"It's not about finding the job you love the most, but the one you hate the least."
—My Mother
2029, Singapore
Fucking finally. I got it, at long last.
The one piece of paper in my hand was the culmination of a decade's worth of blood, sweat and tears. Arguably more, if one counted the sheer amount of nagging my parents inflicted upon me. You'd think that they'd have given up after a dozen years of nagging and no interest on my part, and to be fair, they did. Then my oldest cousin had the poor sense to get disinherited and then suddenly all those expectations fell onto my shoulders. Nag, nag, nag, until I finally caved and did as they wanted. And now, the fruit of my labour sat in my hands. It didn't feel real.
Ever since I was a baby, my parents wanted me to follow in my father's footsteps and become a doctor. They were so enthusiastic about it, that they showed me videos of my father performing open heart surgeries, hoping that I'd be excited and motivated by it. Let me tell you that showing a five-year-old boy a video of blood, gore and organs is one of the best ways to traumatise him instead of motivate him. And when I told them that, their reaction was less sympathetic and more 'you'll find the stomach for it when you grow up'.
Every day, they'd nag me to quit my resistance and commit myself to learning medicine, though they phrased it as 'encouraging and educating' instead of nagging. My father read medical textbooks to me instead of fairytales before I went to bed. My mother lectured me day in day out on how much money my father made, and how healthcare was a profession that would never die out. Everyone gets sick, my mother told me every day for a dozen years.
And the expectations they placed on me. From the day I turned seven, they made their expectations crystal clear. Only the best grades were allowed. Anything below 90% for even the most insignificant test, and there went all my playtime privileges for a week. Toys were confiscated until my grades improved. Playdates cancelled and presents withheld. By age ten, I caved under the pressure. How many times could a child endure being called stupid and lazy before he gave up?
Still, I got my feet under myself six years later. Graduated as the fourth best student in my cohort, itself the highest scoring in a decade. Went to a fancy junior college in England. Fell in love, not once, but twice, and made a daughter. Graduated with decent grades and survived the Covid-19 pandemic. Studied non-stop even as I served my mandatory term in the Singapore Armed Forces, and got straight A's when I retook the A-levels. Went to University with my girlfriend, and finally, after six years of studying, I got it.
A doctorate in medicine.
One just like the one my cousin had before he threw it away to become a dance instructor of all things.
I laughed and laughed and laughed. It still didn't feel real. All around me, my fellow medical students wept tears of joy or hugged each other tight. Beside me, Alice squeezed my hand. I leaned over and kissed her, tucking her hair behind her ear as I did so. Yuri loudly complained of favouritism and I laughed, before bending down and kissing my little girl's forehead. Not that she was so little any more. My daughter was nine now, and while still short, was growing like a weed.
I let myself get dragged out of the hall by my fellows. We went to the pubs, and drinks flowed freely. We drank and drank and drank, revelling in our success. We went in before the sky turned orange, but when we left the sky was a deep indigo. I staggered from side to side, one arm around Alice's shoulder. My girlfriend dragged me back towards the car, cheerfully complaining about my drinking habits.
I waved them off. Today was my graduation. I damn bloody well had a right, nay, a duty, to get absolutely plastered.
We arrived at a road, and I saw my parents and daughter on the other side, waiting for us. I waved drunkenly at them, as we waited for the traffic light to change. The lights turned red and Yuri, bursting with excitement, scampered across the road, running towards me. My indulgent smile turned to shocked horror as I saw the large truck rushing down the road, uncaring about the red light.
Before I knew it, I was moving, running with far more grace than someone as drunk as me had any right to be.
My hands struck my daughter, shoving her aside, out of the speeding truck's way.
Then came the impact. Pain beyond pain. A loud thud. A great screech of tires. The wail of Alice. My daughter's crying. I heard the frantic yells of my father. The panicked shouts of my mother. I tried to stand, but only managed a tiny twitch. I tried to breath, but only accomplished a bloody rasp. My eyes were open, but I didn't see anything. I felt hot. I felt cold. And then I felt nothing at all.
———
97 AC, Red Keep
My eyes burst opened as I took a great breath of fresh air into burning lungs, coughing hard and spitting out something wet and slimy. The world swam around me, indistinct shouting and cries echoing.
"God, I am never doing that again." I complained, jumping to my feet. Or so I attempted. My voice was an incoherent wail. My limbs twitched, but didn't obey my command to leap to my feet.
"What the?" I asked, puzzled. "Why am I slimy?"
I never got the answer, as I was plunged into a bath of hot water and scrubbed clean with a towel. I yelped in surprise, trying to stand up and rub the disorientation and blurriness out of my eyes, but my body refused to obey. It was as though all my limbs were deadened and locked by the shackles of slumber. Someone dried me with a towel and wrapped a blanket around me, carrying me as though I was a cat instead of a grown man of twenty-eight.
"Brothers! If this is your idea of a prank, let me tell you lot I am unimpressed." I complained, though my voice was still that horrid wail, benefit of words or meaning. It was distressingly high pitched, I realised, now that my hearing wasn't in full rebellion anymore. I didn't know I could even hit those notes any more. I thought I lost that at fourteen, when my voice finished cracking.
I was passed into a pair of massive warm hands, and cradled like I was a baby. A baby. Oh god. Oh god. Oh my fucking god.
"Well, I always wanted to be an Isekai protagonist, so there's that." I muttered, trying for levity even as I wrestled down half a dozen panic attacks and subjugated the urge to shout and scream.
"Oh, what a strong pair of lungs you have, sweetling." The man who was carrying me cheerfully said.
"Huh. English. Well at least I won't have to learn an eighth language." I replied in a voice fit for a banshee. I squinted at the man who was holding me, making out a warm and plump face with a thin moustache. Wait, was he blonde? "So, you're my dad, huh. Hope you're better than my last one. Lemme tell you, he was a real slave driver. He mellowed out significantly after I got into university, but I made sure I wasn't like him when I raised my own daughter.
"So what kinda world am I in now and is there any way to return to my old one? Do I have some OP superpower that will let me laze my way through life? Do we have magic? Guns? Beautiful beastgirls to make a harem from?" I asked conversationally, which for a newborn baby meant I screamed it all at him. He just chuckled indulgently and tried to tickle me. I was distressed to find out that not even reincarnation was enough to get rid of how ticklish I was.
The indignity, I swear.
You'd think that getting reincarnated would remove some of my weaknesses, but nooooo. I just had to be ticklish, didn't I.
Another pair of hands picked me up, softer and smaller. My mother didn't look too closely at me, bringing me instead to her breasts. I swore in seven different languages at the prospect of having to breastfeed before sucking up what battered remnants of my pride was left and doing as babies did.
After that indignity, my father helped my mother stand and took me in his hands again. I heard the sound of a door opening, and saw on the other side, several men and women, all surrounding a tall man with a long silver beard worthy of Albus Dumbledore.
"Grandfather." My father said, speaking to Old Bearded Man. "I present to you, my daughter."
"Well, I always was curious about being a girl." I mused. I was bored of being a guy anyway. Always wondered how being the fairer sex would feel.
"Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen!" Father happily declared.
"Oh fuck." I swore, as the rest of the family cheered.
Westeros. I was in fucking Westeros. In the land of rape, murder and pillage. Treacherous lords and savage cannibals. Poisonous beasts and dangerous dragons. Zombies and demons. And I was born into arguably one of the worst periods of history. I was one of the leaders of the Dance of Dragons.
Well at least I wasn't born in Maegor the Cruel, Aegon the Unworthy, Aerys the Mad King or Robert the Usurper's era. Silver linings. Silver linings.
Now I had to find a way to avoid getting fed to my brother's dragon and ruining the realm and family with civil war.