Chapter 1: From Game Fan to Conglomerate Heir

In 2027, humanity’s proud first virtual reality system began to take shape.

And by 2037, humanity had finally managed to create a world that held the essence of virtual reality—a world where anything was possible, a world where the impossible in reality could be achieved.

Astray Astrea. For short, the game was called ASA (AreA).

Within just a year of its launch, by 2038, ASA had secured over three billion players and stirred up a frenzy that went far beyond a mere craze.

Of course, Utopia, the company behind ASA, wasn’t satisfied with just that.

With freedom as the core theme of virtual reality, and the fact that you could do anything, they built everything from familiar raids to siege battles, production competitions, and all sorts of rooms and stages.

They successfully hosted tournaments, and after being adopted as an official Olympic e-Sports discipline, they expanded into goods, entertainment, and the cultural industry, becoming a beloved culture around the globe.

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say it became a way of life, loved and followed by all of humanity.

And the attention and affection people poured into ASA could be summed up as: a new territory for displaying abilities, and a rising sun of power and influence.

[ASA Thematic stocks hit upper limit after upper limit.…]

[Domestic 7th ASA Guild listed, business booming every day]

If it was related to ASA, it became common for most things to trend upward day after day.

And with the low-risk, high-return conditions, major conglomerates and international companies all jumped into the market, naturally starting to scout the talents of ASA.

[(Page 1) United States pro player Gwen, confirmed to naturalize as a Russian with a huge salary and special benefits!]

[South Korea ASA player Jung Jonghwan says, “Like the former e-Sports peak players, I have no intention of leaving South Korea.”]

And now, in 2040.

AreA had evolved into a matter of national competitiveness.

For major matches like country-versus-country tournaments, there were companies that gave people a day off just to watch, such was its explosive popularity and support.

Baek Jun-su, sitting on a bench and staring as if he’d drill a hole through the screen where the national match was being broadcast, was also someone who loved AreA—or rather, someone so obsessed that he watched videos on his commute every day.

“Argh! This is so frustrating! Why can’t anyone support Jung Jonghwan’s play properly?!”

-Ah, if the South Korea national team keeps this up, they’re bound to lose.

-This is quite an upset. South Korea, who never missed a finals after every tournament, is now struggling in the quarterfinals. I’m sure none of the viewers expected this situation.

“What’s with him? With such a great Job, Skills, Runes, and Equipment, how can he play like that?!”

Baek Jun-su clenched his phone in frustration, furious at the poor performance of the Korea National Team.

“Ha… I could play better as a player. With that Job, with that Equipment, what’s lacking?”

But, unfortunately, all that came back in return for his anger was bad luck.

-Ah, the team’s captain, Jung Jonghwan—no, Karua—is about to be taken down…!

Before the commentary could finish, as if he’d lost his mind, Jun-su turned off his phone and grumbled.

“There goes my lunch money.”

He could still see the ten thousand won he’d bet earlier floating before his eyes, but since he couldn’t turn back time, all he could do was accept it with resignation.

With a lingering sense of regret, he crushed the empty beer can in his hand and got up from the bench.

“Who can I blame? It’s my fault for getting swept up by last year’s championship record, betting patriotically on the first match as soon as I turned on the TV. Ah, I should’ve bet against the odds! I’ll just go home and sleep.”

After tossing the empty beer can into the trash, he waited at the crosswalk signal to head home.

“Maybe…?”

Jun-su, remembering the saying that it’s not over until it’s over, pressed the power button on his smartphone.

“Of course.”

But as expected, there was not a single hopeful article on the portal sites—only the most negative stories.

Even the tiniest bit of hope was denied, and Jun-su naturally glanced at the clock.

Because he had work tomorrow.

Seeing the time, he let out a sigh.

“Ha, I have to go to work tomorrow, and I’ll be lucky if I get five hours of sleep.”

The moment the reflected light from the red signal turned green, he stepped forward, eager to get even a minute, a second more of sleep.

Baaaang—!

“uhh…”

Letting out a dumbfounded sound and turning his head, a cargo truck was rushing at him, blaring its horn.

Jun-su froze, unable to even think of moving.

As if facing death, his life flashed before his eyes like a lantern.

From his life in the orphanage, abandoned by parents whose faces and even names he never knew, to his school days, bullied for being smaller than his peers and for not having parents.

Of course, in a life not so short, there were also moments of happiness.

With the talent he discovered in sports, which he started just to avoid bullying, he proudly became a professional athlete and even dared to dream of reaching the top.

He thought he could live a second life.

At least, until he was cast down by an injury suffered during a match.

In the end, Pro Boxer Baek Jun-su was defeated before he could even spread his wings, and became a plain—no, even less than ordinary—salaried man in his early thirties in South Korea.

He had nothing to expect or rely on, not a single person to open his heart to, and simply dragged himself through a hellish life he only lived because he couldn’t die.

“Yeah, maybe this is easier after all.”

Ironically, or perhaps inevitably, he felt at ease at the end of his life.

That’s how miserable Jun-su’s life was.

Even if he died, there wouldn’t be anyone to mourn him.

Screeech—!

With memories of misfortune and no regrets, attachments, or worries for his lonely life with no one to comfort him, he closed his eyes.

***

No one goes to the hospital for good reasons, so there are few who like hospitals.

Especially for ‘Baek Jun-su,’ the hospital was a place of trauma.

The days spent in the hospital, which had put the brakes on Jun-su’s flight toward his dream, were like a death sentence for a condemned man.

Thanks to that, just hearing the word ‘hospital’ made Jun-su faint.

“Ugh…”

So this was a groan mixed with pain and lament, not just agony.

The off-white ceiling and that unique smell seen through half-opened eyes.

The faint sound of the news and the humidifier quietly puffing away.

There was only one place like this.

“Hospital? Why?”

Jun-su forced his aching head to work, trying to recall his memory.

-Weather today. Most areas will be sunny…

At that moment, Jun-su doubted his own eyes and ears.

2038. The news was definitely reporting the weather for June 12, 2038.

“What is this…?”

Pang!

Before he could organize his thoughts, the sound of shattering glass startled him, and he reflexively turned his head toward it.

A nurse-looking young woman had dropped the tray she was holding.

“Doctor! Cheon Yeohyeon is awake!”

Bang! The nurse slammed the door open, and soon, the sound of many footsteps echoed on the marble floor as the door swung open again.

Then, a middle-aged couple with vaguely familiar faces rushed in, nearly sobbing, and grabbed his hand.

“Yeohyeon! Are you awake?”

“My youngest!”

Then, so many medical staff poured into the room that it seemed impossible.

“This is a miracle…!”

What exactly was the miracle?

His head hurt even more at the group calling him Cheon Yeohyeon instead of Baek Jun-su.

Old news was playing on the TV, and he had no idea why they were calling him Cheon Yeohyeon.

His head was spinning with confusion, and he wanted to ask, but no voice came out.

“Ah…”

All he could manage was a weak groan.

“Please don’t strain yourself. You’ve just miraculously woken up after being in a brain-dead state for five days due to a traffic accident. For now, just lie down. Let’s do a simple test first…”

Because the doctor insisted, he had no choice but to comply.

He was alone in the hospital room—not because there were no other patients, but because it was a private room.

A deluxe one, at that.

Jun-su, well aware he was in no position for such luxury, tried to speak again, but was stopped by the doctor with a stethoscope.

“That’s enough. Your body is responding normally, and for now, the crisis is over.”

“Thank you, thank you, doctor!”

The middle-aged couple, whom he’d never met before, sincerely thanked and worried over Jun-su.

‘What the heck is going on here?’

***

On TV or the internet, people sometimes talk about supernatural phenomena.

From those claiming to have traveled through time to psychics who say they can see the future.

People who encounter such stories that defy common sense usually react the same way.

‘That’s nonsense.’

‘It’s a lie.’

‘They’re pathological liars.’

Of course, there are also people who listen and agree with those stories.

But since these claims aren’t scientifically proven, they quickly fade into the back alleys of gossip.

Jun-su was also someone who reacted coldly to such supernatural phenomena.

‘But now…’

Never had there been a situation this absurd.

Possession and Reincarnation.

He never could have imagined experiencing two supernatural phenomena at once, even in his dreams.

And the person he possessed wasn’t just anyone.

The third and youngest son of Cheon Ae Group, which has held the number one spot in the world’s corporate rankings every year.

He had become ‘Cheon Yeohyeon,’ the youngest son of the Cheon Ae Group.

‘And it’s not just a day or two of Reincarnation, either.’

It was two years.

He had traveled back two years.

At first, he thought it was a dream and hoped he’d wake up soon, but, mercilessly, that never happened.

Instead, as the days passed, the sensations and memories grew clearer, proving that this was undeniably reality.

I had no choice but to accept it as reality now.

As I did, the knots in my mind began to unravel.

‘So, it’s 2038. I’m Cheon Yeohyeon, age 20.’

Since there was no regret or lingering attachment to the life I’d lived as ‘Baek Jun-su,’ I felt no sense of loss.

But there was still a heavy burden in a corner of my heart.

‘The original Cheon Yeohyeon was…’

I’d been stamping the same spot for a week, but now that I’d decided to accept reality as it was, it was time to sort out the situation again.

Cheon Yeohyeon had shown no signs of waking from his comatose state for five days after the traffic accident.

‘In fact, he was supposed to never open his eyes again.’

In 2038, the death of Cheon Yeohyeon, the youngest son of the world’s number one Cheon Ae Group, was a global incident that I remembered vividly.

But I had opened my eyes in this body in 2040, still retaining the memories of Baek Jun-su.

‘I don’t know the reason, but I’ve entered Cheon Yeohyeon’s body. No, I’m becoming Cheon Yeohyeon…’

And it wasn’t as if ‘Cheon Yeohyeon’ had disappeared completely.

His life and memories were slowly filling my mind.

So Jun-su made a bold decision.

No, it was a declaration for the path ahead.

“From now on, I am Cheon Yeohyeon.”

It was a cautious whisper, but a week’s worth of anguish seemed to melt away in an instant.

Of course, the real Cheon Yeohyeon could suddenly reappear, or one day I might return to being Baek Jun-su—but until then, this was, without a doubt, ‘my body.’

“I am Cheon Yeohyeon. I’m really Cheon Yeohyeon.”

Repeating it like a mantra, I finally put down my last burden.

As my worries were sorted out, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders.

It was only natural—after all, I was the second son of a conglomerate, and not just any conglomerate, but the world’s undisputed number one.

The work stress that used to haunt me every night vanished, and more than anything, I now had enough money to instantly solve such worries.

I was now living the kind of life I’d only dreamed of—a life free from the fatigue of labor and worries about money.

“This is a jackpot.”

As I indulged in happiness, imagining the days ahead, a knock on the door cut through my daydream.

Knock knock—

Once a day.

Since the door was only knocked on once a day, I knew what that meant.

“It’s already eight o’clock…”