The Regressor Is A Former Call Center Agent

Zhavriyana’s fingers cramped around the mouse as she typed her fortieth ticket of the night. The monitor’s glow seared into her eyes at 3 AM, and she forced a smile into her voice: “Thank you for calling TechSolve — is there anything else I can assist you with today?” The customer had been yelling about a forgotten password for twenty minutes, but she’d learned to swallow her frustration years ago. Twenty-five, Filipino, living in a cramped studio that smelled of instant noodles and old coffee. Three double shifts that week, four hours of sleep a night. The call center floor hummed with the quiet desperation of dozens like her — all running after rent, all running out of time. She reached for her fifth cup of coffee, and the world tilted. Words on the screen swirled into watercolor blurs. A teammate’s voice called “Zhavri…?” from miles away. Then everything went black. She woke to antiseptic and rain. The hospital bed was too small, the gown too thin. When she lifted her hand to her throbbing forehead, memories hit like a tidal wave — not hers, but someone else’s, sharp and vivid enough to make her gasp. A blue window flickered into view, and her breath caught in her throat. It’s real. It’s all real. SYSTEM ACTIVATED: WELCOME, RETURNEE. USER: LEE ZHAVRIYANA CURRENT TIME: 1 YEAR BEFORE THE GREAT CATACLYSM BACKGROUND: HALF-KOREAN, HALF-JAPANESE — 2ND YEAR HIGHSCHOOLER (17) A small bedroom in Seoul, curtains drawn against the night. Fifteen-year-old Lee Zhavriyana huddles over her laptop, earphones drowning out her father’s snores. On the screen, a karate master moves with impossible grace — his palm striking concrete, sending chips flying. For two years, she’d devoured every video she could find: Shotokan stances, Kyokushin kicks, the fluid forms of Okinawan styles. She’d practice in the dark, her feet sliding across the floor in perfect rhythm, her strikes landing with a force that made the walls shake. But the next day, when a girl pushed her into a locker, she’d just stared at her shoes, too afraid to lift her hands. *The empty music room after class. She sits at the piano, fingers finding the keys without thinking. Her voice rises — clear as rain, warm as honey — and fills the space, making the window panes tremble. Once, she’d entered an online singing contest anonymously, her cover racking up two million views. But when her music teacher asked her to perform at the festival, she’d stammered a no, her face burning. The popular girls found the recording days later. “Coward,” they’d hissed. “Hides behind a screen.” The hallway between third and fourth period. A group blocks her path — one of them twirling a pair of scissors. “Your hair’s too pretty,” she sneers, reaching for the butterfly cut Zhavri had spent months growing. Muscle memory coiled in her arms — the weight of a perfect punch, the speed of a spinning kick. But then she saw her math teacher walking by, and he looked away. Her confidence crumbled. She let the girl snip off a lock, tears streaming silent down her soft pale cheeks. The bathroom, the night before. She stands before the mirror, staring at eyes the color of fuchsia pink — the same eyes that made people hate her. The teacher’s voice echoes: “Someone like you should use what you have.” Her father’s: “Stop drawing attention to yourself.” The bullies’ laughter. She feels like she’s drowning. Her legs give out, and she slumps to the cold tile, her breathing slowing until it stops. The memories faded, and Zhavri blinked away tears. She turned to the window beside the bed, and her reflection made her pause: straight black hair cascading to her waist in that butterfly cut, soft pale skin, those fuchsia doe eyes — but now, there was a spark in them that hadn’t been there before. This girl had been so talented — a singer with a voice that could move mountains, a karate student with form that would make masters nod in approval — but hesitation and self-doubt had locked it all away. The system window updated, its words soft against the hospital’s stark white: UNIQUE TRAIT UNLOCKED: RAGE-FUELED ENDURANCE — For surviving exhaustion in your past life, and turning grief into fire. INITIAL STATS: Strength 15, Agility 18, Intelligence 22, Luck 30 SKILLS UNLOCKED: Pre cognition (Basic) — For knowing this world’s future. Aura of Deterrence (Basic) — For making others think twice. Voice of the Storm — For when song becomes more than sound. Karate (Mastery) — For all the moves you never dared to use. “You poor thing,” she whispered, touching the glass. “But you’re not alone anymore. I know what it’s like to feel small — to let people walk all over you because it’s easier than fighting back. But not now. Not here.” The door creaked open, and a nurse peeked in — the same one who’d looked away when the bullying was reported. “Zhavriyana-ssi,” she said gently. “You’re awake. How are you feeling?” Zhavri sat up straighter, and the nurse flinched slightly — as if she could feel the shift in the air, the quiet power that now hummed beneath her skin. She flexed her fingers, feeling the familiar weight of a stance in her bones. “I’m fine,” she said, her voice clear — and underneath it, the hint of that incredible singing tone. “When can I go back to school?” The nurse’s eyes widened. “Zhavriyana-ssi, maybe you should rest — after what happened, the school said they’d give you time—” “I don’t want time,” Zhavri cut in, a small, sharp smile playing at her lips. “I want to go back. It’s time everyone learned that being pretty, being talented… that’s not a target. It’s a gift. And I’m not going to hide it anymore.” The nurse sighed, seeing the resolve in Zhavri’s fuchsia eyes. “Alright. I’ll get the discharge papers. Someone should come pick you up —” “I’ll take the train,” Zhavri said, sliding off the bed. The hospital gown felt like a cage; she couldn’t wait to put on the clothes the nurse had pulled from her backpack — dark jeans, a simple white t-shirt, and that worn black hoodie she’d always hidden in. [HOME] The key turned in the lock of the small apartment in Seoul’s Gangnam district, and the familiar silence hit her first. No sound of her father’s TV, no smell of his late-night soju. She flicked on the light, and her eyes landed on a piece of paper taped to the fridge — neat, impersonal handwriting. “You’re on your own. I’ll be on a business trip for a year. Cash card is in the drawer by the door — use it for rent and food. Don’t call me unless it’s an emergency.” Zhavri picked up the card from the drawer, turning it over in her fingers. The old Lee Zhavriyana would have cried — would have held the note to her chest and wished he’d at least asked if she was okay. But the new one just let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Why did I even hope you’d be worried for your daughter, you stupid man,” she muttered, shoving the card in her pocket. “You don’t deserve to be a father.” She didn’t bother cooking. Just grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, changed into a soft pair of pajamas, and collapsed onto her bed. The weight of the day — the death in her old life, the memories of this one — pressed down on her, but for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel scared. She felt… ready. She closed her eyes, and the system window flickered briefly in her mind: [TOMORROW: FIRST DAY BACK AT SEOUL HIGH. REMEMBER — THE GREAT CATACLYSM IS ONLY A YEAR AWAY. STRENGTHEN YOURSELF.] She smiled into her pillow and drifted off to sleep. [FIRST DAY BACK AT SCHOOL] The hallways of Seoul High were just as she remembered from the manhwa — crowded, noisy, and full of eyes that turned to her the moment she walked in. She’d left the hoodie at home, letting her butterfly-cut hair fall free, her fuchsia eyes clear and unflinching. Whispers followed her: “She’s back… after what happened in the bathroom…” “Do you think she’ll try it again?” Then she saw them — the three girls who’d been her main tormentors. The leader, Minji, leaned against a locker, twirling that same pair of scissors between her fingers. When she spotted Zhavri, a cruel smile spread across her face. “Well, well,” Minji said, pushing off the locker and walking toward her. The other two fell in behind her, blocking her path. “I thought you’d have the decency to stay away. No one wants to look at the girl who couldn’t even… you know.” Zhavri stopped, her hands in her jeans pockets. She could feel the muscle memory of her karate forms waking up — the shift of weight, the tension in her shoulders. Minji stepped closer, holding the scissors up to Zhavri’s hair. “Maybe I should finish the job this time,” she sneered. “Make you look as ugly as you are on the inside.” That’s when Zhavri moved. Not fast enough to startle, but with a grace that made Minji pause. She reached out and wrapped her fingers around Minji’s wrist — gently, but with a firmness that made the scissors clatter to the floor. “I’m not going to let you touch me anymore,” Zhavri said, her voice steady. The Aura of Deterrence hummed around her, and the other two girls took a step back, their faces pale. Minji’s eyes narrowed. “You think you’re tough now? Just because you had a little scare —” She swung a fist at Zhavri’s face. Zhavri ducked, her body moving on its own — the same spinning kick she’d practiced a thousand times in the dark of her bedroom. It didn’t hit Minji hard — just enough to make her stumble back, eyes wide with shock. “I know karate,” Zhavri said, standing straight again. “I’ve known it for two years. I just never wanted to use it.” A crowd had gathered now, and among them was her math teacher, Mr. Park — the one who’d always looked away. He stepped forward, his face tight. “Lee Zhavriyana! What do you think you’re doing?” Zhavri turned to him, and this time, her voice held that hint of her singing tone — clear, powerful, and impossible to ignore. “I’m defending myself, sir. Something you never bothered to help me do.” The crowd murmured, and Mr. Park’s face flushed. Minji stared at Zhavri, her mouth agape — for the first time, she looked scared. Zhavri bent down, picked up the scissors, and handed them to Minji. “If you try to hurt me again,” she said quietly, “I won’t hold back. The same goes for anyone else.” She turned and walked away, leaving the crowd staring. As she headed to her first class, she opened her system window — a small smile playing on her lips. LEVEL UP! YOU ARE NOW LVL 3. +5 STAT POINTS AWARDED. SKILL UNLOCKED: “STANCE OF THE QUIET STORM” — KARATE MOVES GAIN SPEED WHEN YOU REMAIN CALM. She pushed open the classroom door, and the chatter died instantly. Every eye turned to her — some wide with surprise, some with curiosity, a few still with that old hint of resentment. Zhavri paused in the doorway, her fuchsia eyes sweeping across the room, and let out a low laugh. “What?” she said, raising an eyebrow and letting a smirk play on her lips. “First time seeing such a beautiful lady?” She struck a mock pose, flipping a strand of her butterfly-cut hair over her shoulder. “I know, I’m pretty right? Take pictures. It might go viral soon.” A few classmates sweatdropped — one guy in the back nearly choked on his water — and then a murmur rippled through the boys’ side of the room. “Damn, didn’t know Lee can be so hot,” whispered Joon-ho, leaning over to his friend Seolho with wide eyes. His friend snorted, but his gaze was still fixed on Zhavri. “She’s hot in the first place — it’s just she’s been quiet until now.” The chatter picked up again, a little lighter this time. No one had ever heard Lee Zhavriyana talk like that before. She made her way to her seat in the back row — the one she’d always hidden in, where the teacher rarely looked. As she sat down, she rested her chin in her hand and let her mind wander. 'Now that I have this body… what dimension did I get into?' she wondered. 'I didn’t even expect those reincarnations, regressions, stories and etc., to be real.' She’d read dozens of system manhwas — some about leveling up in post-apocalyptic worlds, some about becoming heroes, some about just surviving. The one she’d loved most was I Got An OP Settings After My Going Back In Time, but with the chaos of waking up and the flood of memories, she hadn’t had time to confirm if this was exactly that world. 'I read several gaming or system manhwas so I don’t know what world did I get into,' she thought, tapping her finger on the desk. The classroom door slammed shut, and everyone fell silent. Their homeroom teacher, Ms. Kim — a strict woman in her forties with a perm that never seemed to stay in place — walked to the front of the room, her eyes scanning the class until they landed on Zhavri. For a moment, her expression softened — the first time Zhavri had ever seen that. “Lee Zhavriyana,” Ms. Kim said, her voice quieter than usual. “I’m glad you’re back. How are you feeling?” Zhavri looked up, a small, genuine smile on her face. “I’m good, Ms. Kim. Ready to get back to it.” Ms. Kim nodded, then turned to write on the board. Zhavri leaned back in her chair, letting out a quiet sigh. 'Meh,' she said to herself. 'I’ll know it somehow sooner.' Ms. Kim nodded, then turned to write on the board. Zhavri leaned back in her chair, letting out a quiet sigh. 'Meh,' she said to herself. 'I’ll know it somehow sooner.' As Ms. Kim began her lecture on Korean history, Zhavri’s eyes drifted to the window. Outside, the sky was gray with rain — but she could see a hint of blue peeking through the clouds. And then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted something that made her sit up straight: a boy walking past the classroom, his hair as black as ink, his eyes a sharp, bright silver. She’d seen those silver eyes in I Got An OP Settings After My Going Back In Time — it was Ji-hoon’s signature trait, the one he’d inherited from his mother. Her heart skipped a beat. 'So this is it,' she thought, a thrill running through her. 'This is his world. And now… it’s mine too.' The system window flickered to life in front of her, right over Ms. Kim’s writing: HINT UNLOCKED: ORIGINAL PROTAGONIST DETECTED — JI-HOON PARK. HE WILL FACE HIS FIRST MONSTER ATTACK IN 3 DAYS. BE READY.