『“What is the na of the high mountain to the west?”
The woman answered the general’s question.
“That place is the Wuzhang Plains, where the autumn wind blows.”
At her reply, the general quietly raised his fan to hide his expression.
“I see... the Wuzhang Plains...”』
I stared at the TV screen as if I could fall right into it.
Zhuge Liang: The Romance of the Three Kingdoms.
It aired on Zhonghua TV every Monday through Friday at 7 p.m., two episodes a night—a masterpiece of historical drama, perfect in both accuracy and directing.
And today was the final episode, the end of its grand 120-episode journey.
The climax: Zhuge Liang breathing his last at the Wuzhang Plains, standing in the cool autumn wind among his troops.
♬ “Under the peach tree, we swore to be brothers~”
As the familiar OST began to play—one I could hum even without subtitles—I found myself singing along before I knew it.
“This is what a real drama is! This is life!”
The tragic brilliance of that scene was so overwhelming I couldn’t help but shout in awe.
On screen, scenes overlapped from the brothers’ first eting beneath the peach tree to the very end.
Watching those mories flash by, my eyes welled up.
“Should I kill that bitch, or should I kill her?”
“Calm down, honey.”
Just as I was lost in the lingering emotions of that two-month journey, a cold voice ca from behind . I turned around carefully.
There stood my mother, face twisted like a wrathful demon, and my father, trying desperately to stop her.
“How am I supposed to not get sick watching this crap every single day?!”
At the killing intent in her tone, I finally realized the gravity of the situation and tried to sneak back into my room.
Smack!
“Ow!”
“Today’s your funeral! You think I °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° went through labor just to raise you for this?! Co here! Where do you think you’re going?!”
Unfortunately, Kim Sukja—the textbook example of a middle-aged Korean woman—had palms infused with decades of inner strength I was still too weak to dodge.
She didn’t stop until the white of my back turned sunset red.
“Huff...”
That destructive power probably ca from her ultimate strike, powered by every drop of true energy she had left.
Panting heavily, perhaps worn out from the beating, she finally paused—giving the narrow opening I needed to escape.
“How sad, Mother.”
“What?”
“To think you’ve grown so weak... The old you would’ve half-killed by now.”
At my words, her face flushed as red as my back. She reached out again, but I’d already slamd my door shut and locked it.
From outside ca furious pounding and the roar of an enraged beast, but I had no ti to play with her anymore.
“Let’s go.”
I turned on my computer and powered up my headset.
It was ti to defend the rift.
***
Living life all over again is far duller than you might think.
After all, what happens when soone used to the dopamine rush of 2025’s advanced civilization suddenly finds herself back in the early 2000s?
Everything feels boring and tedious.
Not that I was idle from the start.
'Bitcoin!! No, wait—first buy stocks, build up the capital, then...'
When I realized I’d regressed with all my mories intact, I knew better than anyone it was the opportunity of a lifeti.
Even I, who’d never cared about investnts, couldn’t help but get fired up thinking how much money I could make using the events I already knew.
I was literally sucking on my mom’s breast while thinking about when Bitcoin would skyrocket.
But my fatal mistake was overlooking how ti itself is poison to humans.
“This child is a genius, ma’am! She understands things we haven’t even taught her and learns on her own—we have nothing left to teach her!”
My pri years in this life were in kindergarten.
Among kids still crying for their moms, I blood gloriously.
“Hello, my na is Sion Lee. Nice to et you.”
“Wow! Sion’s English is amazing!”
Never had I been so grateful for South Korea’s public education system.
Back then, I was invincible—divine, even.
My teacher was so convinced she persuaded my parents to send to a gifted education center.
My thrilled parents enrolled , and thanks to my past-life experience of having already gone through college, I easily passed the entrance test.
But from that mont, I began to taste the bitterness of life again.
“That’s strange. Sion, are you pretending to be lazy because you don’t want to study?”
A year after joining, I fell behind.
Turns out even if you live twice, you still can’t beat real geniuses.
Granted, I’d grown a little complacent, trusting my previous-life knowledge.
“Well, I’ll just get into Seoul National, then use my stock and Bitcoin profits to...”
I had grand plans—Mars exploration and all—but I’d postponed studying. Fair enough; I got what I deserved.
After quietly dropping out of the gifted program, I went back to living a normal student life.
Fortunately, my parents didn’t cling to the “genius” label for long. They were disappointed, sure, but didn’t scold much.
At least until the college entrance exam.
My CSAT scores: 3, 8, 5, 5, 5.
“Mom, Dad, I heard the national average is around grade 5, so maybe it’s not that bad?”
Apparently, it was that bad.
My enraged mother nearly murdered , and I survived only thanks to my father’s intervention.
Even for , that result was shocking.
“How the hell did I do worse than in my previous life?”
In my past life, I wasn’t a prodigy, but I’d scored well enough to get into a decent Seoul university. Falling this far below was incomprehensible.
But looking back, it was inevitable.
In school, I slept through lessons because I already knew the material.
I never went to cram school, thinking it unnecessary.
In short, I hadn’t studied for nineteen years.
And it’s not like I’d done anything productive instead.
All I did was binge dramas, play gas, and read comics and wuxia novels.
Things I hadn’t enjoyed before—but now, having gone back, there was nothing else to do.
It was a life that renewed my respect for the greatness of K-dramas and K-gas.
If soone had fild on a hidden cara, they’d have wondered whether I was human or just a zoo panda who watched TV and gad all day.
Still, I can’t deny my satisfaction level was sky-high.
“Madam Sukja... you’ll regret this one day.”
Even though my furious mother eventually kicked out, I didn’t regret my lifestyle.
She was just too short-sighted.
A good college, a stable job?
Sure, those things matter for an ordinary life—but that’s exactly it, they’re only important for ordinary people.
I was destined to board the coming Bitcoin era ahead of everyone—to chat business with Chairman Lee Jaeryong and debate strategy with Alon Muscat himself.
Why would I care about college?
I hadn’t wasted ti on dramas and gas for nothing.
Just like Zhuge Liang, the hidden dragon who waited silently in his cave until Liu Bei ca bearing his jade pearl—
I, too, was simply waiting for my own jade pearl called Bitcoin.
It was a grand plan, far too visionary for soone like Sukja to comprehend.
If she’d known I was about to live the real-life version of “The Youngest Son of a Chaebol Family,” she’d have served kimchi stew, rolled olet, and Spam instead of kicking out.
“Ugh... cold. I should’ve brought my parka when I got thrown out.”
Having made a hasty ergency escape, I was barefoot in slippers and pajamas—and starting to shiver all over.
At this rate, before the Bitcoin era even began, I might end up as the headline: “High School Student Freezes to Death in Cold Wave—Suspected CSAT Depression.”
I couldn’t go ho until my mother’s fury cooled, so I needed a place to stay.
Riiing.
“Hello?”
“Auntie! It’s , Sion.”
“What—Sion? What’s going on, you calling first?”
I thought about crashing at a friend’s house but realized that would just leak back to the neighborhood gossip network that was my mother. So my choice was the youngest aunt.
Technically, calling her ‘aunt’ was a stretch; my grandfather had a late-life burst and fathered her at fifty, so we were only ten years apart.
We got along well, she had an MZ-generation vibe, and she was easy to talk to. So I called, hoping to mooch so shelter.
When I explained my situation, she sighed.
“Ugh, I knew this would happen.”
“Huh?”
“Your mom’s been grinding her teeth about you lately. She said she wanted to let you relax after exams, but looking at what you’ve been doing, she couldn’t hold back her anger.”
Was it really that bad?
I replayed my daily routine in my head.
Since the CSAT ended, I’d been waking up around 1 p.m., rubbing my eyes, rummaging through the fridge for breakfast-lunch-dinner, then downloading old sitcoms to binge.
At 7 p.m., I’d head to the living room to watch Zhuge Liang: The Romance of the Three Kingdoms.
After finishing that, I’d retreat to my room to defend the rift until around 6 a.m.
I’d done this for about two months.
“Maybe Madam Sukja’s actually gentle at heart?”
“What? Anyway, I’m busy prepping a program right now, so just let yourself in. You rember the passcode, right?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“What nonsense are you spouting again? See you later tonight.”
She hung up coolly—classic behavior from a career woman directing TV shows.
With permission granted, I had to hurry to her place before freezing to death.
It was too far to walk, so I needed a bus or a cab. The problem was money.
In my wallet: one green bill and one yellow-brown. Barely enough for a cab fare, maybe.
“Well, Aunt’ll feed anyway, so I probably won’t need cash.”
Taking the bus would be cheaper, but in this outfit—and in this cold—I found myself leaning toward the taxi option.
I sighed at my thin, broke wallet.
If only I had capital to buy Bitcoin in bulk while it was still on sale—this was a serious problem.
'Maybe I should get a part-ti job?'
I was done with school obligations anyway. If I skipped college and worked hard for a few years, I could easily build enough capital.
“Taxi!”
I waved down an empty cab in the distance, pushing away idle thoughts.
When it stopped, I quickly opened the back door and slid in.
“To Sangam, please.”
“Sangam? But kid, why are you dressed like that?”
“There was... a situation.”
The driver, probably unsettled by the sight of a teenager in pajamas and slippers in midwinter, started chatting.
“I’ve got a daughter about your age. If she went out dressed like that and caught a cold, I’d be heartbroken. Your parents must worry sick.”
He went on about how his own daughter dressed too thin just to look stylish.
“A pretty daughter like you shouldn’t be out like this,” he said.
“Pretty daughter,” huh...
Even after nineteen years, I still wasn’t used to that phrase.
That’s right.
I was a regressor—who had gone from man to woman.
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