“Ha.”
A few hours later, while the light at the window was still dim, I sat up on the bed. It was earlier than my usual wake-up time. Honestly, I hadn’t really slept—I’d only closed my eyes. I couldn’t fall asleep.
My head ached a little. I wasn’t sure whether it was residual effects from plunging into the system or the aftermath of pulling an all-nighter in a thirty-something body. Given that Keundal apparently exercises regularly, I figured it was probably the former.
‘Now I need to use this body properly—though at least today is my day off.’
After checking Ryu Geon woo’s condition, I turned to Keundal, who was still sleeping on the floor. Getting these sleeping arrangements in place had taken a lot of negotiation. First, I’d listened to everyone worry about my mental health for a few minutes, then Keundal had insisted:
“You should sleep on the bed, hyung. It’s your bed in the first place...”
“Fine.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
Because once we swapped back, he’d end up on the bed anyway. I nodded to myself as I looked at him sprawled out under the blankets on the floor.
‘...Maybe now is the right time.’
I closed my eyes for a moment, then opened the status window to confirm that this whole ordeal was truly over.
I summoned it.
‘...I Sejin?’
Steer’s Bae Sejin—the I Sejin A I’d been messaging via pop-up.
“...”
No response. Only the last message I’d received hovered in empty space.
[I Sejin A : Thanks.]
“...”
He was gone. Which meant—whatever had happened was finished on both sides. The one who said “I wanted to check my own state” and planned to visit Bae Sejin’s consciousness was no longer present.
‘Right.’
I let the thought drift away, laid my head back down, and closed my eyes. Nothing more to do here. Time to go back.
‘Better not wake the one who’s actually sleeping and get everything sorted.’
In the void floated not only the last I Sejin A pop-up but also a translucent status window:
[Viewing Fragment Log]
– Mission Failed : Restore Original State
(04:11:21 / 48:00:00)
Four hours. It felt like a day or two.
[Exit fragment log view?]
As expected, I could exit at any time within the allotted period.
‘...Right.’
I nodded, then selected
[Exit]
My vision flickered for a moment, then cleared. I realized I was lying on the floor with my eyes closed. Park Mundae’s body again. No new pain.
‘Ugh.’
But the headache like needles at my temples persisted—the after-effects of messing with the system.
‘Does this blasted pressure never go away?’
Yet seeing Keundal sleeping soundly in Ryu Geon woo’s body, it seemed that headache didn’t carry over to him.
‘Then I guess this is for the best.’
Better to have the side effects tied to the mind that triggered them. A random body swap plus a bonus headache in the middle of the night would be hellish. I’d be pissed if it happened to me. So it was good that the one who caused it handled it himself.
‘It’ll only last a few days at most.’
Keundal seemed to recover after sleep, while I was just restless and a bit achy. I pressed my temples and stood up, deciding to grab water in the kitchen before the others woke.
As I opened the door and stepped out, I saw him.
“...”
Near dawn in the still-dark, silent kitchen, someone already occupied the island table. The dark silhouette... Bae Sejin.
“Hyung?”
“...”
No reply. He simply stood there holding a glass of water. I waited without pressing him, until finally—
“...”
He nodded, drank the water, then asked,
“Want some?”
“Well, yes.”
He quietly walked to the water purifier and filled another glass, as if it were any other early morning.
‘...Or is it?’
Watching him act unnaturally composed, a thought struck me:
‘...I Sejin A?’
He finished at the purifier and walked back, the faint sunrise revealing his figure near the window. He wore an uneasy expression.
“Are... you him?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re the one who sent that guy, right? The one I talked to...!”
So it was Bae Sejin. He looked exactly like himself. I nodded.
“You’ve met him.”
‘I Sejin A successfully communicated with you.’
“That’s right.”
He paused as if unsure what to add, then continued slowly,
“And... I got the memories.”
“...”
So that was it. I nodded, and he calmly added,
“Not all of them, though.”
A few minutes earlier, two identical faces confronted each other. The one with looser hair and sharper eyes spoke firmly:
-You can’t claim ownership over time you didn’t experience. Stop.
“What have you been saying? If it’s my past, then I experienced it! Just because I forgot it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen!”
-...!
An endless back-and-forth boiled down to “I decided” vs “You decided,” a fierce debate raging in Bae Sejin’s unconscious mind. True internal conflict.
-I’m your consciousness, implemented with past memories. So it’s no different from me testing the memories and deciding I wouldn’t reclaim them.
“What are you talking about? You don’t even know how I’ve been living!”
The more emotional side—TeSTAR’s Bae Sejin—frowned.
“How can you be sure I’d make the same decision? That’s arrogance!”
-That’s sophistry.
“You’re the real sophister!”
Both panted until they reached an unspoken truce.
“...”
“...”
They looked at each other wearily but resolutely. Couldn’t be helped—though they’d experienced different things, they were the same person with similar thought patterns.
Then I Sejin A spoke first:
-I get your argument.
Years of legal battles and incarceration had taught him to accept unavoidable circumstances and quickly forge new routes. But his goal remained unchanged:
-But the decision right belongs to me.
“...!”
He gave up persuading and acted.
“Wait...! Okay, let’s do this.”
Bae Sejin proposed something more unorthodox. Having learned that acting on impulse could still yield good results, he spoke boldly:
“Give me part of them.”
“...”
“Once I wake up, I’ll hear the others’ accounts anyway. But hearing it firsthand avoids distortion and lets me understand for myself.”
Whether out of concern, discomfort speaking, or caprice, others’ words always introduce bias. I Sejin A knew that well.
“If you’re uncomfortable giving certain parts, you don’t have to.”
“...”
“But I need enough to make an accurate judgment.”
To avoid misunderstanding. I Sejin A stared at the person with his same face. Bae Sejin felt a jolt of tension, then—
“...!”
I Sejin A reached out his hand.
-Okay.
A handshake. Bae Sejin cautiously extended his hand and clasped it. Then
[--------]
Memories poured into his consciousness. Vision went black.
‘Huh.’
Bae Sejin held his breath at the overwhelming force. But it was brief. Soon his awareness settled in a soaked, submerged sensation, clarity returning.
The first thing he noticed was a message.
-Who is this?
A message he himself had sent. In the dark void, a stranger’s silhouette—Ryu Geon woo. So...
‘...Park Mundae??’
[I’m a member of the same group you’re in now.]
Bae Sejin realized: he hadn’t received all of I Sejin A’s life. He’d only received the tail end—the memories from that brief system-chat with Park Mundae.
‘...Just that??’
At first he was shocked, then outraged at being cheated, but he quickly grasped the situation.
‘Ah.’
All the context and background that led I Sejin A to this point came to mind effortlessly, as if he’d lived it. Emotions and knowledge integrated naturally.
‘My goodness.’
It seemed true that Steer’s Bae Sejin had been implemented in this form based on his consciousness. The memories’ content was shocking, so he understood why his past self had resisted returning the memories. It was pure goodwill.
‘...Drug trafficking charges.’
Horrifying even as knowledge alone. Yet these memories were filtered reflections—no longer painful, already overcome. He absorbed them calmly, like recalling a distant event.
But some memories couldn’t be so easily distanced.
-Long time no see.
-I won the case.
He’d spoken directly to the Steer members through Ryu Geon woo’s voice, feeling real-time emotions—subtle sadness, composure, relief, a clear afterglow, and... conviction.
‘I see.’
He realized then that I Sejin A’s steadfastness came from someone who fought alone, endured, and ultimately achieved what he wanted—a strength born of certainty. Simultaneously, it was shocking:
‘I could... withstand the worst?’
He, too, had that capacity not only to endure but to win. A thrilling revelation. The memories finished uploading, and he instinctively reached out his voice to I Sejin A:
“Hey...”
But no reply—already gone or absorbed.
‘...Ah.’
He felt lonely, despite knowing it was himself. Still in the unconscious, he uttered a comfort:
“You did well.”
As his vision brightened, he intuited he was waking.
“So... that’s what happened.”
“....”
Having taken a sip of water again, Bae Sejin nodded to himself, and I did too. He seemed to have had a meaningful experience. And...
‘In the end, the same two assholes argued until they agreed only the necessary memories would be shared.’
Truly consistent assholes—that is, the same asshole. I laughed as I drank.
“Impressive.”
“Are you mocking me? ...No, you’re not.”
“Yes.”
He accepted my reply and flopped into a chair, then spoke with surprising energy:
“So... what about them? Especially Ryu Geon woo.”
“....”
“When I recalled the memories, it seemed like he looked exhausted earlier.”
He added earnestly, a proactive attitude I hadn’t expected.
“He was bearing too much back in the Steer days, with nowhere to lean on or reward.”
Right.
“I get why he wants to stay here... but that’s exactly the problem. I see why you were worried.”
He furrowed his brow in thought, then brightened—looking resolute.
“So I’ve been thinking too.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.”
“Listen. So...”
He began offering his suggestion seriously, surprising me further.
‘Not bad.’
His idea was quite good. And as I listened, I realized my own mind had significantly cleared.
‘Sharing the burden.’
Having an outsider who knows the full story help craft a solution was honestly very welcome. Two heads better than one.
‘Not bad at all.’
So I forgot about my headache and had a short discussion with Bae Sejin—until the others woke, including Keundal, and chaos erupted at breakfast.
“Oh hey Ryu Geon woo... Oh, Keundal!”
“Yes! That’s me. Um, I’ll—”
“Come eat with us! What brings you here so early?”
“Ah, well...”
Meanwhile, Keundal spent the entire meal volleying between Bae Sejin and Seon Ah hyun like a ping-pong ball, getting every detail of the night’s events. Those who grasped the situation glared at me—finding out I’d suddenly system-jumped.
“...”
“...”
“So... you swapped bodies and came back?”
It was fine. I’d steeled myself.
“M-Mundae...”
“...”
“Park Mundae, are you really going to keep doing this?”
“No.”
I wouldn’t.
‘I know how to handle the system now.’
Calculations complete.
“Oh... we can’t have that! You should sign something—like an agreement...”
“I will.”
“...?!”
I gladly signed a promise not to trigger the system without consultation. The others looked ready to applaud.
“Let’s have it notarized.”
“Yeah...!”
“...”
Really that far? Of course, the two who weren’t original members were exempt—Steer’s guys.
‘Hmm.’
Kim Rae bin listened eagerly as Cha Yoo jin explained the situation, but Ryu Geon woo barely reacted—still wearing that gentle expression, and nothing more. Normally he’d jump in proactively to understand and integrate himself.
‘Hmm.’
He, too, must’ve had complex thoughts after last night’s conversation. I caught Bae Sejin’s eye and nodded once, then spoke:
“By the way, you’ve got new filming tonight.”
“Yeah...! It’s True Challenge.”
Tonight’s competition show shoot. I planned to make my move there. But upon arriving at the set, I found another variable: a new contestant. In True Challenge’s survival format, the lowest-ranked performer from last time was eliminated and replaced.
“Oh, newcomers.”
“Let’s do our best~”
They were already greeting people anxiously. One introduced himself:
“Nice to meet you! I’m Eter, a rookie from Wonderhole!”
Eter. The rookie group that had benchmarked us.
