The Seoul skyline glittered like scattered diamonds against the March twilight.
Ji-hoon stood at the window of his bedroom, his prison, he corrected mentally, watching the city pulse with life twenty stories below. His reflection in the glass showed a young man in expensive loungewear, pale from days in bed, but his eyes held something new.
Focus.
Three days had passed since he'd woken up in this body. Three days of pretending to recover while his mind worked overtime, sorting through two lifetimes of memories like a detective piecing together a crime scene.
Kang Ji-hoon's memories were fragmentary, hazed by depression and years of deliberate invisibility. But Han Joon-woo's memories? Those were sharp. Precise. The memories of a man who'd spent his last years drowning in corporate reports, financial news, and the endless minutiae of business analysis.
Useless knowledge, his team leader had called it once. You're not paid to read about chaebols, Han Joon-woo. You're paid to make PowerPoints.
But now? That useless knowledge was the only weapon he had.
His phone buzzed. Another message in the family group chat that Ji-hoon had muted years ago:
[Kang Group Family]
Hyung: The press conference was a success. Father, the board is very pleased with the Hannam acquisition.
Father:Good work.
Mother:Congratulations, Ji-won! I'm so proud of you. I will be back in Seoul next month for the celebration dinner.
Ji-hoon scrolled past his own name, not mentioned, not acknowledged, not even a token "hope you're feeling better" from his mother.
In the original timeline, Kang Ji-hoon would've felt the familiar ache of exclusion. Would've typed and deleted a dozen messages trying to be noticed. Would've eventually said nothing and retreated further into himself.
But Han Joon-woo had learned something in his twenty-nine years of invisibility... being overlooked was a superpower, if you knew how to use it.
He opened his laptop, top of the line, barely used, still wrapped in the ghost of its original packaging, and began to work.
Hannam Construction: acquired March 15th, 2025.
Scandal breaks: April 2nd, 2025.
Eighteen days.
Ji-hoon's fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up everything he could remember, cross-referencing with current news articles, financial reports, and construction permits. The pieces fell into place like a puzzle he'd already solved once before.
Hannam Construction had seemed like a golden opportunity, a mid-sized construction firm with solid contracts, a good reputation, reasonable price. His brother Ji-won had been praised as a genius for spotting the value.
But there were cracks in the foundation. Literally.
A residential tower in Busan was completed six months ago. In the original timeline, a balcony had collapsed during a resident's birthday party on April 2nd. Three dead. Twelve injured. The investigation revealed systemic corruption, bribed inspectors, substandard materials, and falsified safety reports going back fifteen years.
Hannam's stock had cratered. Kang Group's reputation took a massive hit. And Ji-won's golden-boy image had tarnished just enough for rivals to start circling.
But what if, Ji-hoon thought, someone warned them?
Not publicly. That would raise questions he couldn't answer. But privately. Carefully. In a way that would plant seeds of doubt before the bomb went off.
He pulled up his contacts, barely a dozen names, most of them staff or childhood acquaintances who'd stopped calling years ago. Nothing useful.
Then he remembered something. A fragment of a memory, bitter and sharp:
"At least you got into SNU, Ji-hoon. Even if you dropped out like a coward."
Seoul National University. Business Administration. Kang Ji-hoon had lasted one semester before the pressure and isolation drove him home. But he'd been enrolled. Which meant...
Ji-hoon navigated to the SNU alumni database, logged in with credentials he was surprised still worked, and began to search.
There.
Lee Min-jae. Business Administration, Class of 2023. Current position: Junior Analyst, Daehan Securities.
Ji-hoon remembered him vaguely, a scholarship student who'd tried to befriend the quiet chaebol son, probably hoping for connections. Ji-hoon had been too depressed to notice. They'd never spoken after that first semester.
But Min-jae had gone into securities analysis. Which meant he understood stock movements, company valuations, and risk assessment.
Which meant he might listen to a tip, if it was presented correctly.
Ji-hoon composed an email, deleted it, and started again. Too formal. Too obvious. It needed to seem casual, almost accidental.
On his fourth attempt:
From: [email protected]
Subject: Random question from a ghost
Min-jae-ssi,
Not sure if you remember me. Kang Ji-hoon from SNU? We had Professor Kim's business ethics class together (the one everyone slept through).
I know this is weird coming out of nowhere, but I've been reading up on construction sector investments lately (trying to understand what my family actually does, finally). Came across some interesting things about industry practices and safety compliance issues.
Random question: if you were analyzing a construction company, what would you look at beyond the obvious financials? Seems like there's a lot of hidden risk factors that don't show up in quarterly reports.
No particular reason for asking. Just curious about how professionals think about this stuff.
Ji-hoon
P.S. Hope you're doing well. Sorry, I was such a ghost back in university.
It was perfect. Casual enough not to raise an alarm. Specific enough to plant the seed. The postscript added a human touch, an acknowledgment of past failures that made the message feel genuine.
Ji-hoon read it three more times, checking for anything that might seem suspicious, then hit send before he could overthink it.
The email whooshed into the void.
Now he just had to wait.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
"Young master?" Ajumma Lee's voice. "You have a visitor."
Ji-hoon closed his laptop, surprised. He never had visitors. "Who?"
"Miss Yoon Sera, young master."
The name hit him like ice water.
Yoon Sera.
Ji-hoon's memories supplied the context immediately: the daughter of Yoon Pharmaceutical's CEO. Socialite. Instagram influencer with 2 million followers. Beautiful in the calculated way of Seoul's elite, every photo filtered, every angle perfected, every smile rehearsed.
And in the original timeline, the woman would eventually marry his brother.
"Should I tell her you're still recovering..."
"No." Ji-hoon stood, smoothing his clothes automatically. "I'll see her."
He needed to know why she was here. In the original timeline, Sera had barely acknowledged Ji-hoon's existence. They'd met at family functions perhaps a dozen times, and she'd looked through him like he was furniture.
So why visit now?
Ajumma Lee showed him to the sitting room, a study in minimalist luxury with Italian leather sofas and abstract art that probably cost more than a car. Sera stood by the window, backlit by the sunset, wearing a cream-colored dress that likely had a designer name Ji-hoon wouldn't recognize.
She turned as he entered, and her smile was magazine-perfect.
"Ji-hoon-ssi." Not oppa, despite being two years younger. Not even Ji-hoon-ah. The formal distance of near-strangers. "I hope I'm not intruding."
"Not at all." He gestured to the sofa, noting how her eyes flickered over him, assessing, calculating. "This is unexpected."
"I heard about your accident." She sat with practiced grace, crossing her legs just so. "I wanted to see how you were doing."
Lies tasted different when you'd died once. Ji-hoon could almost see them hanging in the air between them.
"That's kind of you," he said neutrally. "I'm recovering well."
"Good." Another smile, this one with a hint of something else. Curiosity? "I have to admit, I have an ulterior motive."
Finally, honesty.
"Oh?"
Sera pulled out her phone, the latest model, encased in rose gold, and showed him a photo. It was a charity gala invitation, embossed with gold leaf.
"The Seoul Youth Foundation is hosting their annual fundraiser next month. My father is on the board, and I'm helping organize." She looked up at him through carefully mascaraed lashes. "We're hoping the Kang family will attend. Your brother has already confirmed, but..."
"But you need more Kangs to make it look good," Ji-hoon finished.
Most people would've been offended by his bluntness. Sera just laughed...a real laugh this time, surprised and genuine.
"You're more direct than I expected."
"I've been in bed for three days. No energy left for pretense."
She studied him with new interest, and Ji-hoon realized his mistake. The old Kang Ji-hoon would've stammered and agreed immediately, grateful just to be asked.
He needed to be more careful.
"Sorry," he added, softening his tone. "That came out wrong. What I meant is...yes, I'd be happy to attend."
"Really?" Now she looked genuinely surprised. "I thought you didn't like these events."
Because Ji-hoon always said no. Always hid. Always disappeared.
"I'm trying something different," Ji-hoon said. "New year, new approach. Or late New Year's resolution, anyway."
Sera tilted her head, and for a moment, he saw the real person beneath the influencer polish someone sharp and calculating, yes, but also genuinely curious.
"Different how?"
"Still figuring that out."
Another laugh. She stood, smoothing her dress. "Well, I'll put you down as a yes. Fair warning... It's black tie, very formal, lots of speeches." She paused at the door. "Your brother will be there with his... entourage. Are you okay with that?"
The question held more weight than it should. As if she knew about the complicated relationship between the Kang brothers. As if she'd paid more attention than Ji-hoon had ever realized.
"I can handle Ji-won," he said.
"I don't doubt it." Something flickered in her expression, not quite a smile. "You know, Ji-hoon-ssi, you seem different. Since the accident."
His heart skipped. "Different how?"
"I don't know yet." She was definitely studying him now, like he was a puzzle she hadn't expected to be interesting. "But I think I'd like to find out."
Then she was gone, leaving only the faint scent of expensive perfume and the sound of designer heels on marble.
Ji-hoon stood alone in the sitting room, his mind racing.
Yoon Sera had noticed him. The woman who would marry his brother, who would become part of the family that erased Ji-hoon from every photo, every memory, every plan...she'd noticed.
This wasn't part of the original timeline.
Which meant he'd already changed something.
His phone buzzed.
[Email notification]
From: [email protected]
Subject: RE: Random question from a ghost
Ji-hoon's pulse quickened as he opened it:
Ji-hoon!
Of course, I remember you. I still have nightmares about Professor Kim's ethics quizzes. Good to hear from you after all this time.
Your question is actually really timely. The construction sector has been hot lately, but you're right to be cautious. Beyond financials, I always look at: safety compliance records (these are public but buried), insurance claim patterns, regulatory investigation history, and quality of subcontractors.
The thing most people miss: check the actual buildings. Site inspections, resident complaints, and any history of structural issues. Numbers lie, but concrete doesn't.
Why do you ask? Thinking of getting into the family business?
Min-jae
P.S. You weren't a ghost. You were just quiet. There's a difference.
Ji-hoon read the email twice, then pulled up Hannam Construction's portfolio.
Thirty-seven buildings have been completed in the last five years. Hundreds of ongoing projects.
If he wanted to warn them about the Busan tower specifically, he needed more than vague concerns. He needed evidence. Something concrete enough to make them investigate before April 2nd.
Something that would save lives.
And maybe, just maybe, save Kang Group from the disaster his brother had just purchased for 3.2 trillion won.
Ji-hoon opened a new document and began to make a list.
Outside, Seoul's lights flickered on like stars falling upward, and somewhere in that glittering cityscape, the future was already beginning to change.