frenzy, causing a commotion since the morning.

Asking what year it is

Or even asking the names of his roommates

Hey! Im asking what year it is!

However, in an orphanage as vast as this, with many crazy individuals, one more doesnt make much of a difference.This chapter is updated by nov(e)(l)biin.com

Surprisingly, none of the other three roommates could give a proper answer to the question of what year it was.

I dont know. Just make your bed.

I dont want to. Wont tell you. What can you even do about it? Other than getting annoyed, what can you do? Huh?

Youre just an annoying nuisance.

Meanwhile, one person was getting increasingly anxious as he observed his friends reactions.

These unlucky guys were definitely the ones from his old memories.

Why are these guys, who used to share a room with me, here? Can a dream be this realistic?

The boy extended his trembling hand.

Phone someone, give me a phone quickly.

Where would we have phones?

Ah, right.

New Light Spring Orphanage does not provide things like smartphones, which are considered a source of harmful electromagnetic waves and stupidity, in order to cultivate proper character in children.

Its definitely not because theres no money to pay for the phone bills.

What year is it What year is it really

The answer was closer than he thought.

The calendar on the wall told him.

Oh my gosh.

You are in a time 10 years ago.

And today is Christmas.

* * *

Christmas at New Light Spring Orphanage is special.

Its not necessarily about singing praises for the Lords grace.

Contrary to common belief, the orphanage is not a public institution but a private facility. Its funded by the government, but thats about it.

Naturally, welfare budgets are not abundantly distributed to every orphanage. Therefore, the orphanage operates on private donations, most of which come from religious organizations, predominantly Christian.

(Its not that Buddhist monks are less generous, but when you combine Protestants and Catholics, they naturally make up the majority.)

Anyway.

Christmas at New Light Spring Orphanage is special.

Since most of the major donors attend churches or cathedrals, they contribute more during Christmas. Therefore, the orphanage organizes events for them.

This year was no different.

New Light Spring Orphanage had prepared a grand Christmas party, even renting a nearby school gymnasium.

Plaques of appreciation were made for the high-value donors, and the children had diligently prepared for a talent show.

Thats when the trouble started.

What did you say?!

Bang Jeong-ah, a life guidance teacher at New Light Spring Orphanage, was shocked.

In-seop, you! Youve forgotten the entire choreography?!

Teacher, I really cant remember

What do you mean by that! Weve all been practicing together for weeks, how can you not remember?

Bang Jeong-ah thought logically.

Instead of considering that the child in front of her had returned from the future 10 years later, she concluded that this little guy, now in the fifth grade of primary school, must have hit puberty.

So, Bang Jeong-ah knelt down with a forced smile to meet the childs eyes.

In-seop, youre 12 now, so it might feel a bit embarrassing to do cute choreography to a Christmas carol

Teacher, its not that I find the choreography embarrassing, I really cant remember-

But all the people coming today are our sponsors who have supported us. Wouldnt it be nice to show them a good performance as a way of expressing our gratitude? Its not like youre doing it alone, were all in this together.

But no matter how gently she coaxed, this stubborn kid kept insisting, I cant remember.

If this were a less reputable orphanage, there might have been swearing and violence by now, but New Light Spring Orphanage is a Christian orphanage filled with faith, hope, and love.

Instead of disciplining the rebellious with corporal punishment and threats, they embrace them with warm love from seniors to juniors.

Bang Jeong-ah called for Ma Ki-hoon, a high school sophomore and fitness prodigy, who was in charge of discipline among the residents.

She explained the situation and quickly left the scene.

Ma Ki-hoon smiled.

Do you want to die, you little shit?

* * *

[The Great Grace of the Lord- I love you-]

[I am a child of faith- a child of hope- a child of love-]

Children dressed as Santa and Rudolph danced adorably on stage. Moon In-seop was among them, his eyes lacking focus.

Bang Jeong-ah, watching the stage, murmured,

Whats this. Hes dancing just fine.

He remembered the choreography once I talked to him nicely, didnt he?

Teenagers are really tiring, I tell you~

Meanwhile, Moon In-seop, dressed as Rudolph, glanced at the person in front and was desperately trying to follow the choreography.

How did this happen?

Ive returned to the past.

What am I doing?

Dancing to the song with awkward movements.

How did I end up like this?

This emotion was more vivid and wondrous than the fondness felt when finding an old graduation album in a corner one day and looking at my young and innocent self.

The 12-year-old me held the very beauty that my 22-year-old self had struggled desperately to attain.

To confirm that this body was mine, I pinched my cheek. The boy in the mirror pinched his cheek too.

My cheek was unbelievably soft and delicate. This sensation could be described as pure.

There were no dark circles from overworking, no reddish skin damaged by alcohol, and no lips constantly picked at until they bled.

Only the lifeless, dull eyes remained the same.

Only those eyes proved who was controlling this body.

Even when I changed my expression in various ways, I couldnt muster a childlike innocent smile. The boy in the mirror could never smile in a way befitting his age again.

At that moment, I realized the sin I had committed.

Who had abused such a pure child?

Gradually destroying him with alcohol, cigarettes, and depression.

And finally killing him?

It was me.

No, its not

No, who am I?

I never killed myself.

Like all suicide victims, I suppose.

I just found it harder to muster the courage to live than the courage to die.

And it wasnt me who made me this way, it was this damned world. This world pushed me to this.

Paper paper

With trembling hands, I searched for writing materials in a corner of the room. A pencil case fell over, spilling out a plastic ruler and erasers, but that didnt matter now.

I pulled out some scrap paper from the bookshelf.

And lying on the floor, I began to write down the names of those who had killed me.

Like a prisoner in an interrogation room listing his accomplices.

I pointed out numerous accomplices to shift the blame from myself.

It wasnt some great, insurmountable villain who killed me but the many sorrows embedded in everyday life.

The child who locked my glasses with a padlock and wouldnt unlock them, the one who stole my indoor shoes and never returned them.

The teachers who arbitrarily called those kids my friends and forced me to get along with them.

The teaching assistant at university who carelessly revealed my orphanage background.

The immature freshmen who still tormented orphans at that age.

The critic who harshly reviewed my writing, the elusive literary awards, poverty, deprivation, and loneliness.

The professor who thought of me as his favorite student but wouldnt allow me to marry his daughter.

The resentment towards my parents who divorced and abandoned me, the longing for them, and the disgust at myself for feeling both.

The bus driver who carelessly splashed me with water on a rainy day. The orphanages life guidance teacher who seemed affectionate but coldly enforced rules.

The thugs in high school who locked me in a bathroom and beat me up, the convenience store owner who didnt pay me what he owed with nonsensical excuses.

The downstairs neighbor who would rush up at the slightest noise and complain, and even my past lover who said they loved me but eventually left me.

All these things slowly killed me.

I didnt commit suicide after being diagnosed with lymphatic cancer; I was gradually worn down by the accumulated sorrows and pains since birth and eventually collapsed from exhaustion.

Thats right. I wasnt the culprit!

I was just one among many accomplices

Haa Haa

When I came to my senses, I was sweating coldly.

Drip, drip, the falling sweat drops soaked the paper.

The paper was now blackened with my messy, frantic handwriting.

Swoosh.

As always, I carefully lifted the paper as if I were holding a newborn baby.

Refining and polishing the words written here would give birth to another novel.

Yes. Thats enough.

Haha

For the first time since returning to the past, I laughed.

And I realized something.

I realized what I dont know.

I dont know why I was thrown into this flow of time. Perhaps I will never know, unless one day, a revelation from an angel magically appears before my eyes.

But theres something I do know.

I know that I am a novelist.

Then all I have to do is write.

Life

Nothing has changed.

Before I traveled back in time, did I know why I was born into this world? Did I understand why I had to endure the pains of life? Even then, I knew nothing.

Everyone born into this world lives like that.

Humans and insects dont know why they were born, neither do cats nor sunflowers.

But unlike insects, humans can dream. Even if we dont know why we were born, we can choose our reason to live.

And my dream is to be a novelist.

Then all I have to do is write.

If I write,

If I live to write,

It no longer matters whether I am 12 or 22.

Both ages share the same dream.

Life

I may not know why I was born.

I may not understand why I traveled back in time.

But I can decide for myself the reason to continue living.

So, I staked my life on writing.

Now, even death cannot defeat me.

* * *

Ah, damn it, I want to quit acting!

A girl shouted while looking into the mirror in the waiting room.

Then she slumped wearily into a chair.

Ha life

Child actor Kim Byul, 15 years old, has no separate dreams.

And even her name isnt her real one.

Her real name is different, but Kim Byul was chosen for her acting career as it was deemed more advantageous.

In her view, her stage name sounded much more old-fashioned than her real name, but she had no choice.

Becoming a child actor and changing her name were all decisions made by her mother.

She was like a marionette controlled by strings, just standing in front of the camera. It had been like that since she was young.

Why live?

Child actor Kim Byul. 15 years old.

An age when life felt overwhelmingly complicated.