I stayed up the entire night.
If this had been my forty-nine-year-old body, I'd have been a corpse by morning—but the body of a thirty-one-year-old was surprisingly energetic.
My mind, however, was still drifting in a fog.
When I thought about what I'd done overnight—something that went far beyond simple slacking off and crossed cleanly into outright sabotage against the company—a chill ran down my spine.
Did I really do the right thing?
The thought surfaced for a moment, but I shook my head.
I'd lived for eighteen years doing nothing but regret.
What was the point of pretending to be good or ethical now?
The moment this company took on the A Electronics project, it was destined to fall into the abyss anyway.
Rather than committing collective suicide with Director Kim, it was far wiser for me to survive alone.
I gave the design plans I'd "completed" overnight a final review.
They looked perfect.
No—too perfect, if anything.
I'd cranked the safety margins up excessively, making the columns far thicker than necessary.
The rebar layouts were packed so densely they looked like they belonged in a fortress.
If anyone questioned the design, I already had my answer prepared.
"The foundation of any structure is safety. Especially for a headquarters that will be used by countless people, I believe safety must come before everything else."
It wasn't wrong.
But if a building were constructed exactly according to these plans, the construction cost would easily double the original estimate.
Unless the person in charge at A Electronics was a complete idiot, our proposal from Jeongin Structural Engineering would be the first thing tossed into the trash.
"Hoo…"
After a short deep breath, I gathered the dozens of pages of drawings and reports and headed for the director's office.
"Director, it's Assistant Manager Park."
"Oh, come in."
Director Kim was sprawled almost flat on the sofa, reading a sports newspaper.
As I entered, he folded the paper with visible annoyance and asked,
"So, you finished everything overnight?"
"Yes. I've brought it all."
I carefully placed the thick stack of documents on his desk.
Director Kim glanced at the thickness and nodded in satisfaction.
He didn't even bother looking inside.
This man knew almost nothing about structural design. The only things he understood were contracts and money.
"Good work. I'm sure you handled the details just fine."
"I focused as much as possible on safety. No matter how flashy new technologies get, structure always comes down to safety first, so I approached it conservatively."
At my words, the corner of Director Kim's mouth curled upward.
"Exactly! Big companies like A Electronics love words like 'safety' and 'fundamentals.' Looks like you know your stuff."
As expected—he swallowed the bait whole.
"I'll take these with me today, so you can head back. Oh, and about yesterday—sorry. I was a bit rushed."
It was rare for Director Kim to say anything resembling an apology.
Of course, I knew it wasn't sincere.
"No problem, sir."
I bowed lightly and left the office.
The moment I sat back down at my desk, the strength drained from my legs.
The first butterfly had begun to flap its wings.
Now all that remained was to see what kind of storm this small breeze would bring.
Only after the door to the director's office closed did I finally let out a sigh of relief.
The first hurdle was cleared.
Back at my desk, I deliberately pulled up drawings for a small, unrelated project and pretended to review them.
To anyone watching, I was the image of a diligent Assistant Manager Park.
But all my senses were locked onto the tightly shut door of the director's office.
What is Director Kim doing right now?
Before officially submitting the proposal, he was surely on the phone, laying the groundwork.
That had always been his survival strategy—connections and bluster, never actual skill.
My thoughts churned.
The probability of my plan succeeding was still over ninety percent.
But that remaining ten percent—the worst-case scenario where Director Kim's flattery and exaggeration actually worked on A Electronics' staff—nagged at me.
What if, by some freak chance, this design made it to the presentation stage?
That would be truly irreversible.
No. Don't get ahead of yourself.
I shook my head and forced the anxiety down.
I killed time pretending to work when, faintly, I heard Director Kim's exaggerated laughter from inside his office.
Looks like he'd finally started "working."
And not long after—
Bang—
The office door flew open, and Director Kim burst out, his face flushed.
My heart skipped.
He looked far more excited and confident than I'd expected.
"Assistant Manager Park!"
He beckoned me over.
Every employee in the office turned to look at me.
"Yes, Director."
I stood up, seized by a sense of impending doom.
Director Kim shouted excitedly,
"I just got off the phone with Team Leader Choi from A Electronics! You know I'm close with him, right?"
"…More or less."
"I explained our concept in just one sentence—'All-in on safety, faithful to the basics.' And you know what? Team Leader Choi slapped his knee!"
He even gestured dramatically in midair, as if reenacting it.
"He said all the other firms are obsessed with flashy nonsense, but we're the real deal! He loves it!"
For a moment, I doubted my ears.
What? One phone call—and that garbage design concept impressed him?
"I think we're the strongest candidate! They're gathering all the firms next Monday for presentations, so Assistant Manager Park, you'll go and present it yourself!"
"..."
I couldn't say a word.
My mind went completely blank.
The plan—to quietly fail at the document screening stage—had gone completely off the rails.
Now I was expected to stand in front of countless competitors and A Electronics' staff and executives, personally presenting and defending the defective design I'd created.
The butterfly I'd released was summoning a storm in a direction I'd never imagined.
Before the shock of Director Kim's bombshell even settled, the office erupted into chatter.
Especially Assistant Manager Lee Eunju at the desk next to me—she tapped my arm, thrilled as if it were her own achievement.
"Assistant Manager! This is insane! An A Electronics presentation! I can really tell how much the director trusts you!"
Her voice was full of pure admiration and envy.
Other employees gathered around my desk, offering words that were half congratulations, half encouragement.
"Looks like you're landing something big, Assistant Manager Park."
"Don't count your chickens yet—A Electronics isn't easy. Still, it's a huge opportunity."
"Do well so we can get a bonus too, alright?"
I nodded with an awkward smile.
The more congratulations I received, the colder the sweat running down my back became.
Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.
Warning sirens blared wildly in my head.
This wasn't praise—it was a death sentence.
"Oh, no. We're still a long way off. This is just the beginning."
I answered humbly, though my words carried a very different meaning inside.
Yes. It really was the beginning.
My plan hadn't changed—it had simply gone from failing quietly to failing loudly.
Only after the commotion died down and everyone returned to their desks did I finally sink deep into my chair.
I rubbed my face with both hands.
The situation had spiraled to its worst.
A presentation.
In front of numerous rival companies—and A Electronics' staff and executives.
Delivered by me.
If I botched it?
Director Kim would dump all responsibility on me and bury me alive. "He was so confident I trusted him, and then he stabbed me in the back," he'd say.
But if I nailed the presentation?
That was even worse.
If, by some nightmare scenario, A Electronics was swayed by my rhetoric and signed a contract with us, we'd all be marching straight toward ruin together.
No way forward. No way back.
Surrounded on all sides.
Every idiom fit my situation perfectly.
"Hoo…"
With a deep sigh, I closed my eyes and searched my memory.
Eighteen years.
Amid all the failures and regrets, there were successes too.
I was forty-nine-year-old Park Cheolmin.
A veteran who'd survived dozens—no, hundreds—of presentations.
Right. It's not impossible.
I snapped my eyes open.
They say a crisis is an opportunity.
Fine. Even better.
I'd turn this presentation into the perfect finale for my plan.
How?
The answer was simple.
Deliver a perfect presentation—and fail perfectly.
I launched PowerPoint 2007.
The first slide appeared with the text: Click to add title.
I placed my hands on the keyboard and began typing the most important presentation title of my second life.
[A Electronics New Headquarters – Structural Design Proposal]
Jeongin Structural Engineering
And beneath it, a subtitle.
[An Uncompromising Belief in Absolute Safety]
Perfect.
That grandiose, arrogant subtitle cut straight to the core of my plan.
Through this presentation, I would prove—flawlessly—just how safe, excellent, expensive, and inefficient my design truly was.
Drawing out questions. Twisting logic. Skillfully dodging the heart of the matter.
These were the only survival skills I'd learned in eighteen years of soul-crushing corporate life.
Director Kim… and A Electronics.
I murmured softly at the monitor.
"Feel free to look forward to it. I'll give you the best presentation of my life."
Only a few days remained until Monday.
I even gave up the weekend.
Instead of my sluggish home computer, I claimed a corner seat at a nearby PC café.
PC cafés in 2007 were filled with cigarette smoke, thick dust, and the constant sound of gunfire and screams.
Among youths immersed in Sudden Attack and StarCraft, my suited legs and PowerPoint slides made me look utterly out of place.
But for me, this was a more perfect workspace than any office.
The experience of a forty-nine-year-old combined with the stamina of a thirty-one-year-old.
The synergy was astonishing.
I poured every presentation technique I'd absorbed over the past eighteen years into that single PowerPoint file.
First—visual impact.
I created 3D rendered images unimaginable by 2007 standards.
Not that I made them from scratch.
I recalled resources from free template sites common in the future and recreated the feel.
Buildings that looked like medieval fortresses—overwhelmingly massive and solid.
Anyone would think, Wow. That looks ridiculously sturdy.
Second—data overload.
I crammed every kind of structural analysis graph and table onto the slides.
Simulations assuming magnitude 7.0 earthquakes and typhoons with winds of 50 meters per second—far beyond legal requirements.
Unless you were a true expert, finding holes in this data would be nearly impossible.
Finally—the dagger called cost.
I neatly summarized the projected construction costs on a single slide.
[A Reasonable Investment for Premium Safety]
Even the title was grandiose.
I didn't hide the astronomical material costs or extended construction period.
Instead, I framed them as the natural price of absolute safety.
So—do you still want to sign with us?
I saved the file with a satisfied smile.
That was when—
"Ah, damn it! I died!"
A student playing Sudden Attack beside me groaned in frustration.
At that moment, another fragment of memory flashed through my mind.
A weekend afternoon in 2018.
My wife and young Seoyoon were waiting for me in the park.
But I was sitting on a mat, staring at my laptop—preparing for an important presentation the following week.
"Dad, stop working and play with me."
"Just let me finish this one thing, Seoyoon. Just a bit."
In the end, I never really played with her that day.
My wife's disappointed expression. My daughter's small back as she played alone in the dirt.
The memory stabbed my heart.
…Right.
That was why I was doing this.
Not just for revenge against Director Kim.
Not just for money.
I never wanted to live like that again.
A life crushed by work, turning away from family, drowning in regret.
This time, I would protect what mattered to me.
Family dinners. Weekend trips to the park. Laughing at my daughter's antics.
Things more precious than anything else.
I copied the PowerPoint file onto a USB drive.
The noise of the PC café had faded away.
My mind was cool. My chest burned hot.
I wasn't afraid of the presentation at all.
If anything, I was starting to look forward to it.
I stepped out into the night air of 2007.
Quietly, I walked toward Monday.
My first day of judgment would soon dawn.