JERS 01

CHAPTER 01

Life really is something you can’t predict — not even a second ahead.

As my car fell off a cliff, I couldn’t help thinking:

“This isn’t so bad… I guess this is okay.”

There was an organ donation card in my wallet, the kind I’d signed for years ago.
All my urgent work had been taken care of.
Even without me, the company was strong enough not to collapse overnight.

“Ah… right. Soo-hyuk said he’d buy me a drink when the new song came out.”

He’d insisted I let him return the favor this time. I should’ve made the time.

A faint smile crept onto my lips — ridiculous, considering the situation.

CRASH.
With every violent impact as the car tumbled, the metal bent and crumpled.
Thankfully, there was no pain. It all felt strangely distant, like watching a movie.

“This doesn’t feel real.”

The car finally came to rest, smashed to pieces at the bottom of the cliff, half-submerged in the swollen stream below.

So this was it. My death.

A typical accident.

I’d been driving in the rain when the car behind me suddenly slammed into mine at full speed.
I hit the brakes — useless.

When the car lifted off the ground and started falling, I knew — this was the end.

“Kind of a pathetic way to go.”

But then again, so were most deaths I’d heard about.
I wasn’t special. I was just another person caught in an unavoidable accident.

***

The Life of Yoo Jin-heon

I was almost forty, and I’d lived what I’d call a rough but decent life.

Born an orphan, I didn’t even remember when I’d started being alone.
After high school, I went to Seoul and got my first job — a junior employee at a tiny record label.

“I didn’t know a damn thing back then.”

I never dreamed of being a singer. It just… happened.

One day, a backup singer canceled, and the producer shoved me into the recording booth.

“I can’t do that! The only songs I know are school choir pieces!”

I tried to refuse, but the producer waved me off.

“I’ll pay you a hundred thousand won for the session. Go buy yourself something nice.”

Back then, I was living in the office — broke and desperate. There was no way I could turn it down.

***

The faces of the staff when I first started singing — shocked, impressed — are still clear in my mind.

“You ever think of doing this for real?”

That label was small — a hole-in-the-wall operation.
Their artists were nobodies.
They sang sleazy versions of pop hits at nightclubs.
I figured I’d end up the same way.

“I’m not good at standing in front of people,” I told them.

But fate had other plans.

One night, a company dinner — and an uninvited guest.

“Jin-heon, this is a big shot I know. He wants to hear you sing — says you’re great at ballads. Don’t embarrass me.”

The “big shot” looked like the kind of man who had never lived a clean life.
A deep scar ran down his cheek. His suit screamed gangster.

“Go on. Liven up the mood.”

I grabbed the mic, heart pounding.
If I messed up, I might actually die.

So I sang.

“If my desperate heart reaches you… will you think of me, even for a moment—”

A typical ballad of the time.
I gripped the mic like my life depended on it — because it probably did.

When I finished, they handed me a paper.

“Here, just sign it. It’s a good deal for you.”

It was a contract. My first.

[Exclusive Management Agreement]

“What is this?” I asked nervously.

“It’s your future, kid. You’ve got talent — wasting it would be a sin. You’re meant to be a singer.”

At the time, I had no idea what I was signing.

***

I assumed I’d just end up singing in shady bars, scared someone I knew would recognize me.
But then — the impossible happened.

The song I recorded got used as the theme for a drama that the gangster’s company was funding.
That drama became a national hit.

So did my song.

“Damn, man — your song’s playing in every store in Seoul!”

Restaurants, cafés, boutiques — you couldn’t go anywhere without hearing it.

The boss was a man who didn’t care about ethics — only profit.
And he had a gift for it.
Everything he touched turned to gold.

Money started rolling into my account — more than I’d ever dreamed of.

“You’re a star now! Act like one. Go date someone. You walk around like a monk.”

He claimed he’d made me, and maybe he was right.
Talent wasn’t enough to survive in the music world.

But the busier I got, the more I depended on him.
I was performing six shows a night, with no days off.

“Once you hit it big in Japan, you’ll be rich beyond belief.”

He kept saying he was sorry he couldn’t pay me more — that he had too many people to support.
I didn’t know enough to question it.
He made sure I didn’t.

It wasn’t until after my Japan tour that I realized something was wrong.

“These numbers don’t make sense…”

My health started collapsing. My throat was ruined.

When I pulled out the contract to request a break, I finally saw the truth — the duration, the profit split — all of it absurd.

When I confronted him, he just smiled.

“That’s just the standard contract, kid. When it’s up, I’ll give you a much better one. Don’t forget who saved you. You’d still be a nobody without me.”

And that’s when my personal hell began.

***

[The artist cannot refuse any reasonable requests from the company.]

One line. That was all it took.

My popularity exploded, but I was working myself to death.
People called me a “money-crazed robot singer,” but I wasn’t even seeing the money.

Eventually, my vocal cords tore.
I begged for rest, but the boss said:

“You’d let all our staff starve? You’re the reason they have jobs!”

I kept singing until I couldn’t anymore.

When my voice was gone, I was discarded.
No calls. No schedule. No one.

Only then did I realize the extent of what had been stolen from me — and from others.

Younger singers told me they were scared to speak up.
If you got on the boss’s bad side, your career was over.

“Then I’m the only one who can do this,” I thought.

Not out of heroism.
Just because I couldn’t stomach being complicit anymore.

I gathered all my savings and hired the best lawyers I could find.

***

“This is incredible,” one of them said.

The embezzlement amount was astronomical.

“And this is just the minimum estimate,” he added.

The man who’d said he was “too poor” to pay me fairly had used my stolen earnings to build a real estate empire worth billions.

I’d made him rich — and broken myself in the process.

But I had nothing left to lose.

If I was going down, I was taking him with me.

The lawsuit dragged on, but in the end—

[The defendant must pay 20.9 billion won in unpaid royalties.]

That one line restored my pride — but not my voice.

***

“What will you do now?” my lawyer asked.

I couldn’t sing anymore.
But I’d learned the business — how to make music that people loved.

So I started a company of my own.

Joy Entertainment.

I devoted myself to creating fair contracts, nurturing real artists, and building something honest.

Both as a singer and as a producer, I’d achieved more than I’d ever imagined.

There was nothing left to climb.

“This is enough.”

No family, no regrets, no debts.

I’d lived well — helped others, donated often, left a clean legacy.

So when my eyes closed, I thought that was it.

But then… a voice.

***

[You really think that’s enough?]

“…What?”

The world went white.

[Yoo Jin-heon, born 198X. Died in car accident after brake failure on a rainy road.]

[You’re satisfied with that? Really?]

A sharp, angry voice questioned me.

“Well… I guess?” I said, uncertain.

[Guess? GUESS?! You’re not supposed to die yet! There are so many idiots out there who still need saving!]

…Was this voice seriously yelling at me for dying?

Before I could respond—

[Wait. If I just… adjust this, and connect that… yes! Perfect!]

“What—?”

[I’ll give you another chance. You’re not dying for at least twenty years. Got it?!]

I didn’t even have time to agree or argue.

The world flashed again — and then—

***

“…Huh?”

I woke to a white ceiling, soft light, and yellow curtains.

I raised my hand — a hospital IV was attached to it.

“A hospital?”

Before I could think further, a nurse appeared, pulling the curtain aside.

“Oh! You’re awake!”

“Uh… yeah. Am I… alive?”

My voice sounded wrong.
Too young. Too soft.

My skin, too — pale and smooth.

“Wait. Did I survive?!”

I remembered that strange voice.
Another chance, it had said.

The nurse blinked. “Of course you did. You were lucky! There happened to be an off-duty firefighter nearby who pulled you out right away.”

That didn’t make sense.
The crash was fatal. The car was destroyed.

“How…? My car was completely wrecked! How could I—?”

The nurse frowned. “Car? What are you talking about?”

She checked my chart.

“Ah, here it is. You didn’t come in from a car crash. You were rescued after jumping into the river. Miss Cha Eun-young, don’t you remember?”

“…Who?”

She looked confused.

“You. You’re Cha Eun-young. Don’t tell me you don’t remember your own name? Is this memory loss from the shock?”

I turned my head toward the mirror on the wall—

—and froze.

Looking back at me was a young woman, maybe twenty at most, with soft cheeks and wide, unfamiliar eyes.

A face I had never seen before.

A face that wasn’t mine.