Greatest Idol C1 Return to the past

"Oh God..." I feel my life slowly ebbing away, like a balloon releasing its final breath. The end draws near—I can sense it, thin as a strand of silk between my fingers.

Though my days have been spent confined to this bed, the solitude has taught me something unexpected: a beauty in living alone, even as the world moves on without me.

I do not question the hardships and trials that have shaped my path. Through each breath, each fleeting moment—even the painful ones—I have found wonder in simply existing.

My eyelids grow heavy now, and as they fall shut, I know with certainty they will never rise again. Whether watched over by a hidden power or left entirely unseen, I face this ending alone. And in this solitude, I find perfect peace.

***

Life is precious beyond words. While some may seem to walk an easier path when viewed from afar, each individual journey carries its own profound beauty and singular purpose.

***

Suddenly, brilliant light pierced through my darkness, forcing me to squint against its intensity. As my vision cleared, I found the sun's rays streaming through the window, casting golden squares across the desks.

What? The fresh air mingles with the familiar scent of chalk dust, worn textbooks, and polished wood. Around me sit young men and women, all listening intently to the teacher before us.

Taking in this moment, I suddenly realize—I'm alive and well.

And... I'm in class. I glance down at my hands to find them young and soft once more.

"Jacob Star, are you paying attention, or shall you continue to daydream like a fool?"

I looked up to find the teacher glaring at me. Jacob Star?

That was my name. Though I could hear my classmates' whispers and the teacher's scolding, my mind wandered far from their voices.

This... This is exactly twenty years ago.

The realization hit me like a wave. Before me was a scene from two decades past—my days as a junior high student.

"Now focus on the lesson properly, Jacob. You wouldn't want to fail the final exam."

The man addressing me was Mr. James Robert—my old math teacher who had always seemed to single me out.

***

Before I knew it, the bell rang. I had barely stepped out of the classroom, still reeling from the knowledge that I had somehow returned to twenty years ago—especially considering I had just experienced my own death—when a group of students blocked my path. Though they were technically my age now, my mind still carried two decades of additional memories.

"Seems like you were lost in dreamland back there, four eyes. Care to share what was so interesting?"

The boy who spoke stood at the front of the pack, and his face was burned fresh in my memory. Liam Grayson—with his intimidating broad shoulders and militant buzz cut. The self-appointed leader of his little gang.

I remembered everything about him all too clearly. After all, he had been my tormentor throughout these school years, never missing a chance to mock my glasses with that stupid "four eyes" nickname.

"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue, four eyes?"

I studied the boy standing beside Liam—Ryan Ortega, his ever-present shadow. Ryan wore his signature oversized hoodie, his brown hair spiked up like needles, dark circles haunting his eyes like permanent bruises.

In my previous life, this moment had filled me with dread. But now? Now I carried the weight of decades within me. These were just children playing at being wolves.

"I apologize, but I have important matters to attend to," I replied with the patience of my older self. "Please excuse me." The politeness in my voice felt almost foreign coming from these young lips.

I attempted to walk past them, but one of Liam's lackeys stepped into my path, a wall of adolescent muscle and misplaced aggression.

The familiar tension crackled in the air. History was about to repeat itself—another beating simply because my existence irritated them.

"Why such a rush, four eyes?" Liam's hand found my chest, shoving me backward. "Don't you want to spend some quality time with us?"

I caught Ryan whispering into Liam's ear, their shared laughter carrying a predatory edge. I recognized that look all too well. My mind screamed to run, but despite housing an old soul, this young body remained as weak as before. As I tried to slip away, they closed ranks around me like a pack of wolves. Ryan's fingers twisted into my collar, yanking me close.

"Where do you think you're going?" His grin stretched wide, malice dancing in his eyes. "We want to have some fun with you. You'll be coming with us."

They dragged me down the hallway in broad daylight, my shoes squeaking against the polished floor. My classmates glanced away as I passed, their faces masks of studied indifference.

Not a single teacher moved to intervene. I felt no fear—these moments were as familiar as breathing—but my attention was caught by two young women whose faces had haunted my memories for decades.

Emily stood there, her striking blonde hair falling in loose waves, a delicate pin catching the fluorescent light. Her green eyes met mine, and I could read her lips as she muttered, "Idiot."

Beside her was Sophia Kim, petite and proper with straight black hair framing her face like a curtain. Emily's faithful shadow.

These two had turned my school life into a masterclass in suffering. Now in my third year of junior high, I recalled with painful clarity how just last year, I had confessed to Emily—only to have her orchestrate a public spectacle of my humiliation.

And Sophia, playing her part as the perfect accomplice, had made sure my shame spread through the school like wildfire.

The cruel irony wasn't lost on me—I was now in my final year of junior high, but these two vipers, along with the thugs currently dragging me away, would follow me into senior high. Three more years of carefully crafted torment awaited.

"Get in here, ugly duckling!" Liam snarled, shoving me hard into the bathroom.

"Time to pay up," one of his lackeys growled, flexing his fingers.

I gritted my teeth, tasting bitter memories. "Actually, I don't have any money—"

"Lying sack of shit!" Ryan's fist crashed into my face, making my world explode in white.

Their hands roughly patted me down, fingers finding the crumpled ten-dollar bill I'd tried to hide.

"Well, well, what do we have here, you pathetic liar?" Liam's foot slammed into my side. "Thought you could hold out on us?"

Then came the storm of fists and feet, a symphony of violence they'd perfected over years of practice.

I never understood what made these kids think violence made them "cool" or "awesome"—or why girls swooned over their "bad boy" behavior like it was something to admire rather than despise.

The beating continued until I was just another bruised heap on the bathroom floor.

Spat "Let's go," Liam sneered, saliva landing near my face. "He'll think twice about lying next time."

Their footsteps echoed away, leaving me alone with my pain.

Groan

I pushed myself up from the wet tiles, every movement sending fresh waves of agony through my body.

Struggling to my feet, I pulled out my wallet, fingering the worn photo of Mom and me. A flood of memories washed over me.

I spat blood onto the floor. "Just like that—gone. My part-time job money and Mom's hard-earned cash she sent to help." A heavy sigh escaped me as I limped from the bathroom.

I had to endure this somehow. My mind raced for solutions, but each possibility felt as broken as my glasses. Mom wouldn't hear of me dropping out—finishing school wasn't negotiable.

Tomorrow brought the final exam, and in a week, junior high would end. Then senior high would begin, bringing its own fresh hells.

***

My bruised face drew stares as I trudged home, but I barely noticed. My focus was fixed on reaching my apartment.

Stepping into my cramped living space, tears spilled unbidden down my cheeks. "This..." My gaze swept over the familiar bed, desk, and full-length mirror—pieces of a life I'd lost twenty years ago.

I ran my fingers across the bed's worn surface. Twenty years... Two decades of memories, gone and returned.

If not for that damned cancer, I'd still be thirty-six.

A deep sigh escaped me.

Yet somehow, I felt grateful for this second chance.

In the mirror, I confronted my reflection. Skinny frame, glasses held together with tape and glue. I was the picture of vulnerability—thin and awkward, with messy black hair and dull brown eyes hiding behind thick lenses.

My baggy, outdated clothes completed the perfect target I'd become.

No more.

Junior high might be ending, but I refused to remain a victim. This time would be different—I would build strength, exercise, maybe even prevent the cancer that had stolen my future.

Life had given me a second chance, and I intended to seize it with both hands!