Report
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Griffin Scans
Translator – Hero of death
Proofreader – Sleepyhead
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Chapter 5 - Wish comes true
Five days later.
After an all-night marathon to finish restoring every backlog figure, Tae-jun finally finished—and, feeling light as air, he pulled out a cigarette.
“Twenty-one boxes total, right?”
The deliveryman, who’d become a regular, asked. Tae-jun nodded.
“Yes. That’s right.”
“Quite a load today. Everything okay?”
“I’ve decided to take a short break from work.”
“Oh? Going on a trip?”
“Something like that. Here—take this.”
As always, he handed over a sports drink. The deliveryman studied it for a moment, then gave a rueful smile.
“Funny… this is one of the stops I make almost every day. I’ll miss it.”
“You won’t be relieved to lose one brutal delivery route?”
“Ah, there are worse jobs than this…”
“Maybe I’ll be back soon. I’ll let you know when I am.”
“Okay. Safe travels~”
Watching the delivery man descend the stairs, boxes piled precariously in both arms, Tae-jun stretched luxuriously.
“Well, I’ve been up for days. Maybe I’ll catch a little shut-eye.”
He felt a rush of relief—he’d completed every commission.
Since then, he had resisted the game console altogether. He couldn’t bring himself to dive back into the game, not with unfinished business lingering around.
But after that day… he threw himself into the game like the hero of Game Market 1983.
The faster it went, the more demanding the controls became, and clearings were no easy feat. He had no idea how many stages remained but one thing was certain: the LCD’s max score was one million.
“Okay. One million is the target.”
—---
—---------
The next day…
“AAAAAH!!!”
The next day…
“WOOOAAAH!!!”
The next day…
“KRAAAA!!!”
On the third day, trapped just shy of one million and repeatedly game-overed, his screams prompted the downstairs neighbor to pound on the floor:
“What’s going on up there lately?”
By the fourth day:
“Just a little more… come on…!!”
Merged with the machine in a trance, Tae-jun finally breached the dream score of one million.
“Done!! I did it!! I did it!! I can go back!!”
[14:28: 1,000,000 won deposited from Bok**]
“…? What— that’s it?”
He tapped the old console’s buttons to no effect. No other reaction.
“What!? I thought clearing it would send me back in time!?”
His hopes vanished into thin air. Irritation welled up—his weeks of effort felt utterly betrayed. He stomped around the empty room, then collapsed on his creaky bed, staring at the ceiling.
“Well, time travel never was easy. What was I thinking?”
Then he heard the front door open.
“What now?”
Startled, he leapt up and walked into the living room.
“Ah.”
“Opened again, as always.”
“Sir…?”
An old man stood there, smiling warmly at him.
“Tell me—when would you like to go back?”
Though it differed slightly from the novels, this was his equal chance to reshape his life—just like the hero of Game Market 1983. Moments later, Tae-jun glanced around in disbelief.
He was no longer in his living room, but standing in a bright white void with the old man—like a scene from The Matrix.
“Uh…?”
The emptiness pressed on him. His first instinct was to look down but the old man warned:
“Don’t look at the floor. Look at me—that’ll help.”
“Ah… yeah, that’s better.”
“Now, again: do you want to travel back in time?”
The old man’s question snapped him upright, and he answered, voice earnest:
“Yes.”
“Good. If you could go back in time, what would you do?”
“First and foremost, I’d want to see my late parents again.”
“Your parents, huh. Sure, you must miss them. And then?”
“Huh?”
Surprised by the follow-up, he admitted he hadn’t really thought beyond returning to his childhood. But pausing to recall what actually happened, he realized the old man’s intent.
If I simply go back to being a kid, I’d be powerless again. I couldn’t stop what happened to my mother and father. I’d just replay that nightmare.
There was only one way to change it.
This time, I’ll stand by my father’s side and help him directly.
The old man watched this sudden change with fascination.
“Have you decided?”
“Yes.”
“Then when would you like to go?”
“1985. I’d like to be about twenty-three.”
Choosing a new identity rather than returning as his own childhood self, Tae-jun’s answer drew a small murmur of admiration from the old man.
“1985—any special reason for that year?”
“My father ran a small caramel factory then. I want to help him.”
His father, Seok-hoon Yoon, had founded “Obok Sweets”, which, thanks to a popular caramel and a hands-on leadership, rose to second place in sales—just behind Lion Confectionery.
He even handed the CEO role to a friend to walk the factory floor and boost product quality, and personally driven sales calls took the company to impressive heights.
If only the rival spy in the factory hadn’t sabotaged us, Obok Sweets wouldn’t have collapsed so utterly…
Now, armed with adult knowledge from news and the internet, Tae-jun burned with righteous anger over how the company was destroyed.
Decades later, only faint memories of Obok’s caramel lingered.
I won’t just stand by. I’ll turn the tables—this time, we’ll make them eat our dust.
The old man, reading both his fiery ambition and uncanny knack for restoring defunct toys through the bond of nostalgia, smiled with satisfaction.
I thought he had no ambition—look at him now, absolutely boiling with it.
If this man—who could bring broken figurines back to life and who understood every era’s trends—went back to 1985… imagine what could happen.
He felt a thrill of excitement.
“Alright. I’ll grant your wish: 1985. Any particular season?”
“Early summer—specifically June 12th.”
“Ho! Very precise. Does that date hold some significance?”
Tae-jun grinned.
“They say shocking memories leave lifelong trauma. For me, that day is one of those.”
“Intriguing. Confronting your past self first, are you? Fine. I don’t have much time left—let’s hurry and fulfill your wish. Make this old man’s final entertainment worthwhile.”
“Final entertainment…?”
Before he could ask, the world blurred. A tingling sensation coursed through him and he staggered as if the wind itself had lifted him.
“Huh…”
He blinked and took in his surroundings: a vacant lot, with a half-rotted wooden sign scribbled in marker:
[Room for rent]
“Rent…?
Even faded language can evoke nostalgia. That single phrase told him he’d truly left 2017 behind and arrived in 1985.
He took a step back—and the military duffel bag on a nearby bench fell to the ground.
“Huh—?”
He realized he was wearing the old “frog suit” uniform. On the chest and the bag’s nametag, the letters “Yoon Tae-jun” stood out clearly: unquestionably his.
To confirm, he reached into the bag and pulled out his wallet: an old-fashioned, laminated ID and a discharge certificate.
[Discharge date: June 12, 1985]
So today, he’d been discharged.
A small gift from the old man who have solved Korea’s trickiest problem.
Inside the duffel bag lay a bankbook—holding exactly the same balance Tae-jun had in 2017: about 70 million won. In 1985 currency, that was worth easily ten times or more—making it an astounding sum.
Still, he couldn’t squander it. He resolved to save as much as possible—just in case his father’s business failed again.
Even so…
“Ha… thank goodness.”
Clutching the passbook and his seal, he smoothed the crumpled combat hat and stood.
“Before nightfall, I’d better find a place to live.”
He knew the area from childhood, so he headed toward the market to find a bank.
Passing the playground and marble-lane alleys, a diesel bus passed. Across the street was another treasured childhood spot.
“International Arcade?”
Mesmerized by kids’ frantic joystick work, he almost wandered across—then shook himself.
“We don’t need nostalgia right now. Bank first.”
—------At the bank—----
“Would you like to withdraw 500,000 won?”
“Yes.”
“And your seal?”
“Here you go.”
The teller deftly dispensed the cash into a sealed envelope.
“Please double-check the amount, and keep it safe—it’s a lot of money.”
“Thank you. You’re awfully polite for someone so young.”
The moment Tae-jun complimented her, every teller in the row turned, staring in disbelief. A fresh soldier calling a woman older than himself “polite” was unthinkable.
Blushing, he pulled his cap low and fled outside.
On the corner stood a small shop. He approached, brandishing a ten-thousand-won bill.
“Two packs of Lesung, please.”
“…What did you say?”
He realized that he had asked for a future brand which didn't exist in the past. Stammering, he asked
“Uh… that… cigarette.”
“Which one?”
Shelves held unfamiliar packs—only two—Rose and Bellflower. He pointed to the latter.
The owner chuckled and handed over a different pack.
“Soldiers smoke “Sol.” Two packs with ten-thousand won and no change?”
“Yes…”
He tossed two packs onto the counter, handed over the bill, and the owner returned 9,700 won in change.
‘A pack for 150 won? Is this real?’
He pocketed the coins in his duffel bag and carried it over his shoulder, returned to the vacant lot.
“Wow—this is the fabled “Sol” brand.”
He lit a stick borrowed from a passerby, bracing himself for the first drag of the gritty, coarse smoke.
“Ugh… so this is what they call ‘Sol’…”
~~~~~~~~~~~Chapter End~~~~~~~~~~~
