I Start with a Bad Hand!

Even rolling in a pile of dog poop, life is better than the afterlife. I always thought that way.

“Well, dog poop can be washed off, and you have to be alive to do anything, right?”

But if I think about it, I had a habit of taking metaphorical expressions literally. So, I didn’t understand the multiple layers of despair inherent in the metaphor of a pile of dog poop. I always assumed it meant just that level of difficulty.

“Maybe that’s why I write scripts the way I do.”

Thus, I couldn’t fully comprehend Dietrich’s choice. Even knowing it wasn’t my place to understand, I still felt that way. Especially when I felt my abilities were lacking, I would unconsciously mutter to myself,

“You should have stayed alive.”

Then you wouldn’t just be watching me stumble around like this. You could have resolved your regrets directly instead of entrusting them all to a stranger like me. While thinking this, I still enjoyed a subtle sense of pride as someone alive, someone who wanted to live, not understanding what drove her to make that choice.

But now, the metaphor that was just words to me became reality. I was tied to this place I so desperately wanted to leave. When I realized this, my feelings were…

“Rolling in a pile of dog poop is a gentle expression,” I thought.

This life is one I never expected, desired, or wanted. In other words, it felt like my foundation had completely collapsed. My original life wasn’t extraordinary, but it was my life, with its own hopes and directions.

“Someday, I’ll travel to Europe, study what I want again, enjoy a nice glass of wine on weekends. I can live like that.”

But now, none of that remained. I had to bury those dreams forever and live, parasitically, in a body about to collapse, with no expectations or hopes left. This was all I had. Of course, there were people who continued living without any drive, but having never lived like that, I didn’t know how to face these feelings now.

I just wanted to lie here and wait to decay until I melted away. Even spending my life in someone else’s vomit that a cockroach spat out would be less tormenting than this.

Feeling my eyes grow hot again, I pressed my palms against them. I fell into the despair of realizing I couldn’t even control my own tears anymore.

This seemingly unending emotion shifted on the third day. Just like the drunken old man from Flower Street, whose fate was now unknown, had told me. A sick heart was unexpectedly relieved by alcohol—or more precisely, by a bottle from my world that I hadn’t managed to open.

I drank slowly,

In the priest’s room for three days, I nibbled on the ceremonial food and sipped the alcohol he had collected. I didn’t touch the bellflower side dish; it seemed like a main family’s food.

By the second day, the priest, who had been drinking with me, decided he couldn’t handle it anymore and left. He returned 30 minutes later with a refreshed face. When I looked at him quizzically, he smiled brightly and said,

“I got some help from divine power.”

Apparently, the gods of this world aided in liver recovery as well.

“Using divine power to cure a hangover—being a priest has its perks.”

High-class hangover cure. Thinking that, I lay under the altar table, waving my hand over it. Suddenly, a glass bottle clinked against my fingertips. I hesitated for a moment, then pulled the bottle closer.

The bottle cap was slightly lifted, and the liquid inside sparkled. It was the bottle I tried to open with a spoon but failed. Even when the priest handed me an opener, I couldn’t bring myself to open the ale. Remembering that, I picked up the bottle and rubbed it against my swollen eyes as if massaging them. After a few rolls, the once-cool bottle became lukewarm.

I removed the bottle from my eyes. The label came into focus. It was a brand I always drank, though the design seemed slightly different.

“Huh?”

Looking closer, I realized it was the same brand but not the usual one I drank. This was the limited edition I had always wanted to try. It was an imported beer, hard to find unless bought directly from its country. Now, this ale with its familiar lettering label was in my hand.

“Is it officially imported now?”

My eyes grew hot again, thinking of the unknown friend who remembered and placed it on the table for me. I cleared my throat. As I was about to place the bottle’s base on my eye to cool it again, a very familiar date on the bottom of the bottle caught my attention.

Manufacture date: 20XX.12.27  

Expiration date: One year from the manufacture date

Ale had an expiration date. I thought it wouldn’t, being bottled alcohol.

“Since I always drank it right after buying it, I never needed to check the expiration date.”

Manufacture date: December 27, 20XX.

I had slipped on the company stairs in mid-August during the rainy season. This beer was made on December 27 of the same year. This meant that the ceremonial table must have been set at least by the Lunar New Year of the following year. Time in my world flows slower than in this one.

‘If alcohol made in this time period made it to the altar, then… I must have died instantly, without a chance to do anything.’

Who found my body? I hope it wasn’t Assistant Manager Yoon Jeong.

My consciousness is so clear, yet I died. If a soul can indeed be separated from the body, I always thought the soul was the true self rather than the flesh.

‘I didn’t realize how attached I was to my body.’

Suddenly, with a revelation, I shot up from my seat, as if in reaction to having lain down for so long. My head buzzed with the influence of the alcohol, but a clear truth seemed to etch itself into my mind. The fact that I had truly died, something I had not fully grasped before.

‘…Then my life had already ended.’

If the original me had died, it had nothing to do with Dietrich’s matters. I simply had bad luck slipping on the company’s stairs. It had been raining heavily that day, and the elevator I tried to catch was full. My crazy boss had been throwing a fit, demanding I bring the documents immediately, so I rushed down the stairs and fell to my death. It was just a series of unfortunate coincidences. There was nothing I could have done.

Normally, I would have just slipped on the stairs, and that would have been the end. Just like that.’

In other words, the moments I was living now were like a bonus, unluckily obtained through my death. Realizing this made my mind oddly clear.

No one complains that a side story is shorter than the main story. Grumbling that a freebie is less than the original product is ridiculous. It’s illogical to whine that a bonus doesn’t match the main product.

Thanks to Dietrich, I gained a bit more time and eventually got my hands on the limited edition ale I always wanted to try. The now completely lukewarm bottle rolled in my hand.

And that wasn’t all.

I could skillfully use a bow, something I never did while alive. I fulfilled my wish to study without part-time jobs at least once. I managed to write one or two plays under pressure and even saw the teeth of a cockroach. The last part wasn’t something I desired, but still.

So, is what I should be doing now just lying down and crying?

It was a life I couldn’t covet from the beginning because it wasn’t mine. Nevertheless, if I got this second chance entirely thanks to Dietrich…

I looked again at the bottom of the bottle in my hand.

Manufacture date: 20XX.12.27  

Expiration date: One year from the manufacture date

The original Dietrich jumped off the clock tower during the fall semester of his second year. That’s about a year from now.

“Dietrich’s body will soon collapse at this rate.”

“At some point, the body must return to the natural order.”

‘I don’t know if the expiration date of this ale is truly one year,’

I will repay this girl who brought me here and deferred my end, now worn down to just a small fragment, with the opportunity and time I’ve been given. Before this ale spoils, before Dietrich’s body completely falls apart.

‘And when that’s all over…’

I will just return to my original state, as I should be. Perhaps, as the priest mentioned, I might find a way to return to my original world. Then I could see the people I have longed for again. Of course, even there, all I could do is just be by their side…

A sense of exhilaration and unknown emptiness filled my chest. But it didn’t matter.

‘I can just fill that emptiness with alcohol.’

I downed the whiskey, which was like the blood of the god Hades. With a satisfying burn, my head, which had cleared up, started to buzz again. If gratitude has a deadline, then I really have no time. So, I can think about what happens next after everything is over.

With that resolve, I returned to the academy.

As soon as I arrived at the dormitory, I knew what I had to do. I opened the book containing Dietrich’s soul. Three blank spaces remained. Although I hadn’t translated meticulously, the context made the timing clear.

First, the academy’s knight preliminary oath ceremony.  

Second, right after the summer break of the second year.  

And the last one…

‘Just before Dietrich climbed the clock tower to jump.’

Now, I need to find out what happened at those times, and what lingering regrets held Dietrich back. But there was something that needed to be prioritized.

“I need your help. I’m in a bit of a strange situation.”

“…Strange situation? Stranger than you skipping classes for a while and showing up reeking of alcohol?”

To eliminate the unknown variables that made me uneasy and prevented me from making proper judgments.

“The hair I sold was hanging on my dorm room doorknob again.”

“What… kind of strange thing is that?”

Agnes’s face filled with shock.