Chapter Text
In his first life, Jiwoong had been a part of INX, an idol group that barely had a chance to make a name for itself before disbanding within the same year. He never got the fame he dreamt of, never felt the rush of a crowd chanting his name. Instead, he spent months after the disbandment wandering through a life of uncertainty. Now, Jiwoong worked at a convenience store, his once bright future now dulled by the weight of what could have been.
The days blurred together, each one feeling like the last. Jiwoong stood behind the counter, his tired eyes staring out the window as customers came and went. He had fallen into a routine, one that neither inspired nor broke him. The dream of being an idol, of standing on stage again, felt distant, like a fading star that he could never reach. The streets were quiet, but his mind raced with thoughts of what could have been, and what might still be. His mind echoed in the empty night as he turned behind the counter to arrange shelves, barely noticing the car speeding towards him from behind the glass shop front.
Suddenly, there was a screeching sound, the harsh honk of a horn, and then—lights. Bright, blinding lights. Everything else faded away, and the world went silent.
For a split second, Jiwoong wondered if he was dreaming, if his life had come to an end. He felt nothing—no pain, just the overwhelming sensation of hopelessness. His last thoughts were a mixture of regret and resignation. His life had amounted to nothing. He had been a failed idol, a washed-up celebrity that no one remembered. And now, this? The universe had taken away his chance, the one thing he had clung to through all his hardships.
He wondered briefly if he should have listened to his parents, gone down the path of an athlete like they’d hoped. Maybe that would have made life easier. But now, there was no going back. Jiwoong's heart sank as he realized his story was over.
But before his vision could fade completely, something strange happened. His mind buzzed, and a strange pull surged through his body, like the air around him was shifting. A second passed. Another. Then everything went black.
-
Jiwoong awoke with a start, staring up at the ceiling, unsure of where he was. For a brief moment, he wondered if he’d died and ended up in heaven, everything feeling eerily peaceful. But his thoughts were interrupted by the sudden slam of a door.
“Wake up! I’m not driving you to school if you’re late!” His older brother's voice echoed from the doorway. “You’re walking today if you don’t get up!”
Jiwoong blinked, confused, watching his brother's familiar face as he stormed out. He rubbed his eyes, thinking he must be going mad. His body moved on autopilot as he got up and dressed in the school uniform. But then, staring at himself in the mirror, Jiwoong froze.
He wasn’t 25 anymore. He was 15, the same age he’d been when He was scouted first.
Panic fluttered in his chest as his mind raced. Was this some strange dream? He didn’t know what to think, so he convinced himself it was just some fucked up death dream.
The day went by in a blur as Jiwoong mechanically went through his routine. School, lunch, classes—all of it felt unreal, like he was moving through a haze. It wasn’t until he was walking home that it happened.
She appeared again. The agent who had scouted him for INX all those years ago. She stared at him, her eyes wide as she commented on his beauty, just like she had back then.
Jiwoong didn’t know what to do. His hands clenched into fists, and without thinking, he punched himself in the face. Hard.
The scout looked at him, shocked, before backing away. “Okay, uh... I think I’ll just... go.” She turned and hurried off, mumbling an excuse about Jiwoong being crazy.
Jiwoong stood there, his face throbbing from the punch, the red mark burning against his skin. His mind clicked into place as the realization hit him.
He wasn’t dreaming. He was back in time.
-
Jiwoong made a decision. This time, he would follow the path his parents had always wanted for him: becoming an athlete. It was something he was naturally good at, and it felt right to leave behind his past failures in the idol world. He trained relentlessly, pushing his body and mind to the limit. His parents were surprised when he returned home and declared his intentions, but they supported him fully. Jiwoong didn’t look back.
For years, he ran, jumped, and competed without a second thought for the past he was leaving behind. He used the skills and connections from his idol days to meet the right people, making the necessary contacts in the athletic world. By the time Jiwoong was a week away from his 25th birthday, he was standing on the Winter Olympic podium, holding his second gold medal in his hands.
It should have been the pinnacle of his life, but on the day of his birthday, as he gazed out from his penthouse, something caught his eye. A digital billboard across the street displayed a birthday message for a K-pop star. The name was familiar—Taehyung, wasn’t it? The famous idol from one of the biggest groups in the world.
And for the first time in a decade, Jiwoong felt the sharp sting of his past. He had buried his dream of being an idol, trying to ignore the ache of failure, but seeing that message made it all come rushing back. The wish he’d buried deep inside, the one he had convinced himself wasn’t meant to be, surfaced in that moment.
Jiwoong stared at the billboard for a moment, but before the longing could consume him, he turned away. He had moved on, hadn’t he? There was no time for regrets now. He went to sleep that night, already preparing for his next flight to a sponsorship deal, thinking he had everything figured out.
But when he woke up, the world was different. He was lying in his childhood bedroom again, staring at the same ceiling he had seen so many years ago.
-
Jiwoong woke up, confused, his mind a swirl of questions. Was he dead? He had been so happy, hadn’t he? Why was he back in his childhood bedroom? He stared at the ceiling, the same one he’d seen countless times before, but everything felt wrong. Had he truly gone back in time again?
Before he could gather his thoughts, the door slammed open once more. His brother stood there, yelling at him to wake up or he’d be left behind.
“Wake up! I’m not driving you to school if you’re late!” His older brother's voice echoed from the doorway. “You’re walking today if you don’t get up!”
Jiwoong blinked, disoriented. His routine felt like déjà vu—everything was repeating itself. But he couldn’t stop it, so he got up and dressed in his uniform, deciding to follow the same path once more.
School, the scout, meeting his parents and declaring his decision to become an athlete—everything unfolded like the first time. But this time, Jiwoong wondered if he had made the wrong choice before. Last time, he had been a track runner, but he was also good at biking. Was that the mistake? Maybe if he had chosen biking instead of running, things would have been different.
He ran through the process again, but this time he veered left, heading toward the biking world. He pushed himself harder than ever, earning his first national title by the age of 20. At 22, he met Minhyun and his friends, who took him under their wing. But as Jiwoong climbed higher, the darkness crept in. He began to use cocaine to keep up with the pressure and the fame.
At 23, Jiwoong was already showing signs of trouble. By 24, his addiction had taken over. Then, two weeks before his 25th birthday, the doping test results came back positive.
On his 25th birthday, Jiwoong sat in his penthouse, watching the news. The media was full of reports about the star athlete, Jiwoong, and his doping scandal. But as the TV buzzed with stories of his downfall, Jiwoong’s eyes drifted to a digital billboard outside his window. It was the same birthday message for Taehyung. His stomach twisted as he stared at the screen. A sense of shame and regret washed over him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
He sank back into his couch, feeling the high of the drugs that helped him escape his reality. He let himself sleep, knowing his life was spiraling out of control.
The next time Jiwoong opened his eyes, it was to the same ceiling.
-
Jiwoong decides to become an idol this time just as his brother shouts for him to wake up. He wouldn’t make the same mistake like his first life again. Instead of following the path laid out for him, he would make his own. The entertainment industry was ruthless, but he had three lives’ worth of experience now, enough to understand how it worked. This time, he wasn’t going to take the easy way out with INX. He focused on refining his appearance, his face, and his body, making himself more appealing to the higher-tier companies.
He spent weeks walking through the streets, where scouts often roamed, trying to get a sense of where he could fit in. On his first day, he was handed 15 cards, each offering him a chance. But Jiwoong knew exactly where he wanted to go: JYP.
At 17, he debuted as a member of RAN, an eight-member group. Singing and dancing were his true passions, and he loved the thrill of being on stage. RAN was successful, selling millions of albums, making headlines for their talent and looks. But internally, it was a different story. They were cold and the very definition of workers, putting faces for camera. Jiwoong was fine with it. Until, two of the elder members were caught smoking, ruining their image and leading to their departure. The group too fell victim to the "seven-year curse," eventually disbanding.
By the time Jiwoong turned 23, he had turned to acting. While he wasn’t as big as he had been during his idol days, he managed to land some small roles, including a few supporting characters in dramas. Now, a week before 25,again , he was given his first leading role—a kdrama full of cliché lines and predictable plots. It was a modest achievement, but it was still a step forward.
On his birthday, Jiwoong stood by the window of his penthouse, reading the countless messages from fans wishing him well. He looked up at the digital billboard outside, only to see Taehyung’s birthday message scrolling across. The same one that had Jiwoong's face this time when he was 18. Jiwoong felt the sting of his own failed idol career, and now, at 25, it felt the same. Another washed-up idol turned actor, riding the wave of success only to crash back down.
As he kept staring at the billboard and before going to bed that night, Jiwoong strategized. He had to make sure the next time he came back, he would do things differently. He researched the best companies, the top groups, and all the steps he needed to take to secure a real future in the industry. His mind raced as he worked late into the night.
The clock struck midnight, and he continued working, but the next time Jiwoong blinked, he found himself staring at the same ceiling again.
-
The crushing weight of déjà vu draped over Jiwoong’s shoulders as he lay in bed, the room dimly lit by the soft, familiar glow of the city lights streaming through his penthouse window. It was the same penthouse, the same one he had always bought because for some reason when he didn't buy it he died horrible deaths- and he wasn't unfamiliar with them but he decided at one pointing sleeping and waking up back in time was better then burning alive in some other place- because that's what always happened when he didn't come to this apartment- and screaming out into the time loop as a 15 year old was bit too dramatic. There was the digital billboard outside, flashing the same cheerful birthday message for Taehyung—a name that Jiwoong had seen so many times he had memorized the exact lines on the idol’s smiling face.
How many times had he lived this life? Twenty? Thirty? He couldn’t even count anymore. The last time he bothered, it was around 37 cycles, but he had stopped counting a long time ago. Maybe it was 50 or more. Each loop had blurred into the next, with time and memories slipping through his fingers like sand. Jiwoong didn't bother to remember anymore. What was the point when every ending led back to the same, cold starting point?
A sigh escaped his lips as he turned away from the window, his eyes glassy with exhaustion. A heavy, hollow emptiness settled deep in his chest, familiar as the looping timeline he couldn't escape. Depression, he recognized it. The bone-deep weariness and the void that accompanied him with every repetition. It didn’t matter what he did—whether he succeeded or failed, whether he lived a life of luxury or one of desperate survival—it always ended the same.
He had been so many things. He remembered each life with startling clarity, and yet the details were always fuzzy around the edges, each lifetime overlapping like smudged charcoal sketches of the same scene. An idol—multiple times—sometimes successful, sometimes barely making it out of the trainee stage before scandals dragged him down. Even when he reached the heights of fame, they never lasted past the seventh year. He recalled the times he had chosen INX, sometimes making it big, but even then, the seven-year curse was an unbreakable wall he crashed into over and over again.
A shudder ran through his frame as he remembered the lowest points. When he chose to end it all, hoping maybe that would break the loop. Pills, knives, rooftops—he tried everything. Once, he went as far as to hang himself with the cord from the heavy curtains in this very penthouse, the Taehyung poster outside his window watching him coldly as he kicked the chair away. The next moment, he was awake in his childhood bedroom, staring at the same ceiling he’d seen far too often.
He’d tried taking the darkest paths, just to see if the loops would change. In one life, he’d run away at fifteen and joined a gang, living on the fringes of society until he was caught in a bloody skirmish that left him dying in the street. In another, he became a con artist, gaining riches through manipulation and lies until one of his victims caught up with him. He even let himself fall into addiction once—hooked on alcohol, then cocaine. He had seen how low he could go, scraping the bottom of the barrel in every sense, but every time, the result was the same. The ceiling was always there to greet him when he awoke, untouched and undeterred.
Yet he had known success, too. He remembered standing on the podium of the Winter Olympics, gold medal heavy around his neck as the anthem played and cameras flashed. A runner, a cyclist, a high jumper—he'd excelled as an athlete again and again. Each time, his parents had been proud, their approval a warm but empty comfort. But the fulfillment never lasted. It was always followed by the harsh crash of realization: this wasn’t the path he was meant to walk.
The billboard taunted him, evertime, flashing its messages. He’d seen his own face there before, but every time on his birthday, it wasn’t him anymore. It was Taehyung—the K-pop superstar who had surpassed everyone’s expectations, while Jiwoong was doomed to repeat the same failures.
He’d even traveled, seeking solace and new possibilities in different countries. In one life, he flew to America, becoming a contestant on a cooking competition, eventually winning the title of MasterChef. The joy had been fleeting, and he had gone back to Korea, hoping a change of scenery might bring about a change in fate. He had been a baker, a barista, a bartender in bustling streets and back alley clubs. He was once a renowned pastry chef, the one who introduced the trend of croissant-donuts in Korea. Yet the successes were fleeting. No matter how high he climbed, the fall was inevitable.
Jiwoong's hands trembled as he rubbed them over his face, feeling the familiar tears that leaked down his cheeks. He didn’t want this anymore. He didn’t want the endless cycle of despair and hope, of reaching for something just out of his grasp only to watch it slip away time and time again. What did he have to do to make it stop?
He let his mind drift back to his more mundane lives—the ones where he was ordinary, where he never tried to stand out. He remembered being a florist, content in his little shop with the smell of fresh blooms around him. It had been a peaceful life, unremarkable, with no grand failures or spectacular successes. He’d died in his sleep, content, only to wake up staring at the ceiling, disappointed that it hadn’t been the end.
Another time, he had been a civil engineer, meticulously building skyscrapers that scraped the sky. The irony wasn’t lost on him when he threw himself off the top of one of those buildings. There had been a run where he decided to take the quietest job he could find, working as a janitor in a university he once could have attended. It had been boring, mind-numbingly dull, and he had thought that maybe, just maybe, living a quiet and simple life would break the loop. But it never did.
His mind swam with memories of countless jobs and identities. A ballet dancer—only barely making it to the mid-tier competitions before injuries cut his career short. A model—gracing the covers of magazines only to fade away after a scandal caught him in the wrong place at the wrong time. An actor—celebrated for his face but criticized for his acting skills, only gaining respect years later when he took on supporting roles that showed depth he didn’t know he had. Each role, each life, blurred into a cacophony of experiences that never led to a true end.
Jiwoong’s eyes were red and raw as he turned back to the billboard. The clock was nearing midnight, and he couldn’t look away. His head ached with the countless paths he’d walked. He could still hear the applause from his fans in some lives, see the disappointed faces of his parents in others. He could feel the cold medal around his neck and the warmth of an audience's applause. And yet, there was always that gnawing emptiness, a void that couldn’t be filled no matter what path he took.
His breath hitched as he glanced at the screen again, and suddenly, the familiar ad switched. It was no longer Taehyung's birthday message flashing, but something else—a new poster he had never seen before. His heart skipped, his breath hitching as he leaned closer to the window. It was an audition notice for a new season of idol survival show : Boys planet, celebrating it's 7th anniversary.
He felt the world stop. He walked with tentative steps towards the window. The poster had never come up. He knows, he had lives where he kept staring at the billboard, unblinking, before the next blink carried him to the next cycle again.
His laughter was raw, almost hysterical as it bubbled up from his throat. This was new. This was different. A break in the pattern—a tiny crack in the flawless facade of his prison. He pressed his forehead against the cool glass, staring at the poster with wide eyes. It was ridiculous. It was impossible. But it was there.
For the first time in countless lives, Jiwoong went to bed with a smile on his face, anticipation buzzing under his skin. He had no idea if this would be the key, the answer he had been looking for, but it didn’t matter. Something had changed, and he would chase that difference until he had no breath left. As he was passing his room, he noticed a blue butterfly brooch shining on his dresser. He couldn't for the life of him remember where he got it from. He stared at it for a moment before deciding he could remember in his next life.
He lay down, closing his eyes as the clock ticked past midnight. And when he opened them again, the ceiling was there to greet him—the same ceiling he had seen a thousand times before. But for once, he felt hope flicker in the hollow of his chest, fragile but bright.