"What is life?"
Lee Kang Woo asked himself for the thousandth time.
He sat hunched on a plastic stool in a cramped one-room apartment, staring at the flickering bulb overhead. His two kids were asleep on the floor behind him, curled together under a thin blanket. His wife was working the night shift at a convenience store two stations away.
The rice cooker was empty. So was the fridge.
His wallet had three coins.
His back hurt from lifting crates at the warehouse. His fingers were cracked from years of cold, chemical-laced labor.
And yet, morning would come again.
Life?
To Kang Woo, it was nothing poetic. Nothing magical.
It was unpaid bills. Missed meals. A never-ending shift. A smile forced in front of his children. A fight with his wife at 2AM about money.
Was this it?
Was this all life had for him?
He remembered being seventeen and hopeful — working after school, dreaming of a better future.
He remembered being twenty-nine and in love — marrying her, thinking together they'd be different.
He remembered being thirty-seven and numb — two kids, no savings, a job that sucked the soul out of him.
And now he was thirty-nine.
Tired.
Burnt out.
Done.
He opened the small window and looked out.
Rain fell like needles, slicing through neon signs and broken dreams.
And for the first time…
He whispered,
"Maybe dying hurts less than living."
As if the heavens heard him — the clouds cracked.
A blinding flash. A roar louder than anything he'd ever known.
Thunder.
Not normal.
Not earthly.
Not merciful.
And before he could take a breath—
It struck him.
The world went white.
Then… black.
Then — something else entirely.
Kang Woo's eyes opened to an unfamiliar sky, clear and endless. Birds soared freely above. He lay on soft grass, dew-drenched, surrounded by the scent of earth and leaves. Far above, mountains rose so high they touched the clouds — no, they pierced them.
And beyond them… floated islands.
Islands. Floating. Slowly rotating as if the sky itself obeyed a different law here.
He sat up, heart pounding.
"What… is this?"
No buildings. No sirens. No polluted air. Only raw, untouched nature — surreal and majestic.
He was drenched in sweat, and instinctively reached up to wipe his forehead.
But—
His beard… was gone.
His face — smooth.
"What the hell—?"
He stumbled forward, spotting a small, still pond just a few steps away. The surface was like a mirror. Hesitant, he leaned in.
And froze.
It was him. But not him.
Not the tired, aging face he had seen every morning in the bathroom mirror for years.
No.
This face was young — clear skin, sharp jawline, eyes full of life. Sixteen, maybe seventeen years old. It was the boy he used to be… before the world had broken him.
He touched his cheeks, his jaw, his nose — all real.
His voice trembled.
"…What is this place?"
The pond offered no answer.
Only the reflection of a broken man… reborn.