I'm not dead ?

Park Doo Shi's eyes fluttered open, confusion filling the room as he rose from his slumber.

"I'm not dead?" he murmured, his bewildered gaze scanning the familiar yet oddly unsettling chamber, like a sudden déjà vu washing over him from his dreams.

Bowing closer, he pinched his thigh hard, seeking validation for his existence. The stabbing pain only served to fortify his belief in this reality.

"This is all real. I... I've been reborn?"

Trembling, his hand seized the phone lying on the bedside table, his fingers tapping rapidly, searching for evidence in the date displayed on the screen. November 10, 2040, 9 a.m. The numbers echoed in his mind, a date often overlooked but now woven into a knot of mystery in his thoughts.

But the next date, lurking at the end of his mental road, emitted flashes of memories that couldn't be ignored.

"November 11," he muttered, his lips thinning with tension.

A tragic event he had witnessed repeatedly in his dark reveries echoed in the hidden chambers of his mind. Singles' Day, an ironic celebration distorted by capitalist forces, birthing a grotesque consumption carnival.

That night, souls roiled in the darkness enveloping their sleeping quarters. Yet even in the uncertain darkness, none could anticipate what would occur ten hours later, at 11:11 p.m. on November 11, when the world would be shaken by an unforeseen event.

*****

The Apocalypse had descended.

As if scripted by a tragic prologue, the sky itself tore asunder, unveiling secrets of darkness previously unknown. A fearsome tempest, one even our ancestors could never have fathomed, pierced through the heart of Seoul with indescribable wrath. In an instant, the towering edifices succumbed to an unstoppable deluge, rendering the provincial capital a vast expanse of tumultuous waters.

Yet, the tide never receded.

The rain continued to pour, assaulting with a despondent intensity for three days and three nights. As the waters inundated nearly every corner of the city, finally, without preamble, the rain ceased.

But this was merely the beginning of the devastation. For after the rain, came the fire.

The crimson droplets of rain fell with fury from the heavens, swiftly vaporizing every creeping bead of water on Seoul's soil, igniting into flames that consumed space and life with temperatures soaring up to 60°C.

In such extremity, humanity was helpless to venture out in search of shelter or sustenance. Thousands of souls likely perished in starvation or burned within the inferno of celestial wrath.

This endured for three days.

And when those three days passed, temperatures returned to normalcy, while the engulfing waters evaporated, as if obliterating the traces of the havoc it wrought.

Those who still clung to the frail plank of their existence emerged from their hiding places, seeking aid in a world now unrecognizable. Yet, what awaited them was not hope, but an endless legion of shadowy adversaries.

In a bygone lifetime, Park Doo Shi was among the scant few who survived, one blessed with rare fortune. And with the wisdom he possessed, after the rain of fire subsided, he did not immediately succumb, allowing himself to be swept away by the currents of time.

In that shattered world, Park Doo Shi endured steadfastly through six harrowing years. Yet, as resources and courage dwindled, he too fell prey to the plague, unwilling to face the unfathomable fate as one of the living dead. In the end, he chose to end his life, rather than confront the prison without walls.

In his resolve, Park Doo Shi brushed aside the creeping longing within him. Time had dwindled down, leaving only thirty hours before destiny came knocking, and action had to be taken.

With firmness, he forced himself to halt the torrent of memories.

"Time is life," he whispered to himself, swiftly gathering a few sets of clothing. Then, without hesitation, Park Doo Shi stepped out of his rented apartment, placing the keys on the table. For in such close proximity to the imminent future, there was no point in holding onto them.

His rented apartment was situated on the third floor. He couldn't imagine what fate might have befallen him had he not been slightly clever; perhaps, he would have been trapped in the whirlpool during the early hours of the flood.

Although it was mid-November, the weather was unlike the usual winter season. The day felt warm, accompanied by tantalizing sunlight and gentle breezes brushing his face.

Everything seemed like a sign that it would be a good day. And indeed, it was, for there would be no more carefree moments like that on the morrow.

With steady strides, Park Doo Shi promptly directed his car towards a luxurious hotel. Tomorrow, money would no longer hold meaning. Thus, if he had to choose a place to be, it had to be the best.

"Give me the Presidential Suite," he said firmly upon arriving at the reception desk.

His request drew the attention of more than one pair of eyes.

"Hello, Sir. The Presidential Suite comes with a price of 8.5 million Won per night," replied the front desk attendant calmly.

The servants here were creatures of the world accustomed to various types of guests who came, regardless of whether they were rich or poor. At least, outwardly, they would never judge someone based on age or the clothes they wore.

"Cursed, that expensive?!" murmured Park Doo Shi echoing through the luxurious chamber, seeping through the elegant decorations adorning the walls and gleaming furnishings.

It was the first time Park Doo Shi had sighed in disbelief at the price of a room. He had thought 2 million won would suffice for a one-night stay. Yet, the nearly 8 million won figure exceeded his estimations.

The skepticism crossing Park Doo Shi's face did not escape the notice of the attendant before him.

"I know it," muttered the attendant under their breath with a sneering smirk.

"A villager like him tries to mask poverty with a facade of wealth. Now, reality is clawing back."

A voice suddenly resonated within Park Doo Shi's mind, causing him to furrow his brow.