Steer I Sejin.
The unrenamed Bae Sejin.
The memories of that person who, accused of distributing drugs, went to trial and appealed in the past were stored here, inside the system I’m now digging through.
“...Stay calm.”
It wasn’t surprising. From what I’ve experienced so far, the system seems to save past-life memories like a backup.
“I’ve already seen memories from my Steer days return countless times—there’s no reason to be shocked now.”
I even recovered memories of my office days when I fought the system before.
Here’s the problem.
“Is it safe for me to talk here?”
It wasn’t just memories but a usable conversation interface. What effect that might have was unknown.
Normally, I probably would’ve backed out and ignored it... but this is a special case. I even swapped bodies to force a system login.
“If I let this slide, I’m an idiot.”
It only makes sense to try everything I can.
—I Sejin: I asked who you are.
Just then, another message arrived. Somehow, they’d noticed I was around.
“.......”
Right. I reached into the data blob like I was accessing a terminal, and, just as Keundal sent a message to Park Mundae, I slowly typed out letters.
[I’m a member of the same group you’re in now.]
Like a thunderbolt, a reply came immediately.
—I Sejin A: Steer?
Then the data went silent for a while. As if someone were gathering their thoughts, there was a perceptible pause before a reply finally appeared.
Carefully:
—I Sejin A: Ryu Cheong woo?
“......”
Strictly speaking, two of those syllables were half-correct.
[You’re not Cheong woo. You’re probably not anyone you think you are.]
Just as I was about to explain from here, a sharp reply came first.
—I Sejin A: I’m not Steer anymore. And Steer never recruited a new member.
—I Sejin A: If we were in the same group, I’d know. Identify yourself specifically.
...!
This person knew far more details than I expected.
“If they have enough background knowledge to logically question me...”
It was strange. After leaving the group and going through a court battle, who would care about old group gossip? Yet they knew these details—so they’d looked it up themselves.
I pointed that out deliberately.
[Have you been researching Steer consistently?]
—I Sejin A: You answer first.
Solid. Less rattled than even during the Ajusa incident. Their guard was high, but fundamentally they didn’t seem easily shaken.
“Hmm.”
Then it’s fine. I decided to be honest.
[I’m not Steer.]
—I Sejin A: What?
[You debuted in a group called TeSTAR. I belong to that group.]
And I tried something new.
“It doesn’t have to be in message form.”
Instead of refining it into words, I sent the raw information I wanted to share: everything that’s happened to me so far. Concentrating with my consciousness still attached to the terminal.
—I Sejin A: “You”? What do you mean...
At that moment, everything I’d experienced up to now poured into their terminal, unfiltered.
—I Sejin A: !!
“It’s such an unbelievable story that this is more efficient.”
The pressure was intense but bearable. Once I’d transferred up to the brink of what I could, I pulled my consciousness back from the terminal.
‘I Sejin A’ didn’t send any more replies—they simply absorbed the data I’d sent.
After enough time for digestion, a reply came.
—I Sejin A: So.
—I Sejin A: I debuted in a different group.
Their answer returned.
“Good, they got it.”
I nearly bit my tongue. Composing myself, I replied.
[Yes.]
—I Sejin A: Then... how am I living now?
[You’re active with the group. And you changed your name to your mother’s surname—Bae Sejin.]
That meant they hadn’t dropped out of the group, and their family situation had been cleanly resolved.
After a gap rather than silence, the reply came.
—I Sejin A: So I’m living well.
A very composed reaction.
[You’re living diligently.]
—I Sejin A: I’ve never been lazy. But working hard and living well are different things.
“......”
After a moment’s hesitation, I decided to ask directly. It would’ve been absurd to pretend ignorance after all this.
[Do you think you’re not living well?]
Entangled in drug allegations, almost ruining a career, appealing the verdict—the former child actor turned idol.
—I Sejin A: Not exactly. There were people who believed in me.
—I Sejin A: But the majority didn’t believe me, and I can’t deny that.
“Steady.”
Honestly, they could’ve snapped, or attacked me for asking—understandable enough. But the Steer Bae Sejin labeled ‘I Sejin A’ spoke in a firm, steady tone.
“Is it because they’re just data that they can’t waver?”
No, that can’t be. Otherwise the conversation wouldn’t feel so real. My question was answered almost immediately.
—I Sejin A: Anyway, I understand.
—I Sejin A: So this conversation... is it like a dream I’m having after escaping this situation?
[Dream?]
—I Sejin A: Yes. If it were just my memory, I couldn’t actually talk to you.
An intriguing hypothesis.
“Surely... the real Bae Sejin is asleep right now.”
On that sleeper Bae Sejin’s consciousness this memory-based I Sejin had come out of the data blob to talk... same principle as past Steer cases.
“At least the fact they’re not rattled by being told they’re just a memory is unusual.”
Frankly, I expected Steer Bae Sejin to be a twisted person. Since childhood nothing had gone right, life had wrenched him downward.
“A person who’s been through that is bound to have a broken personality.”
Yet this interlocutor acted like a battle-hardened veteran.
[Aren’t you resentful?]
—I Sejin A: I was resentful.
—I Sejin A: But I learned that resentment alone won’t solve anything.
That, too—so solid.
Then they even turned it around into an offer.
—I Sejin A: It seems like you’re in a bad situation. If you have questions, ask. I’ll answer.
More cooperative than I’d imagined.
“Can’t miss this.”
I was about to fire off questions when—
“Hmm.”
A better idea occurred. If they’re this calm and mentally strong, this approach would be more effective.
[How about this?]
I explained my proposal, and I Sejin A seemed to think it over briefly before readily agreeing.
—I Sejin A: Yes. That’s good.
Okay. I grabbed their terminal at once and began ripping into the system from the inside.
Pressure washed over me.
Late at night, TeSTAR’s dorm.
Keundal, anxious enough to almost bite his nails, sat on the living room sofa when at last the awaited pop-up arrived.
[I have just exited the system]
“...!!”
It was Park Mundae from TeSTAR, who’d exited the system.
Finally!
“What a relief!” Keundal breathed out, wiped his cold sweat, then whispered as quietly as possible,
“Take back your body now. No, don’t ever reenter the system—at least for now!”
[Wait. I want to stay like this until tomorrow morning—okay?]
“...?”
[I have something to do.]
[I’m heading over. Get some sleep.]
“...??”
And, in a daze, Keundal entered the password and silently met Ryu Geon woo infiltrating the TeSTAR dorm a few minutes later.
‘Hyung!?’
[Go to sleep, I said.]
Park Mundae, quietly sealing his lips to avoid waking the others, answered silently. Then he strode into the living room and said,
[I’m going to prepare a bit—rest.]
‘Pre... prepare for what?’
Ryu Geon woo stared at Keundal expressionlessly, then brought up a pop-up.
[Conversation.]
Recalling the dialogue with Steer Bae Sejin from the system.
—Do you want to try talking directly to someone else?
—I Sejin A: Sure.
About an hour later, that conversation actually took place.
Ryu Cheong woo awoke to shaking hands.
His head was cloudy and the room was dark.
‘Is it still dawn?’
He didn’t mind being woken early—it was something he’d grown used to after years in the entertainment industry.
But he couldn’t help being startled at seeing ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) a stranger in the dorm.
“...!”
A cold-looking man with glasses. His appearance somehow resembled Ryu Cheong woo’s.
“Who....”
“Ryu Cheong woo.”
“Oh.”
He had to remember that name. Instantly, sleep fled, and he shot upright in bed.
Ryu Cheong woo—the person who Park Mundae had said was his previous life.
‘And my relative.’
The man beckoned him silently.
“...?”
“Follow me.”
Ryu Cheong woo didn’t resist and quietly followed. Their destination was the room across the hall—the shared room of Park Mundae and Kim Rae bin.
“Hy... hyungnim.”
“Oh.”
In the lamplight, Kim Rae bin and Cha Yoo jin were already awake.
Seeing them, a chill ran through Ryu Cheong woo from head to toe.
‘It’s only us.’
They were all people with Steer memories. He tensed but masked it, asking slightly puzzled,
“What... is going on?”
“We swapped bodies for a bit.”
Without asking if that was even possible, Ryu Cheong woo instinctively knew this was Park Mundae’s body. His tone, gaze, gestures, stride—they matched completely.
‘Right, the original Park Mundae said he was inhabiting Ryu Geon woo’s body.’
Once he pieced together the situation, Ryu Cheong woo accepted it. Denial wouldn’t help him.
It felt odd but there was no need to voice it. In true TeSTAR leader fashion, he replied,
“So there’s no problem? It’s strange to see you again like this...but safety matters more, right?”
“No problem. Thanks for worrying.”
Ryu Geon woo answered as if picking the right response. Then he added, flatly,
“But it’s not really ‘seeing’ me again.”
“You don’t recognize Ryu Geon woo.”
“......”
Ryu Cheong woo stayed composed.
“Well, maybe I didn’t recognize you at first because it’s been so long. Sorry.”
“Sure. That could happen.”
Ryu Geon woo nodded easily.
“But when I said ‘Ryu Cheong woo,’ you looked surprised.”
“...!”
As if he’d slipped. Ryu Cheong woo realized he’d registered that mistake. A carefully crafted lie.
“You really remember?”
“......”
After silence, Ryu Cheong woo sighed wryly.
“No.”
“......”
“I saw a video in your phone’s gallery—why would you save a home video from a recent date centered on an unfamiliar relative?”
Back when TeSTAR’s Ryu Cheong woo had been searching for Ryu Geon woo on Park Mundae’s request, he’d saved that family trip video featuring ‘Ryu Cheong woo’ in case it was useful.
“So I remembered it... and blurted it out.”
A calm explanation—convincing, but Ryu Geon woo didn’t let it pass.
‘They checked every photo in Ryu Cheong woo’s phone gallery.’ He even deduced that answering “I remembered” was deliberate, but didn’t call him out.
“If that felt deceitful, I’m sorry.”
In true Ryu Cheong woo fashion, he apologized meekly. Yet he saw Kim Rae bin flinch at his gentle tone—an ambivalent mix of pity and sharpened caution.
‘Can’t help it.’
It wasn’t pleasant. Ryu Cheong woo clenched and unclenched his fist, thinking wryly. Then Ryu Geon woo accepted the apology with a calm nod.
“I didn’t think it was deceitful, but that’s not what I wanted to say.”
Ryu Cheong woo let out a short breath of relief—then Ryu Geon woo dropped a bombshell.
“Actually, what I have to say here isn’t very important.”
“...?”
“I’m speaking as a proxy.”
He began staring into space.
“From now on, I’ll convey what that person says.”
Invisible to others, a new message pop-up materialized—one he’d pulled from the system and displayed as a status window.
—I Sejin A: Long time no see.
“I’m I Sejin. The I Sejin who was Steer.”
He began reading the pop-up aloud. A cold hush fell in the room.
“What is this—”
“Uh...?”
Their questions cut off by Ryu Cheong woo’s voice:
“I’m here because I have something to convey.”
—I Sejin A: I don’t think you’d care about my thoughts, and there’s nothing else I need to say.
—I Sejin A: But there’s one thing I must say—I remember this clearly.
Reading I Sejin A’s pop-up, Ryu Cheong woo articulated it precisely:
“I won the case.”
At that moment, everyone lifted their heads. Shocked and blank-faced, the group heard Steer Bae Sejin declare through Ryu Cheong woo:
“I appealed the second trial, went all the way to the Supreme Court for the final third trial... and I won.”
The message declared clearly:
—I Sejin A: Steer wasn’t a drug group.
