Re-enlisting in the Nazi German Army?!

For most young people who’ve completed their military service in Korea, the day of discharge is a mix of joy, relief, and uncertainty.

Yoon Seong-il, an ordinary Korean man, felt the same.

Until he realized that the next day wasn’t just dark—it was pitch black.

"Sir. It’s wake-up time."

What the…? Is this a joke? First thing in the morning?

This isn’t my ceiling. Not the one I stared at endlessly during my barracks days. Is this… a field tent?

Wait—wasn’t I discharged just yesterday? Didn’t I fall asleep peacefully in my own bed?

My mind went blank. I turned to the white man standing beside me, looking at me with concern.

"Who are you?"

Wait a second… what’s with my pronunciation? Why does it sound like a foreigner trying Korean for the first time?

“Herr Leutnant?”

God damn it. That’s not Korean—it’s German. And worse, I understood it.

As my brain struggled to keep up, the man called out again, more clearly this time.

“Herr Leutnant Schacht?”

I couldn’t even respond. His clothes shocked me again.

A military uniform—but not from the Korean army. And certainly no white person serves in the Korean military.

So what is this? A prank? A hidden camera show?

Unfortunately, I knew deep down it wasn’t.

As a wave of dizziness hit, fragmented memories from another person—presumably me—flooded my mind.

In fluent German, as if it were my native tongue, I asked the soldier—who I somehow knew was a Private:

“Private, what day is it today?”

Relieved, the soldier answered calmly.

“It’s February 4th, Leutnant.”

“What year?”

“…1937, sir.”

Oh, fuck. Please tell me this is some sick joke.

His face fell, but I’m sure mine looked ten times worse. The pale hands I saw in front of me—they weren’t mine. These weren’t Yoon Seong-il’s hands.

Just yesterday, I was planning to return to university. I was supposed to be relaxing, celebrating my freedom.

So where the hell am I? And more importantly—who the hell am I?

The sky above me shimmered in yellow haze, the kind you only see when your squad leader’s yelling your name under the blazing sun.

I forced myself to stay conscious.

“Who is the Führer?”

“Uh… of course, the Führer of Greater Germany is Adolf Hitler.”

I pinched my cheek.

…It hurt.

Oh no… you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

I used to think enlistment day was the worst day of my life.

But apparently, the universe had one more laugh left. Re-enlisting the day after discharge—every Korean soldier’s nightmare?

Now imagine being re-enlisted into the Wehrmacht.

Yes. That one.

The Nazi German Army under that maniac, Adolf Hitler.

Either God is Satan himself… or he has a serious vendetta against me.

Thankfully—if you can call it that—I didn’t just time-travel, I body-swapped. This wasn’t my body.

It was confusing at first, but the memories of this body—this person—remained intact. That’s how I understood and spoke German as naturally as breathing.

This guy was fluent in English, better than me. He also spoke French and Spanish, like they were nothing.

His name? Dietrich Schacht. Born August 15, 1911.

Even his birthday felt like God was mocking me.

No ties to Korea. A pure German through and through.

His father? Hjalmar Schacht—or formally, Hjalmar Horace Greeley Schacht. That last name came from his American grandfather, a fan of mulberries or something. Whatever.

He was a U.S. citizen, a PhD in economics, and—oh yeah—the Nazi regime’s Minister of Economy and President of the Reichsbank.

So Dietrich was basically born with a diamond spoon in his mouth.

In Korean terms? His dad’s the Minister of Economy and the Bank of Korea’s Governor. Meanwhile, I was just a broke Korean dude.

The good news ends there.