I opened my eyes to a familiar desk.
The monitor displayed an Excel spreadsheet. Post-it notes were plastered everywhere in a cluttered mess. The front and sides of the desk, piled high with miscellaneous junk, were tightly enclosed by pale blue partitions.
When I looked up, I saw the ceiling cut into a perfect square by the edges of the partitions.
The thought flashed through my mind that it looked like a chicken coop.
Feeling stifled, I pushed my chair back and stood up. As I looked over the partitions at the employees working away at their respective stations, I remembered where I was.
This was the small, bottom-tier company where I had worked for two years after graduating from college.
Six years of elementary school, three years of middle school, three years of high school, and four years of university. Sixteen years is more than enough time to become a useful spare part for a highly developed civilization.
If I were a Ferrari or a Bugatti, even a tiny screw would have shone brilliantly, but in this company—a place that walked the standard path of a dead-end firm—the only thing that was ever "enough" was the workload.
The welfare was appalling, and the salary was truly "Endgame"—there was no hope.
To think I had wasted two years of my youth in such a pathetic place. It was more unbelievable than the fact that I had returned five years into the past.
I sat back down and checked my body.
There was no pain, and not a single drop of blood stained my clothes. My chest and legs, where I had sustained fatal injuries, were clean and without a single scar.
I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes.
"Whew..."
Without even a moment to savor the peace of death, I had been hurled back into the past. The weight of a life started anew came out as a heavy sigh, trailing as long as an umbilical cord.
Death had been instantaneous, but the stress and fatigue of bleeding out lingered like the afterimages of a nightmare, raking through my body and mind.
I opened my eyes once the motion sickness subsided.
I’m back again.
Since I had already regressed four times, I thought that perhaps this time would be the end.
Yet, here I was. I had successfully completed my fifth regression.
Completely vanishing into death wouldn't have been so bad, but since I was alive, I had to find a way to keep living.
First, check the date.
The desk calendar next to the monitor showed December. Today was December 8th.
Flipping through the calendar and doing the math, there were exactly 55 days left until February 1st of next year—the day the zombie apocalypse begins.
55 days...
I felt a sense of relief that I had 20 more days than in my last life, when I had regressed with only 35 days to spare.
But soon, a sense of regret followed.
If only I had regressed three years ago—or even just one year ago—I could have enjoyed a peaceful and abundant daily life to the fullest while meticulously preparing for the end.
Regardless, if I wanted to increase my chances of survival even by a fraction, I had to move right now. Building a shelter, stockpiling supplies, acquiring weapons... the to-do list was endless.
I didn't have a second to waste in a dump like this.
I set the desk calendar down, grabbed a cardboard box from the supply room, and began clearing my desk. I packed only my laptop into my backpack and shoved the rest of the miscellaneous office supplies into the box.
"Huh? Gangjun, what are you doing?"
The colleague tapping away at the keyboard in the next seat looked over the partition with interest.
"Are you... quitting? All of a sudden?"
"Something like that," I answered half-heartedly while opening a drawer.
Since we were both contract workers, we had been somewhat close at first, but I had distanced myself after learning he played office politics behind my back.
What happened to this guy after the zombies broke out?
Through four regressions, I had never encountered him again, either as a zombie or a survivor.
After clearing out the final drawer, I stood up and slowly scanned my coworkers, who were watching me with curious eyes.
In my second life—the first time I experienced regression—I had sent a group email to these people. I couldn't bring myself to ignore them; my conscience pricked me, and I felt a sense of guilt. So, I detailed the upcoming zombie outbreak and how to survive it.
A few of them had replied.
Go see a psychiatrist. Did you change jobs to become a survival expert? Do you really think the world is going to end just like that?
Naturally, not a single person thanked me. They all treated me like a madman.
The majority who didn't reply likely just chuckled and ignored it. During coffee breaks, they probably mentioned my name once with that specific tone of those left behind—a mix of pity and superiority—before forgetting me entirely.
Once people started biting each other and the world began to crumble exactly as I warned, only then would they remember that email.
It was obvious. I would have done the same if I were in their shoes.
After reading their common-sense replies—filled with firm trust in human civilization and concern for my mental health—I felt drained and hollow, but my guilt vanished.
I tried sending the email again during my second regression, just in case, but the reaction was the same. The only difference was that men in suits from government agencies somehow caught wind of it and took an interest in me.
So, I stopped sending emails after that.
I decided not to send one this time, either. They wouldn't believe me anyway, so they wouldn't prepare, and by the time they realized the warning was true, it would be too late to be of any help.
"Hey, Gangjun. Is the delivery paperwork for Jaeo Industries not done yet?"
Assistant Manager Park, sitting by the inner window, spoke to me as I stood there. I snapped out of my futile thoughts and looked at him calmly.
"Not yet."
"What? I have to head over there in a bit. What do you mean it’s not done?!"
"I wonder."
I placed my letter of resignation—which I had carried in my heart like a chronic illness—on the desk and shouldered my backpack.
No matter how crappy a company is, you shouldn't quit like this. It would definitely cause various problems later.
However, the story changes if there is no "later."
In 55 days, the world ends. A hellish apocalypse will begin where, though I haven't counted, at least half the population will turn into zombies or die. This company will collapse along with the rest of the world that has been handed a terminal sentence.
Even if they mess with my salary or try to file a petty lawsuit in the meantime, I won't be affected at all. It was always like that in my past lives, and this one would be no different.
Leaving Assistant Manager Park speechless and bewildered, I headed for the door. I set the cardboard box down by the photocopier and pushed the glass door open into the hallway.
Odd looks followed me, but no one tried to stop me.
*****
I took the elevator down to the ground floor and stepped out into the street, where brilliant sunlight poured down.
I stepped a few paces away from the entrance and closed my eyes.
Behind my eyelids, submerged in faint darkness, the noise of passing cars and the sounds of busy movement blurred together like tinnitus. My hands were empty and my eyes were closed—a state of total vulnerability—yet nothing lunged to devour me.
No arrows or bullets came flying my way.
When I opened my eyes a moment later, the street greeted me with a peacefulness that felt as foreign as heaven—the kind of early December weather that wasn't too cold or too hot, like a lazy holiday.
People were walking in clean clothes or looking at their smartphones while waiting for the bus. Buildings and signs, well-maintained without a single crack or burn mark, sparkled in the sunlight. Convenience stores and restaurants boasted an abundance of goods. Cars and buses with intact bodies sped along the roads.
It was a mundane, repetitive daily life, but in the ruins of Busan where I had just met death, it was a distant sight one would only see in an exhausted dream.
In fact, I had dreamed of this many times. Many others who barely survived the apocalypse probably had similar dreams.
They only dreamed, but I had returned. To the lost paradise that enjoyed a sturdy civilization and a wondrous abundance. To a new starting line.
Feeling my heart swell, I tilted my head back and looked up at the sky. The cloudless blue sky was exactly the same as the one I had seen in the vacant lot before I died.
What is that son of a bitch Shin Taeik doing right now?
I knew nothing about what that man did or where he was in the past. It would be hard to find him since his name likely wasn't real, but if I went down to Busan, I would probably see him again.
I lowered my gaze, making a firm resolve to kill him the moment I saw him this time, by any means necessary.
A lottery ticket stand next to a pork cutlet restaurant across the street caught my eye. I crossed the crosswalk and walked straight inside.
Standing at the table, I pulled out a lottery slip and popped the cap off the felt-tip pen. As I closed my eyes and searched my memory, the numbers I had memorized tens of thousands of times flowed out habitually.
6, 9, 12, 30, 36, 41... 3, 12, 23, 25, 34...
I had started memorizing lottery numbers during my second regression to prepare for the next life. Since the timing of each regression varied, memorizing six numbers for a single draw wasn't enough.
After studying a calendar, I expanded the range to ten months before the zombie outbreak and picked one winning set for each month, totaling ten sets. There are six winning numbers per draw, so I had to memorize sixty numbers in total.
I wrote the numbers in a small notebook and mechanically injected them into my brain like English vocabulary words. Even in the midst of chaos, death, and violence, I took out the notebook and memorized the numbers whenever I had time, just like a soldier looking at a family photo on a battlefield.
They were like a blessed incantation promising the next life.
After carefully reciting every single number as if in prayer, I opened my eyes and wrote the sixty numbers on the back of the lottery slip. I pulled out my smartphone and checked the winning numbers for previous draws, crossing out sets of six numbers.
Going back as far as April, two sets of winning numbers remained—one for December and one for January of next year.
I only needed to buy one, but just in case, I decided to use the January numbers as well. I pulled out two new lottery slips and wrote the numbers separately on each.
After finishing the marking and double-checking the numbers, I pulled out my wallet.
"That will be two thousand won."
The slips went into the machine, and in just a few seconds, two lottery tickets were back in my hand.
I folded the tickets neatly, put them in my pocket, and scanned the numbers printed on them.
Even before the zombie outbreak and the regressions, I used to buy five thousand won worth of lottery tickets every week out of habit—like throwing eraser bits at the back of a cold-hearted "Campus Queen" of the humanities department who always ignored me.
With a lottery ticket in my wallet, I would endure the week, waiting for the day the Goddess of Luck would finally turn around with a frown, annoyed.
But the Goddess of Luck never showed the slightest interest in me until the world ended. It probably wasn't because she was ignoring me, but because there were too many eraser bits flying at her from all directions. A "Queen" is a "Queen" for a reason.
It’s different now.
The jackpot comes from here.
There are three lottery draws left in December. Since the winning numbers for the first week didn't match what I memorized, I would win the jackpot with these numbers either this week, the next, or the week after that.
In my last life, the jackpot was 1.7 billion won. With that money, I bought an old warehouse on the outskirts of Gimhae and built a shelter.
How much will it be this time? Hopefully more than last time...
I wanted to buy about ten tickets with the winning numbers, but greed would only ruin things.
When I first memorized the numbers and regressed, I bought five tickets with the winning numbers. Ten seemed like too many, and one felt like a waste of potential winnings.
I collected 8.5 billion won after taxes, but the moment I stepped out of the National Agricultural Cooperative Federation building, I was being followed.
I thought they were criminals targeting lottery winners, but they weren't. They were the same kind of men in suits from the government who had sought me out in a previous life when I emailed my coworkers about the apocalypse.
Unlike then, they didn't appear before me this time; they just hovered around.
I wasn't dragged off for questioning or harmed, but I suffered a blow worse than that. By the time I had spent about 800 million won to prepare a shelter, all my bank accounts were simultaneously frozen.
I couldn't withdraw or deposit a single cent. The bank claimed one of my accounts was linked to a voice phishing crime and was under police investigation. I visited the police station and even hired a lawyer from a major firm, but the accounts remained frozen until the world collapsed and the apocalypse arrived.
The 7.7 billion won left in my accounts vanished without me ever getting to spend it.
At the time, I had no idea what the connection was between winning the lottery five times in the same draw, the zombie apocalypse, and the government officials.
I still don't know much, but after observing the cause and effect through repeated regressions, I realized a few things for certain.
Something I couldn't even imagine was happening behind the scenes long before the zombie outbreak. There were people who vaguely suspected the possibility of regression and the existence of regressors.
And my regression after the zombie apocalypse was no coincidence.
In my next life, I intentionally bought only one jackpot ticket. After collecting the 1.7 billion won, I watched carefully, but nothing happened. No tail, no frozen accounts.
Their identity, purpose, and reasons were all unclear, but if I bought multiple jackpot tickets again, there was a high chance of being followed and having my accounts frozen.
Maybe two tickets would be okay, but I wanted to play it safe this time, just like the last.
The best plan for now was to collect one jackpot myself and then have someone I could trust collect the next month's jackpot on my behalf.
I knew just the person. He was poor, kind-hearted, and a coward. I even knew a fatal weakness concerning his child, so it wouldn't be hard to manipulate him.
"Excuse me, sir. Please move aside. There’s someone waiting behind you."
Snapping back to reality, I stepped aside. A young woman in an office uniform approached and handed bills to the shop owner. She was holding a tray with four iced americanos in one hand, as if she had been sent on a coffee run during work.
Her face was familiar. She was an employee of another company located in the same building as the one I had just resigned from. We had only ever passed each other in the elevator; we had never even exchanged a proper greeting.
However, the last image of this woman had been quite impressive.
In my first life, before any regressions, I lived in hiding in a studio apartment for a while after the zombie outbreak began. I spent all day staring at the TV and internet while eating through my food supplies, but no matter how much time passed, there was no sign of the situation stabilizing.
As the government and politicians missed the "golden hour" to resolve the crisis with their half-baked responses, the situation worsened beyond control. Electricity and water were still stable, but with infected people popping up everywhere, it was only a matter of time before Seoul was paralyzed.
Airports and harbors, as well as highways heading south, were in total chaos, looking like the peak of vacation season due to the quick-witted crowds attempting to escape.
Even in this situation, the government issued daily unrealistic political compromises instead of martial law. The President appeared on TV, telling citizens not to be agitated, to trust the government, and to focus on their daily lives and work; they didn't even stop the subways or buses.
Watching the zombie apocalypse become a reality, I decided to escape Seoul as well.
I left my studio apartment with a backpack during the morning hours when the city was a bit quieter. The hazy morning streets were eerily empty, as if everyone had gone into hiding. The muffled noise from afar and the sharp silence nearby created a chilling contrast, tightening my chest until I could barely breathe.
Even so, a few shops and convenience stores were open, and the subway stations were as bright as model homes. Lights were on here and there in the high-rise buildings.
I was moving at a brisk pace, wary of zombies that could jump out from anywhere, when I ran into that woman near Nodeul Station.
The woman was dressed in clean office attire, wearing a shoulder bag, and looking at her smartphone in front of a bus stop. It was an incredibly dissonant sight, completely out of place with the surrounding grim landscape and its end-of-the-world vibes.
At first, I hesitated, thinking she was a zombie, but when she turned her head and saw me, her face was normal.
The woman flinched and stepped back for a reason slightly different from mine. She hesitated for a moment before speaking.
"Do you know when the bus is coming? I can't be late..."
Even looking at her from a bit closer, the woman didn't seem crazy. She looked anxious and impatient, but her complexion was fine, and she spoke clearly. There were no bite marks or bloodstains.
She looked like someone who had fallen asleep before the zombie outbreak and had just woken up to head to work.
Wondering if she really didn't know, I tried to briefly explain the situation, but the woman frowned and shook her head firmly. It wasn't that she was refusing to face a desperate reality out of fear; I sensed a firm resolve.
In that moment, I realized that what she had just said was the truth.
The woman wasn't worried about zombies or thugs. She was worried about being late.
Whether it was the grit of a working person, an obsession with a paycheck, or a stubborn adherence to a daily routine to avoid an overwhelming disaster, there was nothing I could do for her.
I kept my mouth shut and went my way. I don't know what happened to her after that—whether she caught the bus she was waiting for or walked to work.
Only much later did I become curious. What kind of company did she work for that made her so determined to show up for work?
In the midst of a grand catastrophe where people were turning into living corpses, was the reason she trusted the government and set out on a treacherous commute because that was the only "seat" permitted to her in the massive city of Seoul?
"Give me five thousand won worth of auto-picks, please."
The woman, having purchased her lottery tickets, pushed the glass door and stepped out.
As I followed her with my eyes, I thought about the "seat" she was returning to. Her place remained unchanged, whether before the world crumbled or after.
Thinking that way, her shoulders, sloping down on either side of her neatly cut bob, looked incredibly frail. I could vaguely guess where the path she was walking—stoutly enduring the weight of deep solitude and a harsh life—would lead.
But I decided not to jump to conclusions. Just as it was impossible to know what would happen with the five thousand won worth of lottery tickets she bought, life sometimes diverges in unexpected ways or comes together in exquisite harmony.
Sometimes, a sliver of hope is enough. Just as one draws the strength to endure a week from a single lottery ticket with astronomical odds.
I was like that, and so would she be.
Deciding to believe that, I also stepped outside.