episode_0000

0. The Engineering Student Wants to Rest.

I’m ordinary.

Average height, average face—just your typical, run-of-the-mill guy.

But they say God grants at least one talent, right?

*”Hahaha, Minjae, you’re truly remarkable! To think you’d uncover another potential thesis topic here!”*

I was always exceptionally good at building, memorizing, and assembling things.

That’s why I got into engineering, aced my studies, and caught the attention of professors—simultaneously.

I actually enjoyed creating and solving problems more than going to mixers or drinking at MTs.

Basically, STEM fields were my calling.

But…being favored by professors was the problem.

*”Minjae-yah—could you check over this thesis draft?”* *”Minjae, by any chance, do you have any new research topics?”* *”Oh my—this is absolutely brilliant! Simply outstanding!”*

To be precise, it was professors—plural.

Like a victim snatched away by criminals, my thesis drafts and research notes kept getting torn away by professors.

Not enough? They’d call me here, summon me there—daily exhaustion on repeat.

Worse, some professors stole my research ideas and published them as their own.

Thanks to that, I didn’t have a single proper paper with my name on it.

Hell, I wouldn’t even complain if it was just interesting research.

But why the hell did I have to dissect brake mechanics down to the tiniest details?!

*”Damn it… Something’s gone terribly wrong.”*

What if I just ran away?

No need to worry—I was hopeless at actual work.

Unlike brainstorming and research, I sucked at executing tasks.

A few internship attempts ended in disaster—office politics and performance pressure made me crack and bolt every time.

I was great at analyzing and building, but a terrible salesman.

So, of course, I needed that Ph.D. even more.

In the end, I was trapped—the perfect grad student for professors to exploit.

*”Mom, look! A grad student! If you drop a coin, they’ll start working!”* *”Sweetie, grad students are people too. They just… made some bad life choices.”*

What the hell…

Now I’m getting cursed at in the streets too.

Sighing deeply, I trudged forward.

Finally arriving at my dingy rented room, I booted up my PC and logged into a game.

League or Overwatch, you ask?

Nope—a crafting game. You gather materials and use physics engines to build things.

Like making fighter jets or guns out of castle-building blocks—how fun is tha—

…Even in games, it’s still STEM.

*”Sigh… Please, is there somewhere I can just research in peace? No—actually, I just don’t want to work.”*

Please, I swear I won’t act up just because of some mediocre talent.

I’d rather live as an office worker or laborer at this point!

I begged the heavens—and as if in response, I suddenly gushed blood from my nose, my vision darkening.

————————————

It’s warm.

Not like a heating pad or artificial warmth—no, more like… a cozy embrace.

As if love itself had become thermal conduction, wrapping around my nerve endings.

To put it another way—

The difference between standing in front of a heater vs. basking in gentle sunlight?

Slowly, I opened my eyes.

*”Oh my… the baby’s awake! Honey, come quick!”*

…I’m a baby?

My fingers wriggle clumsily—my vocal cords underdeveloped.

When I try to speak, all that comes out is incoherent babbling.

My vision’s unfocused. Straining my eyes, I tried to focus on the couple who must be my parents.

*”Look at those tiny movements… so adorable, isn’t he?”* *”Takes after you—delicate and handsome.”* *”Oh please! If he takes after you, he’ll grow up huge—a real commander type!”*

With great effort, I forced my fragile pupils to focus.

A young couple, barely in their 20s. Definitely not my original parents, so no—this wasn’t regression.

But one thing bothers me…

*”Hahaha, do you want to touch Daddy’s beard?”*

…Mister, why is your beard red?

Irish descent or something? Wait—why is Mom’s hair orange?

What’s with these rainbow hues?!

And their clothes—not suits or pajamas, but rough, homespun fabric.

Like something straight out of the Middle Ages…

No way…

*”Aba-ba—”* *”Did he just say ‘Daddy’?! Daddy?!”*

My infant neck wobbled as I tilted my head.

Nearby—a shabby, crudely built hut.

Dirt-caked hoes and farming tools, weathered hunting bows, leather gear straight out of fantasy novels…

What the actual hell—give me back my smartphone, internet, crafting games, 3D printer, simulation programs!

*”What should we name him?”* *”Hmm… Good question.”*

My parents started deliberating.

So at nearly 30, I’ve reincarnated in medieval times?

Desperate, I tried to speak—but my pathetic vocal cords failed me.

All I could do was babble, making them laugh.

Then, as if sensing my frustration, Dad lifted me high with a cheerful grin.

Judging by his colossal frame, he easily cleared 190cm.

Holding me up like Simba in *The Lion King*, he proudly declared my name—

*”Cain! Yeah, Cain it is!”* *”A fine name.”*

…I’m Yu Minjae.

And thus, my life in this world began.