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Chapter 11
I wondered—was this really reality?
Was this all just a dream?
Getting hit by a truck and regressing into the past, meeting the childhood version of a world-class athlete who would later earn hundreds of billions in salary, and now running away from a crime scene with him—
None of it felt real.
It was like a single night’s dream, and only my ragged breathing felt real.
Or maybe—
Even this thunderous heartbeat was real.
But the sound wasn’t coming from me. It came from the body pressed against mine.
Hot breath, cold hands.
Rampa whispered.
“Don’t worry.”
He kept whispering to me.
“It’s okay.”
The mountain was pitch-dark, freezing cold, and eerily silent—as if someone could appear behind us at any moment.
I couldn’t relax even for a second.
Fear had taken hold of me the moment I woke up in this unfamiliar place and never let go.
Rampa tightened his arms around me even more.
“I have good eyesight. Very good. Don’t worry.”
He wasn’t talking to me.
He was talking to himself.
“It started snowing. It’s a little brighter now. I can see better.”
After running for a long time, Rampa finally stopped and caught his breath before moving more quietly into a hiding place.
It was a shallow dirt pit beneath a low rock.
Dry leaves covered the entrance, and it was too small for both of us to sit properly.
He had to crouch and hold me tightly just to fit inside.
“We’ll hide here.”
“….”
“It won’t be short. We have to endure it.”
Only then did I see his eyes clearly.
Those silver-gray eyes.
Rampa’s father was a mixed-race European, and his mother was Korean.
He was born with a rare genetic mix, resulting in eyes of an almost unreal color.
Formula 1 drivers wear helmets that cover half their faces, leaving only their eyes visible.
Across countless races throughout history, no eyes had ever been as beautiful as his.
The world had once mourned the idea that it might never see those eyes again.
I had too.
“Can you do it?”
“…Yes.”
“Clever girl.”
So I would keep seeing those eyes.
As long as I could.
Rampa pulled me closer again.
His still-developing arms trembled like aspen leaves, and even his jaw against my head shook slightly.
He needed me too.
People become strong in front of the weak, and only with something to protect can they avoid breaking.
I didn’t want to cry, but I was too weak, too immature, too careless with my second life.
All I could manage was not making a sound while tears streamed down my face.
Fear, relief, guilt.
It all broke out of me.
Rampa didn’t tell me to stop crying.
He didn’t tell me to be quiet.
He only held me tighter.
♧
How did this happen?
It felt unfair.
I thought the biggest crisis in my life would be making ten billion dollars!
How did the genre suddenly change like this?
But thinking about it carefully, accidents were called accidents for a reason.
Who gets warned before a car crash? Wasn’t I proof of that myself—someone who got hit by a truck on the way to work and regressed?
Thinking like that made it feel slightly less unfair.
Maybe I’m just terribly unlucky…
Outside the cave, snow kept falling.
The accumulating snow helped hide us. Inside the pit, we could only see through a small gap Rampa had cleared.
At least we wouldn’t be found and killed.
Starving or dying of thirst seemed better than being murdered.
“Thirsty?”
“No… are you?”
This nine-year-old mixed-race kid was so impressive it almost felt like reverence.
Without realizing it, I started calling him “oppa.”
“I’m fine too.”
After a moment of silence, Rampa suddenly laughed. His body shook slightly with mine.
“You’re really not thirsty? After all that crying? I’m sure there’s no water left in your body.”
“….”
This kid even jokes now? Just how mentally strong is he?
Leaning weakly against him, I swayed with his laughter.
Then I lightly punched him.
“Ugh.”
“…Don’t ‘ugh’ me. Don’t exaggerate. I don’t even have strength right now.”
“You have no idea how badly they beat me.”
“Really? Are you badly hurt?”
“Well… what can you do.”
He gave a self-deprecating smile and adjusted his grip on me.
At some point, I stopped asking him to stop speaking English. At this point, there was nothing left we couldn’t understand anyway.
In the exhaustion and hunger that followed terror, only each other remained as anchors.
Would I ever be this close to another person again?
I thought blankly in his arms.
Not even with my past boyfriends had I ever been this close.
It wasn’t even comparable.
I rubbed my cheek against his neck. He gently soothed me by brushing his chin against my head and playing with my fingers like they were toys.
My fingertips stung from the rope burns, but I didn’t care.
His hands were just as injured from tearing off the metal bars.
“See? I told you. That guy Je Anmin is dangerous. If you get close, you get hurt. Look, we got kidnapped because of his coat. I’m seriously annoyed.”
“I’ll burn that coat.”
“Cut ties with him too.”
“Cut ties?”
“Stop contacting him. Stay away.”
“Fine. After coming this far, how could I not listen to you?”
It was a helpless yet infinitely gentle response.
I forced down the corners of my mouth from rising.
Maybe I really was shallow.
Even in this situation, I felt pleased hearing him say that.
But I couldn’t help it.
He was someone I could never have even looked at in history.
In my past life, I actually had a slight connection to Rampa Lim.
When I once went on a working holiday abroad, I met a man I even considered marrying.
We eventually broke off the engagement.
His workplace was in Buckinghamshire, in Motorsports Valley. A low-level employee at a racing company.
And the face of that team—the legendary symbol—
was Rampa.
In other words, I was now strangely connected to someone who had been my ex-fiancé’s boss.
If you think about it… isn’t this also a kind of revenge?
It was petty, but I felt strangely satisfied.
I didn’t even realize I was getting a fever.
♧
“Rampa…”
“Yeah.”
“Am I… going to die?”
“Probably.”
“Really?”
“If you cry in that condition, then yes. One hundred percent.”
He said it calmly, without humor.
How cruel.
The playful attitude from before must have been an act.
This must be his real personality.
I regretted watching his Netflix documentary at 1.5x speed.
What kind of childhood produces a nine-year-old like this? What kind of monster creates another monster?
“You’re a psycho… sob… I knew it… normal nine-year-olds don’t act like this when kidnapped…”
“You’re the idiot. And I’m not nine. I’m seven. Korean age is stupid.”
“You only know ‘idiot,’ huh? You can’t even swear properly in Korean. Serves you right.”
“You’re stupid. Shut up.”
“Sniff… it hurts… this is so unfair…”
I was so unfairly miserable.
How could a pretty little girl like me die in a mountain like this?
Beautiful people die young—apparently it’s true.
I never thought taking better care of myself in this life would backfire like this…
“Rampa… I feel like throwing up…”
“If you throw up with nothing in your stomach, you’ll really die. If you want to die, go ahead. Idiot.”
“Psycho.”
“Idiot.”
“Psycho!”
“Idiot. Quiet.”
His cold lips kept touching my hot forehead.
His hand kept rubbing my back.
Despite his rude words, his touch was careful.
I felt like crying again.
“You’re scared I’ll die, aren’t you?”
“Not really.”
“Then why keep holding me?”
“Whatever. Don’t misunderstand. I’m just cold. You’re warm. You’re like a heater. Very useful.”
“I hate you…”
“Yeah.”
“You used to call me ‘clever girl,’ and now you call me an idiot? So annoying…”
“….”
He said nothing.
But his hand never stopped moving.
I was dizzy, exhausted, sleepy.
Just as I was about to fall asleep, he suddenly hit my back hard.
“Ow! Why did you hit me?”
“Don’t fall asleep.”
“What…? No! I’m sleeping!”
“Don’t.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Scared.”
“….”
He said it again, flatly.
“I’m scared. Don’t fall asleep.”
And then I cried again.
It was the first time he had ever said he was scared.
I sniffled and hugged his neck.
“…Okay. I won’t sleep. Sorry.”
“Yeah.”
“….”
“Clever girl.”
I couldn’t understand how someone this young could be like this.
Rampa started rubbing my back again.
Time passed.
Then he suddenly spoke.
“Singa.”
“Yeah?”
“If my calculation is right, yesterday was Christmas Eve. Today is Christmas.”
“….”
After a pause, I said softly.
“Christmas is the day miracles are born.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah. It’s the day people make wishes.”
“I see…”
He repeated it quietly, as if memorizing it.
Then he whispered into my ear:
“Merry Christmas, Singa.”
“…Merry Christmas, Rampa.”
December 25th, 1996.
The white Christmas I would never forget.
That was the last thing I remember.
On December 27th, we were rescued.
We had been trapped in the mountains for nearly four days.
The kidnappers were arrested two days before our rescue, and the motive was confirmed to be the kidnapping of wealthy families’ children for ransom.
Due to requests from the families and to protect the victims, the incident was never reported in the media.
No one, including me, knew how Rampa endured those two days when I was unconscious.
After a short recovery in the hospital, Rampa returned to Australia at the beginning of January.
The snow had already stopped, and I was still in the hospital, so I couldn’t see him off.
Later, I learned from Hyung Jeon Hyun-gyo that Christmas was Rampa’s birthday.
I don’t think I will ever find words to describe how I felt then.
And then came 1997.
In the coldest winter, the IMF crisis struck the Korean Peninsula.
