The cursor darted across the screen, jumping from one betting site to another as pop-up windows opened and closed in rapid succession.
“So you’re planning to place the exact same bet on every site I told you about?”
Minjae tossed a peanut into the air and caught it neatly in his mouth.
“I’m no expert, but that doesn’t sound like the best way to win.”
Jiwon adjusted his glasses.
If you already know the result, it is.
He kept the thought to himself.
Instead, he opened another tab and reviewed the odds.
Minjae leaned forward.
“You really are serious about this, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Jiwon’s fingers paused above the keyboard before resuming their movement.
“Because I need money.”
Minjae frowned.
“You already told me that.”
“I know.”
“And you still haven’t told me why.”
Jiwon glanced at him.
“I’ll tell you when I can.”
Minjae held his gaze for a few seconds before shrugging.
“Fine.”
He grabbed another peanut.
“But if you lose everything, don’t blame me.”
A faint smile appeared on Jiwon’s lips.
“I won’t.”
Minjae looked back at the monitor.
“Then why are you using so many different sites?”
“Betting limits.”
Minjae blinked.
“What?”
“Every bookmaker has a maximum amount you can place on a match.
The limit varies depending on the site.”
“So?”
“So if I keep winning, they can lower it.”
“They actually do that?”
“They might.”
Jiwon switched to another betting site.
“After enough wins, an account can get flagged.
They can reduce your maximum stake, restrict certain wagers, or stop offering specific odds altogether.”
Minjae stared at him.
“How do you know all that?”
Jiwon’s fingers paused for the briefest moment.
“I’ve seen it happen.”
It was true.
Just not yet.
In his first life, he’d learned how quickly betting sites turned against players who won too consistently.
“That’s why I’m spreading the bets across multiple sites,” Jiwon continued.
“If one account gets restricted, I can still use the others.”
Minjae tossed another peanut into his mouth.
“So you’re not doing this because you think one site is better than another.”
“No.”
“You’re doing it so they can’t stop you from betting larger amounts.”
Jiwon nodded.
“Exactly.”
Minjae leaned back, looking at him differently now.
“You’ve really thought this through.”
Jiwon didn’t answer.
He simply opened another tab and checked the odds.
Minjae watched him for a moment.
“You really are serious about this, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
His eyes settled on a match.
Minjae noticed immediately.
“Why that team?”
Jiwon studied the odds.
“Because they’re going to win.”
Minjae stared.
“That’s your analysis?”
“Yes.”
“That’s terrible analysis.”
Jiwon almost smiled.
He couldn’t exactly tell him the truth.
He couldn’t explain that he’d watched this match decades ago in a completely different life.
He couldn’t tell him he already knew how it would end.
So instead, he entered the amount.
₩10,000.
Minjae glanced at the screen.
“That’s it?”
“For now.”
“You could make more if you bet more.”
“I know.”
“Then why only ten thousand won?”
Jiwon clicked the confirmation button.
“Because I want to be sure.”
“Sure about what?”
Jiwon looked at the screen.
“Something.”
The betting window closed.
Now there was nothing left to do but wait.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
The next morning, Jiwon’s phone vibrated on the table.
He reached for it before Minjae could wake up.
For a moment, he simply stared at the screen.
Then he opened the betting app.
The result was there.
WIN
₩10,000 → ₩18,000
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Over the next few evenings, Jiwon’s routine remained more or less unchanged: home, school, studying, and betting.
By taking advantage of multiple accounts, his earnings began to grow at an explosive pace.
₩10,000 → ₩18,000 → ₩35,000 → ₩100,000
“And with this one, exactly how many does that make?”
Minjae asked while keeping up a steady pace.
“Fif…
teen…
in a row…”
Sweat streamed down Jiwon’s face as he forced the words out between ragged breaths.
His arms flailed clumsily beside him, barely keeping pace with his body.
Minjae glanced over his shoulder and smirked.
“Don’t tell me you’re already exhausted.”
Before Jiwon could fire back, Minjae suddenly accelerated.
The distance between them widened with every stride.
Dressed in nothing but a sleeveless tank top and a pair of running shorts, Minjae looked completely at ease.
His toned legs moved with smooth, practiced rhythm, while the muscles in his shoulders and arms flexed beneath his tanned skin.
Even from behind, there was a sense of balance to his physique.
Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and not a single unnecessary movement as he ran.
Jiwon unconsciously lowered his gaze to himself.
His T-shirt clung to his body, damp with sweat.
Every step felt heavy, and the soft fat around his stomach bounced in a way that made him cringe.
The contrast was almost cruel.
While Minjae looked like someone straight out of a sports magazine, Jiwon looked exactly like what he was: a student who had spent years sitting behind a desk, studying, gaming, and avoiding anything that remotely resembled exercise.
Damn it…
The difference between them was obvious.
Ding.
A familiar azure screen suddenly unfolded before his eyes.
Jiwon’s gaze immediately shifted toward it.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
[Physical Training Mission Progress Updated]
Physique: 14 → 15
You have improved through continuous physical exercise.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
For a moment, Jiwon forgot about the pain.
He stared at the notification.
Then at Minjae’s back.
Then back at the notification again.
15.
It was only one point.
A tiny increase that most people would probably laugh at.
Yet Jiwon’s heart suddenly began to race.
Up until now, all the System had done was evaluate him.
It assigned numbers to his appearance.
It measured his skills.
It showed him just how far he was from becoming an idol.
But this…
This was different.
This was the first time it had acknowledged his improvement.
The first tangible proof that his effort had produced results.
A smile slowly formed on his lips.
Maybe the gap between him and Minjae was still huge.
Maybe he still looked nothing like an idol.
But at least he wasn’t standing still anymore.
He was moving forward.
Even if it was only by a single point.
Clenching his fists, Jiwon lowered his body and accelerated.
“One point today…” he muttered between ragged breaths.
His eyes locked onto Minjae’s retreating figure.
“Then I’ll earn another tomorrow.”
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Over the following weeks, Jiwon’s goal never changed.
School.
Training.
Betting.
That was his entire life.
He gradually expanded his routine, adding planks, push-ups, and sit-ups on top of his daily runs.
At first, the gap between him and Minjae would only grow whenever they ran together.
Within minutes, Minjae’s back would become a distant figure disappearing farther and farther ahead.
But little by little, things began to change.
He still couldn’t catch up.
He couldn’t even get noticeably closer.
Yet the distance had stopped growing.
For the first time, Minjae no longer felt like a blurry silhouette fading into the horizon.
He remained frustratingly out of reach, but at least now he looked like a destination rather than an impossibility.
Swish.
The basketball slipped cleanly through the net without touching the rim.
Minjae retrieved the ball and glanced at Jiwon, who was sitting nearby, catching his breath.
“So?
You’ve been betting for almost a month now.
How’s it going?”
“Haah…
haah…”
Jiwon wiped the sweat from his forehead.
“Honestly…
I have no idea.”
Trying to remember every sporting event from his previous life was nearly impossible.
No matter how hard he tried, only the most famous matches came back to him.
The shocking upsets.
The historic victories.
The moments everyone talked about for years.
Events scattered across three decades weren’t nearly as numerous as he’d hoped.
More than once, his memory had played tricks on him.
Confused dates.
Wrong scores.
Matches he was certain he remembered, only for reality to prove him wrong.
This isn’t working as well as I thought…
He let out a long sigh.
“Let’s just say things could be going better.”
Minjae shrugged.
The basketball came alive in his hands.
Thump.
Thump.
He dribbled lazily at first, almost absentmindedly, his gaze fixed on Jiwon rather than the court.
Then, without warning, his pace changed.
The ball slipped between his legs.
One crossover.
A second.
His shoulders dipped to the left.
His feet exploded to the right.
Even though there was nobody guarding him, the movement was sharp enough to make an invisible defender bite.
Thump.
The ball returned to his fingertips as though attached by a string.
Jiwon watched silently.
No matter how many times he saw it, Minjae made basketball look effortless.
Not fast.
Not flashy.
Effortless.
The difference was terrifying.
Minjae spun the ball around his back, took two light steps backward, and rose into the air.
The motion was smooth.
Compact.
Practiced thousands of times.
For a brief instant he seemed to hang beneath the orange glow of the setting sun.
Then he released.
The basketball traced a perfect arc.
Tung.
It brushed the backboard.
Swish.
Nothing but net.
Minjae landed lightly and chased after the rebound before the ball could even touch the ground.
Another dribble.
Another shot.
Another basket.
As if missing had never been a possibility in the first place.
“So how much have you made?”
Jiwon walked over to the drinking fountain.
He turned on the water.
First, he rinsed his hands.
Then his face.
Finally, he lowered his entire head beneath the cold stream.
“3,724,338 won.”
Silence.
Minjae froze.
“W-What?!”
Clang!
The ball slipped from his hands, bounced off the rim, traced a perfect arc through the air, and rolled toward the fence surrounding the court.
Jiwon lifted his head, water dripping from his hair.
“3,724,338 won.”
“I heard you the first time, idiot!”
Jiwon couldn’t help but grin.
Seeing Minjae this shocked was oddly satisfying.
“It’s not that much.”
“Not that much?
That’s enough money for a high schooler to go crazy.”
“It won’t matter much longer anyway.”
Minjae stopped chasing after the ball and turned toward him.
“What do you mean?”
Jiwon grabbed the towel hanging around his neck and wiped his face.
“I’m going to stop betting soon.”
The words landed harder than expected.
“…What?”
For the first time since the conversation began, Minjae sounded genuinely serious.
“Stop betting?”
“Yeah.”
“But why?
Isn’t that basically free money for you?”
Jiwon paused.
The obvious answer was one he couldn’t give.
Because eventually I’ll run out of things I remember.
Because my memories are already getting fuzzy.
Because relying on the future is a dead end.
Instead, he shrugged.
“Let’s just say…”
A small smile appeared on his face.
“I found something else I want to do.”
Minjae narrowed his eyes.
The expression on Jiwon’s face wasn’t the one of someone giving up on easy money.
If anything, it was the expression of someone who had found something even more valuable.
“…That’s the kind of answer that makes people want to ask even more questions.”
Jiwon laughed.
“Then don’t ask.”
“You’re seriously annoying sometimes.”
“And yet you keep hanging out with me.”
“…Unfortunately.”
The two of them exchanged a glance before bursting into laughter.
For a moment, neither mentioned the money again.
But while Minjae quickly forgot about the conversation, Jiwon’s gaze drifted toward the radish sky.
The sun was beginning to sink beyond the apartment buildings, painting the sky in shades of orange and crimson.
Jiwon rested his elbows on his knees and watched Minjae practice alone.
Shot.
Rebound.
Dribble.
Shot again.
The same movements repeated endlessly.
Yet there wasn’t a trace of boredom in them.
Only determination.
The determination to become better tomorrow than he was today.
For some reason, Jiwon found himself staring.
Perhaps because, lately, there was something else he couldn’t stop thinking about.
The message he had received the previous night.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
The previous night
Jiwon sat alone in his room.
The only source of light came from his monitor.
Numbers flickered across the screen.
3,724,338 won.
Nearly four million.
For a eighteen-year-old, it was an absurd amount of money.
For the first time since his regression, he felt like he could breathe.
His father wouldn’t have to struggle forever.
Their future wasn’t hopeless anymore.
A faint smile spread across his lips.
Then —
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
[SYSTEM WARNING]
Future knowledge exploitation detected.
Repeated financial gains through gambling may create dependency.
The Host is advised to reconsider this method.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Jiwon stared at the floating window.
“…What?”
The message remained motionless.
His eyebrow twitched.
“I’m not gambling.”
He leaned back in his chair.
“I’m investing in information.”
For a brief moment, nothing happened.
Then another window appeared.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
[SYSTEM] Correction:
You are gambling.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
“…”
“…”
Jiwon felt an irrational urge to punch the screen.
“What difference does it make?
Money is money.”
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
[SYSTEM]
Host behavior has deviated from the purpose of the Second Chance Protocol.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
His annoyance faded.
The words caught him off guard.
“…Purpose?”
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
[SYSTEM]
Question: Why was the Host granted a second chance?
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Jiwon opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Because I died?
Because I regretted everything?
Because I wanted to start over?
No answer felt right.
A new message appeared.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
[SYSTEM]
The Host’s objective was never financial accumulation.
The Host’s objective is to pursue the dream he abandoned.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
The room fell silent.
Jiwon’s expression darkened.
His dream.
A word he hadn’t allowed himself to think about for years.
“No.”
He shook his head.
“My goal is to save my father.”
This time, the answer came immediately.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
[SYSTEM]
Correction: Those objectives are not mutually exclusive.
If the Host pursues his dream, the Host will be able to save his father.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Jiwon froze.
Pursue his dream.
Save his father.
The two ideas felt fundamentally incompatible.
For as long as he could remember, he had treated them as a choice.
A cruel choice.
You chased your dreams.
Or you accepted responsibility.
You couldn’t have both.
And every time life forced him to choose—
he had chosen responsibility.
Slowly, his gaze drifted away from the monitor.
His eyes wandered around the room.
The walls were covered with posters.
Some had faded beneath years of sunlight.
Others curled at the edges, held together by aging strips of tape.
Bands.
Indie artists.
Singer-songwriters most of his classmates had never even heard of.
Faces he had admired.
Voices that had moved him.
Dreams frozen in paper and pinned to the wall.
His gaze shifted lower.
Several concert T-shirts hung from the back of a chair.
Some neatly folded.
Others tossed carelessly on top of one another.
Each one carried a memory.
A crowded venue.
A night train ride home.
The roar of thousands of voices singing the same lyrics.
The electric anticipation right before the lights dimmed and the music began.
The feeling that, for a few hours, anything seemed possible.
His eyes lingered there for a moment before continuing their slow journey across the room.
The guitar rested against the wall.
Unlike everything else, it wasn’t displayed proudly.
It was almost hidden.
As if he had pushed it out of sight on purpose.
Dust coated the body.
The strings hadn’t been touched in weeks.
Maybe longer.
A faint reflection from the monitor danced across the polished wood.
Jiwon stared at it.
The guitar wasn’t expensive.
It wasn’t rare.
Objectively, there was nothing special about it.
Yet somehow, it felt heavier than anything else in the room.
Because unlike the posters.
Unlike the shirts.
Unlike the memories.
The guitar demanded action.
It wasn’t what he admired.
It was what he had wanted to become.
The room fell silent.
No messages appeared.
No notifications sounded.
For a brief moment, there was only Jiwon…
And the dream he had spent years convincing himself to postpone.
Then—
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
[SYSTEM]
Answer confirmed.
Dream identified.
Initiating Main Quest.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
A brilliant blue light flooded his vision.
Another window materialized before him.
Larger.
Heavier.
More real than any message before it.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
[MAIN QUEST]
Enter the cast of Star Dust
Difficulty: S
Description: The Host abandoned his dream once.
This time, chase it.
Become a member of Star Dust’s official cast.
Rewards:
• First Talent Awakening
• Special Growth Package
• Hidden Story Unlock
Penalty for Failure:
???
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Hello everyone!
I hope you’re enjoying the novel so far.
To be honest, the idea for this story came to me while I was thinking about the choices we make in life.
Sometimes we tell ourselves that we’ll chase our dreams later.
When we’re more prepared.
When we have more money.
When life becomes easier.
When the timing is finally right.
But “later” has a habit of turning into years.
And years have a habit of turning into regrets.
One day, while reflecting on those thoughts, I decided to write something that might encourage people to keep moving toward the dreams they’ve put aside.
Even if the steps are small.
Even if the destination feels impossibly far away.
Even if everyone else thinks it’s unrealistic.
After all, the biggest regret is often not failing.
It’s never trying at all.
Thank you for reading, and I hope you’ll continue following Jiwon’s journey.
See you in the next chapter!