“Han Mari is someone impossible to forget for various reasons.”
A name that evokes multiple meanings.
An academic background from the best arts talent school.
A face you can’t forget after seeing once.
Sharp eyes and a mature aura.
At the young age of ten, she blossomed her remarkable talent in America, starred in dramas, and even had the formidable background of being the granddaughter of a conglomerate family…
The fact that Han Mari is currently only a first-year middle school student merely confirmed her boundless potential.
A character born out of such numerous ‘coincidences’ left a powerful impression.
Naturally, the broadcasting station leveraged this, and people adored her.
A star quality that everyone desperately craves.
That girl, ‘Han Mari,’ had an unerasable presence that clung to your mind the moment you saw her.
She could be summed up in one phrase:
“A Genius Gifted by Heaven.”
Art galleries and curators eyed her star potential.
They competed fiercely to host her solo exhibition.
‘But why did I forget about her?
Why did I, who was once as excited about her existence during my childhood as those reporters now crowding the TV, forget?
In 2004, South Korea was a nation starving for global recognition.
In that era of longing, a girl’s appearance on a talent discovery show created a sensation.
My vague admiration for her during my past life as a middle schooler became the reason I started art in the first place…
All because of Han Mari.
A girl so deeply intertwined with my life.
And yet, here I was, living in 2024, twenty years later, having forgotten her existence entirely.
In a future South Korea where not even fragments of her popularity remained.
Why?
The answer was simple.
“The art genius Han Mari dies in the spring of 2004 due to a car accident.”
The cause: a chain collision accident.
Han Mari had a habit of keeping the car’s rear window open.
On the day of the accident, she was flung out of the car during the crash, ending her life in a cold ditch.
The absurd death of a genius who had stirred the world for years.
There was an even more ironic element.
The ditch where the accident occurred was obscured by a dense cluster of plants.
It delayed her rescue, ultimately leading to her death.
This news was released later, and the absurd sequence of misfortunes that befell a miracle of genius left an indelible impact.
It also led to the widespread adoption of slogans like, ‘Adolescents must always wear seatbelts in the back seat,’ and ‘In case of accidents, check ditches by the roadside,’ similar to the myth of ‘sleeping with a fan on can kill you.’
A genius who seemed destined to shine forever left behind just a few phrases and was forgotten.
“………..”
It wasn’t until I saw Han Mari’s face, being broadcast live on TV, that I truly felt… I had returned to my childhood.
‘She’s alive…?’
And this year.
She will die soon.
The exact time, I don’t know.
Her death was announced late.
Unlike other accidents over the past two years that could have been prevented even by a child’s prank call, this one seemed truly unpreventable.
I am not a genius.
And certainly not a hero.
There were limits to the fate these small hands could defy.
“………”
The last time I’d likely see Han Mari would be at the <Hanul Youth Art Contest>.
This fateful encounter felt destined.
‘Destiny, huh…’
Was traveling back in time, catching my homeroom teacher’s attention, and deepening my bond with my uncle all for the sake of meeting her at this art contest?
To reclaim my lost passion as an artist…
“This is truly… destined.”
As I muttered this, my uncle’s loud, sticky fart rang out from beside me.
-Pooooooot!
Damn it…
“Ugh, I ate roasted sweet potatoes on the way, so…”
“Oh, come on. We can’t even ventilate properly in here, and you…”
“Hold on, hold on. Another one’s coming…! Hngh!”
“No, stop it—!!”
“Hnnnngh!!”
My plea, mixed with a kick, fell on deaf ears.
My uncle, a 190cm factory worker dressed in red thermal underwear, wasn’t fazed by a kid’s jet kick.
He frowned, focused, and then launched the second round of biochemical gas.
-Pooooooot!
“…Wow. That one’s coming out for sure.”
“Hmm? You worry too much. What do you take your uncle’s sphincter for?”
“They say the sphincter weakens with age. You’ve been farting nonstop lately. The smell is driving me crazy. Don’t you think you should see a doctor?”
Park Taeoh chuckled mischievously.
“Hehe, nah. There’s an old lady selling roasted sweet potatoes under the overpass, and they’re just too good to pass up. You should try them. They taste like they’re glazed with honey. She said she’d stop selling them soon.”
“Eat all you want.”
“You used to like sweet potato dishes like sweet potato rice and candied sweet potatoes back in kindergarten. But now that you’re in elementary school, you won’t touch them at all, huh?”
In my past life, during times of poverty, I had eaten boxes of sweet potatoes bought online like livestock feed, and the memory left me unable to enjoy them anymore.
But I couldn’t say that outright.
“…I just don’t like sweet potatoes anymore.”
“Hehe, you’ll stunt your growth at this rate. Everyone in our family—your mom, your uncle—we’re all tall and sturdy. Wouldn’t it be a waste if you didn’t grow just because you’re picky?”
“What nonsense. Height’s all about genetics. I’ll grow no matter what I eat.”
“Well, aren’t you a stubborn one.”
To be honest, it did bother me.
In my past life, I had been a chubby kid with a solid build from childhood to my time in the military, growing to 196cm.
But now, as ‘Go Hana,’ I was the smallest in my class, practically a mouse.
Even now, at the age of ten in third grade, my face was so babyish that I could barely distinguish myself from kindergarteners.
Whenever I went out for dinner with my uncle on weekends, restaurant staff would bring out a child’s booster seat, and it had become a regular occurrence.
‘In my past life, I shot up from third grade to 196cm by the time I enlisted. Why am I not even feeling growing pains yet? Don’t girls usually grow faster than boys in elementary school…?’
Unlike my previous life, where I didn’t care about height, I now desperately wished to grow, even by a centimeter.
‘Please, just grow taller…!’
I couldn’t stand the embarrassment of being clapped for by neighborhood ladies whenever I told my uncle I could go to the bathroom alone.
Regardless of my anxieties, my red-haired giant uncle Park Taeoh scratched his butt and began setting up his bedding.
The tiger-patterned blanket he had scavenged from a neighborhood clothing donation box came into view.
“Yawn, Hana, let’s sleep now.”
“Alright… I’m turning off the lights.”
“Goodnight.”
Following his declaration, I walked to the corner of the small single room where the switch was located.
I turned around for a moment.
The narrow single room of 2004.
The worn furniture and bedding.
The old tube TV and landline phone.
The child in thermal underwear and the giant.
All of it seemed to reflect my current self, and I couldn’t help but chuckle bitterly.
It was like a dilapidated cabin given to a time traveler.
So familiar, yet… so shabby.
Things will improve.
I’ll live a happier life than before.
…I’m not sure, but.’
As I stood there in a daze, my uncle poked his head out from under the tiger blanket.
“Hana, not sleeping?”
“…Just thinking. I’ll turn it off now.”
‘And I’ll keep going forward.’
With that thought, I pulled the stiff switch and turned off the light.
-Click!
The luxurious foyer lights of a mansion automatically turned on.
As the door opened, a large shoe cabinet covered with mirrors came into view.
The staff and housekeepers poured in, carrying luggage.
At the forefront of the commotion was a middle-aged gentleman with graying hair, calmly directing the crowd.
Known within HU Group as “Manager Kang,” he was the personal secretary of Han Taejin, the second son of the Han conglomerate family.
Manager Kang issued instructions in a quiet, authoritative tone.
“Place the young lady’s travel bags in front of her room, and bring the No. 1 briefcase to the meeting room desk. I will handle the rest.”
“Yes, Manager.”
“Oh, and Masandae, is the late-night meal prepared as requested?”
“Yes,” a middle-aged woman in an apron replied with a warm smile.
“Since the young lady found the in-flight meal unappetizing, I prepared steamed vegetables and pumpkin porridge, which are gentle on the stomach.”
“The chairman has indicated he will join the meal. I’ll hand you the wine cabinet key—please prepare some light snacks as well.”
“Yes, Manager.”
In a matter of moments, over ten instructions were relayed.
Once the hustle settled, Manager Kang stood silently in the now-quiet foyer.
A few minutes later, faint footsteps approached from outside.
Without a second of hesitation, Manager Kang opened the grand mansion door and bowed.
“Chairman, welcome. Young lady, you must have had a tiring journey.”
“Hmph…”
Standing at the door was a middle-aged man in a wine-colored suit—Han Taejin.
He scratched his cheek awkwardly, looking at Manager Kang.
‘Unbelievable… He left after us but secured the route, organized the house, and waited for us. Even after over ten years, I can’t get used to it.’
Though Manager Kang had been assigned to him by his father, the chairman of HU Group, Han Taejin felt the man’s talents were wasted on him.
After all, most of the group’s management shares had been passed to his elder brother.
To Manager Kang, this position was practically exile, a consequence of the chairman’s deep affection for his granddaughter.
‘Someone as capable as him should’ve gone to my brother, the next chairman. But my father forced him here…’
Though he was bound by his father’s expectations for now, Han Taejin resolved to one day write Manager Kang a glowing recommendation for his brother.
Suppressing his mixed feelings, Han Taejin spoke.
“You’ve worked hard, Manager Kang. I can only trust you with such tasks.”
“It’s my duty to assist you, Chairman. Please don’t concern yourself.”
Next to Han Taejin, a young girl suddenly appeared.
She had been standing beside him all along but was obscured by his imposing frame.
Han Mari stood by her father and bowed politely to Manager Kang.
“Hello, sir. It’s been a while.”
“Yes, young lady, two months, I believe. Welcome back.”
“Korea is cold.”
“Yes, it’s very cold.”
“But I think New York was colder.”
“That’s true.”
“But the moon is brighter in Korea.”
“Yes, much brighter.”
“Will it snow?”
“Probably not anymore this spring.”
“That’s too bad… Could it snow, though?”
“If there’s news of snow, I’ll inform you. May I untie your shoelaces for you?”
Han Mari’s absent-minded expression brightened instantly.
“Oh! Then I can go inside now!”
“Yes, there’s delicious food prepared for you.”
“Wow…”
Manager Kang carefully untied Han Mari’s sneakers, and she bowed before dashing into the house.
Watching this, Han Taejin massaged his throbbing temple.
“Sorry, Manager Kang. I still don’t understand what she means sometimes. Was that her way of asking for help with her laces?”
“Haha…”
“At least she can change her clothes on her own now. Without those American therapists, we might’ve thought she had a mental condition…”
Manager Kang offered only a faint, bitter smile in response.
The truth was, despite the world’s sudden acclaim for Han Mari as a genius artist, her success was the result of a string of coincidences.
It all began when her nursery teacher, noticing her unusually slow speech and actions, recommended a child psychology center in the U.S.
Coincidentally, that center had an active art therapy program for children with developmental disorders.
During those sessions, Mari’s exceptional perception and cognitive abilities were discovered.
Coincidentally, one of her therapy friends was the daughter of a renowned modern artist in New York, which led to Mari visiting their studio.
There, surrounded by artistic mentors, Mari’s talents blossomed at a pace far beyond her peers.
Her burgeoning skills caught the eye of reporters covering the “Korean Cuisine Globalization Campaign” in the U.S.
Reflecting on these events, Han Taejin couldn’t help but think of them as destiny.
A genius sent by heaven…
“Yes, a gift from heaven,” he muttered.
Moreover, Mari was born into a wealthy family capable of nurturing her talents, and unlike many other conglomerate families, hers was incredibly harmonious.
In such a household, Mari was a blessing that brought honor.
‘Even Father and my brother shower her with gifts just to see her face.’
With a weary chuckle, Han Taejin said, “I never thought our household would be filled with laughter again after her mother passed away.”
“Now, the happiness of the HU Group revolves around the young lady. It’s truly a gift from above.”
“Exactly.”
Han Taejin was grateful for this reality.
He hoped this happiness would last forever.
Surely, his brother and father felt the same.
Finally, April 1st arrived—the day of the competition.