The Resurrected Memory

“Since we’ve run into each other, come by the communal lab and tell me what you think of my exhibition piece.”

“I’d love to. I’m incredibly honored—but won’t the other students be uncomfortable with me there?”

“It’s fine. Everyone except me works in the dorms.”

“Why don’t you work in the dorms?”

“The scale is just too big. But it’s okay now.” Lonia gave a weary chuckle. “I just need to do the finishing touches. Once that’s done, everything will…”

Suddenly, someone shouted at the top of their lungs.

“Oh! Look who it is!”

We both turned our heads. A plump male professor draped in black robes stood with his arms spread wide.

“If it isn’t Lonia, the most unique soul in our Magic Department!”

For exactly one second, both of our faces contorted into expressions of pure distaste. Keeping her eyes fixed on the professor, Lonia whispered under her breath, “He’s my department professor, why are you making that face?”

“I don’t know, my body just reacts instinctively.”

As the professor drew closer, we instantly switched to expressions of angelic grace. An observer might have called us two-faced, but that was fine. Honestly, everyone has at least one ‘public’ face.

Lonia bowed her head. “Hello, Professor Satisa.”

I greeted him as well. “Hello.”

“Oh, the student next to you is from the General Department. A friend of Lonia’s?”

“Yes.”

“Ho ho, I see. Interacting with students from other departments is a very fruitful endeavor.” Professor Satisa got straight to the point. “Anyway, Lonia, a wonderful idea just struck me. About your exhibition piece—what if you made the border colors change as time passes?”

“Ah, I did consider that, but I thought it might be too technically demanding…”

“If you’re going to do it, you might as well make it perfect!” The professor made a cheering gesture. “We believe in you! You can do it!”

“…….”

The professor dropped his bomb and strolled away. Lonia, whose face had returned to its corpse-like state, muttered, “Go. I think I have to pull another all-nighter.”

“…Hang in there.”

“You too.”

We parted ways. From 그날 (that day) on, I threw myself into planning my apology to Lian. As I drafted the plan, memories of the time I hit Lian surfaced.

Ugh, to think he was my first love. It’s a lifelong embarrassment.

As I scribbled frustratedly on a piece of paper, my thoughts drifted to Michael. Just thinking of him made my heart feel warm. I also thought of Lonia, who had been as angry as if my problems were her own.

I took back the thought I’d had for a fleeting moment earlier. No matter how “stupid” one might be, that kind of behavior is never okay. Both that kid’s and Senior Serman’s actions were wrong. For the sake of them both, I shouldn’t think—no, wait.

“…….”

Even in the midst of this, I can’t seem to think of myself to save my life. A bitter feeling washed over me. How did I end up like this?

I stopped planning for a moment and fell into deep thought. In my dreams, that kid was always with me—alternating between praise and abuse. If so, then perhaps…

Was he with me when I fell from the rooftop, too?

the moment that thought crossed my mind, my head began to throb as if it were splitting open. I clutched my head. An image flickered before my eyes: someone grabbing my shoulders and shaking me violently. And a sharp voice, dripping with blame:

—Why won’t you just do as I say, you blockhead?!

My legs gave out, and I collapsed. I buried my face in my palms. Tears began to leak through my fingers.

I finally remembered. I remembered why I died.

I used to believe that the reason I was miserable in my past life was simply because I was stupid. The reason I was insulted, the reason I died—I firmly believed it was all just a case of “well, she was so dumb, it couldn’t be helped.” But as I lived this life, receiving sincere love, my perspective had shifted without me even realizing it.

No matter how “stupid” I might have been in my past life, I shouldn’t have been treated like that. And certainly not killed. I crawled under my covers and cried and cried.

In my past life, I hadn’t died from a simple slip of the foot. I had died at eighteen—the same age I am now. It was because that horrible kid had pushed me off the school rooftop.

I realized it only today: memories don’t return because of a specific trigger. They aren’t something you can recall just by trying hard. They strike like a guerrilla ambush when you’re going about your ordinary life, doing something completely unrelated, leaving you wondering, Why am I remembering this now?

That’s why it’s more agonizing. Until this memory surfaced, I was doing quite well. I had a lover and a friend I cared about. To any onlooker, I was doing fine. But now, that memory was trying to pull me back into the swamp.

I clutched my head and screamed.

No matter how much I tried to forget, the images kept coming. The violence and verbal abuse he committed in the name of “friendship.” My body plummeting downward. The sound of something crushing and my vision turning red.

I remembered that bastard’s face and name vividly. It was all there, from start to finish, so clear that it felt strange I hadn’t remembered it until now. I clawed at the bedsheets with my fingernails.

What do people do in such painful situations? Am I the only one hurting this much? Yes, I suppose I would be. I’m the only one with memories of a past life.

No, maybe there are other reincarnators who just don’t show it on the outside. Those reincarnators are probably handling things perfectly, like protagonists in a book, right? They probably used their past-life knowledge to start businesses, get good grades, and achieve great things.

Or they probably lived well even before they were reincarnated—unlike me, who was swayed by someone else because I was “stupid.” I hugged my pillow tight. I needed warmth. I made a wish.

I wish someone were here with me. I wish someone would hold me warmly.

But I didn’t want to worry Michael, who was surely preoccupied with tournament preparations. Nor Lonia, who was dealing with a nagging professor while preparing for her exhibition. I didn’t want to get in their way. Even if I wanted to seek counseling, there were no psychiatrists here—only plenty of people who would brand someone like me a social misfit.

Wait, is it “branding”? It’s a fact that I’m a social misfit. What else do you call someone who can’t live a normal life when everyone else is doing just fine?

Maybe everyone else is just enduring this much, and I’m the only one being dramatic.

My thoughts spiraled toward the extreme, but I couldn’t stop them.

I don’t want to do anything. I want to drop out. I want to go somewhere where no one knows me and just sleep. But as long as I was alive, that was impossible. How could I manage to do nothing? Only one solution came to mind.

Let’s just die. Yeah, I’ll just die.

As if possessed, I began frantically searching the room for something sharp, then hesitated. Right, I’m not the only one living here. It would be a nuisance to die in a place where others live.

Then where on earth should I go to die? I collapsed again and sobbed like a child.

“Why is there seriously no psychiatry in this world…?”

The stigma might be bad, but it’s the most certain and safe way. Yet I knew the truth. Even if I went back to my original world, I would never have gone to a psychiatrist. I only said it because there were none here. I stopped looking for something sharp and lay spread-eagle on the floor. I decided to give up on the sharp objects for now.

It would be a nuisance to die where people live.

I checked the calendar. Tomorrow happened to be the weekend. Michael and Lonia would be busy all day with festival prep. But just in case they came by my room, I should tuck a note into the doorframe—saying I’d be out all day for an errand.

Thinking back, it was a strange thing. Usually, I was so sensitive to what others thought and cared so much for those two, yet now I was being surprisingly self-centered.

The next day arrived. As soon as morning broke, I opened my wardrobe. I pushed the clothes Senior Serman had bought me into the corner and changed into my own modest attire. I threw on a dull robe to avoid standing out.

Once I had made up my mind to die, my heart became remarkably peaceful. Was it the thought that this pain would soon be over?

I closed my eyes. A quiet mind is a wonderful thing. I left the Academy with a light step. But that refreshing feeling didn’t last long. The moment I saw the crowded streets, my mood soured again. Everyone was busy going somewhere with happy faces. I was the only one who had set out to die.

I walked with my head down. Where should I do it? Should I sit quietly in a back alley, like Michael did when he was young?

No, that’s a bit scary. There’s a chance I won’t die and just get sold into slavery. Drinking poison or hanging myself didn’t appeal to me either; I remembered a book where the protagonist found someone who had died that way and suffered severe trauma. Honestly, I think I’d be traumatized too if I found a corpse on the street.

I wanted to disappear quietly where no one would know. But how? There were people everywhere.

I kicked a stray stone. They say nothing in this world is easy, and they’re right. I wanted to at least have my own way when it came to dying. Just then, I heard the sound of splashing water. I turned my head. Children were playing in a fountain, splashing water around. Seeing them made me think of the sea—a place I’d never been.

The sea. A place I couldn’t go in my original world because I was “stupid,” and a place I couldn’t go in this world because I was too busy studying.

I stared blankly at the water droplets sparkling in the air. I’d heard the sea was beautiful, but also dangerous because it was so vast and unpredictable. At that thought, my eyes began to sparkle.

Yes, let’s go to the sea.

I immediately went into a nearby inn and asked if I could rent a carriage. Seeing my modest clothes, the man asked in a friendly tone:

“A carriage? Where to?”

“To the nearest sea from here.”

“Hmm, the sea. There’s a place you can get to in about half a day.”