I woke up to the blaring sound of my alarm, its piercing tone jolting me from the peaceful grip of sleep. Without even opening my eyes, I fumbled around and managed to turn it off. Silence. For a moment, I sighed in relief, sinking back into the warmth of my bed, thinking I'd steal a few more precious minutes of sleep. 

But, of course, Like always Life is a bitch to me.

Before I knew it, my blankets were yanked off with such force that it felt like a gust of wind blew through the room. I squinted, trying to adjust to the sudden change, only to see the silhouette of a woman standing there, wearing an apron and holding a spatula like a weapon of mass destruction. She looked ready to swing it at me at any second.

"You're going to be late!" she yelled, her voice carrying that mixture of care and threat only a mother could master. She raised the spatula threateningly, as if daring me to try falling back asleep.

That's right. This was my mother now.

Still groggy, I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "Alright, alright, I'm up," I muttered. It's not like I had much choice, considering the spatula might be used on me if I didn't get moving. 

After forcing myself out of bed, I shuffled into the bathroom. The cold tiles woke me up faster than I wanted to, and I caught my reflection in the mirror. My hair was messy, uncombed, but somehow still looked pretty decent. It always did. No matter how little effort I put in, my hair never seemed to betray me. Not that it mattered much.

I sighed deeply as I stared at myself, As I stood in front of the mirror, I couldn't help but admire my athletic, tall frame, the lean muscles rippling beneath my skin as I stretched.

My dark hair fell just above my forehead, framing my face, and I looked deep into my reflection with my dark blue eyes, glinting with an intense fire.

I flexed my arms, feeling the power surging through my biceps and triceps, while my abs tightened, showcasing a chiseled Eight-pack that seemed to hold an unparalleled strength. My back muscles rippled as I moved, their sharp contours resembling the fearsome face of a demon.

My name's Toji, and I'm actually a man in my late thirties, despite this younger face staring back at me. It's strange, living like this—starting over, almost like nothing happened before. But I know better. I know everything that led me to this point.

I died in my previous life. How, you ask? Let's just say it wasn't that peaceful. After I died, I ended up meeting God. Surprisingly, he was a pretty chill dude, nothing like the serious, judgmental type, with angels and shit that you'd imagine.

I remember that moment so clearly, even though I've tried to forget most of my past. He asked me what I wanted, like it was some kind of game where I got to choose my next move. I was in no mood for it back then, so my response was pretty much telling him to fuck off. But instead of getting angry or smiting me or whatever gods are supposed to do, he just smiled at me, like he'd heard it all before.

Then he offered me three wishes.

I told him again to fuck off, thinking maybe he'd get the message this time, but nope. He just kept smiling, patient like he had all the time in the world. So, after the 5567th time of telling him to Fuck off—yeah, I counted—I finally gave in. I mean, he wasn't going anywhere, and it wasn't like I had anything better to do in the afterlife and chilling with Gandhi in heaven was not my cup of teas. So, I asked for my first wish.

"Make the pain go away," I told him what I really wanted, the thing I wished for every single day when I woke up for the past 37 years of my life.

And he did. He removed a lot of my memories—the ones I didn't want anymore. Memories of people, deaths, murders—things I wished I could forget but never could while I was alive. He left me with the good stuff, though.

The pleasures I'd had training my body, becoming stronger, killing those so-called "gifted kids" who thought they were untouchable.

I was talentless in my old life, I always found it amusing how the ones blessed with talent struggled to stand in my presence, trembling at the mere mention of my name.

Ah, those were the good days. The fear in their eyes, the desperation in their final moments—it was almost poetic. Despite their natural gifts, it was always me, the one they called talentless, who stood victorious.

For my second wish, I decided I wanted to reincarnate somewhere peaceful. After everything I'd been through, all I wanted now was to live a simple life—eat, sleep, get married, and have lots of kids. No more chaos, no more bloodshed. Just peace. I could feel God nodding approvingly, like he knew that was the right choice.

And then came the third wish. This time, I didn't hesitate. I wanted talent. But not just any talent—something that would grow passively, something that would work alongside the hard work I'd put in during my previous life. I didn't want to grind my ass day and night to become stronger like the so-called "talented ones." I wanted to be born with it—an innate power, with no cap, no limits—unlimited potential.

I wanted to mold my body to perfection effortlessly. To have the kind of talent that would make me unbeatable with just the amount of effort I gave in my previous life, That was my final wish.

God granted all three, of course. He gave me a smile, probably feeling smug about the whole thing, and sent me on my way. 

And now, here I am. Toji, thirty-something years old, stuck in the body of a sixteen-year-old in a peaceful world. My life isn't bad, all things considered. My new family is pretty decent. Take my dad, for example. He's always calling me from downstairs, like this morning.

"Toji! Come Eat Your Breakfast!" he'd shout, his voice booming through the house like a foghorn. 

I don't remember much about my previous father, but this one… well, he's different. Even though he does some shady work—stuff I don't really ask too many questions about—he makes sure we're well taken care of.

My mom even owns a cosmetics company, though it's a bit of a disaster if I'm being honest. She loses more than 50 million every year with her "innovative" ideas. Still, she's happy, and my dad never complains about it, so I guess it's fine.

I could almost get used to it... almost. But like the ugly duckling, I always found it a little hard to fit in, as if I wasn't accustomed to kindness, care, or love. Those feelings felt foreign to me, buried beneath years of struggle and isolation

After brushing my teeth and taking a quick bath, I headed downstairs. My hair was still a mess, but like I said, it didn't matter. I looked fine either way. As I walked into the kitchen, the smell of food hit me, making my stomach growl.

My mom was at the stove, cooking up something that looked way too fancy for breakfast, spatula still in hand. She shot me a look as I sat down at the table, probably still annoyed that she had to drag me out of bed earlier.

"You're going to sleep your life away if you keep this up," she said, her tone half-serious, half-teasing.

"I'm just taking it easy," I shrugged. "Isn't that the point of life?"

She didn't respond, just shook her head with a disappointed sigh as she placed a plate in front of me and ruffled my already messy hair making it more messy.

My dad walked in a moment later, dressed in his usual suit, looking like he was ready to head out for another "business" meeting.

"Toji, after breakfast, I need you to run a few errands for me," he said, sitting down across from me. "Nothing major, just a couple of things I need to take care of."

I nodded. "Sure, no problem." It wasn't like I had anything better to do. Plus, running errands for my dad usually meant he'd slip me some extra pocket money. Considering I wasn't exactly rolling in friends or social plans, I didn't mind.

Today was Sunday, and thankfully, there were no classes to drag myself through. I wasn't the type who blended into any of the typical school cliques.

I kept to myself most of the time, not out of shyness but more because I just didn't feel like making the effort. Friends were overrated. They complicated things, brought unnecessary drama. I had my own life, and that was enough for me.

But no matter how much I tried to avoid it, some people still surrounded me like flies. They were drawn in, buzzing around me, whether I liked it or not. Maybe it was because of my looks, or my quiet demeanor that made them curious. Who knows?

After taking care of the errands, I had plans to hit the gym. I could already feel the itch to lift some weights, push myself. Working out was the one thing I'd kept from my previous life—the discipline, the drive to push myself physically. It grounded me in this new reality, reminding me that no matter how peaceful things were here, I still had the same body, the same desire to grow stronger.

It had been part of my identity back then, and now, even in this simpler life, I couldn't let it go. If I wasn't pushing myself, I felt... stagnant. It was the one place I felt truly in control, like I could connect

As I ate, my little sister sat across from me, quietly munching on her food while tapping away at her tablet. I tried not to think about what she might be watching or reading, but it was hard to ignore. She had this innocent look on her face, like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, but I knew better.

Once, I made the mistake of looking over her shoulder while she was reading something. What I saw still haunts me to this day. It was the kind of graphic, disturbing content you'd expect to find in the darkest corners of the internet, but she was reading it like it was just another work book or study guide.

It was a normal morning in the peaceful life I'd wished for, and I couldn't complain. After all the chaos I'd been through in my previous life, this was exactly what I wanted. A quiet, simple existence with people who cared about me, even if they were a little weird at times. It was strange to think about how different things were now, but in a way, it felt right.

As I ate my breakfast, I couldn't help but think back to my old life—the blood, the violence, the struggle. Back then, I thought that was all there was. I thought that's what life was supposed to be—a constant fight for survival, a never-ending battle for dominance. But now, sitting here with my family, I realized how much I'd changed. How much I'd grown.

Of course, the talent I'd wished for was still there, quietly working in the background. Even in this peaceful world, I knew that if I ever needed to, I could become the strongest again.

My body would grow, my skills would sharpen, and I'd be able to crush anyone who stood in my way. But for now, I was content to let it rest. There was no need for that kind of power here.

After breakfast, I did as my dad asked and ran his errands. It was nothing too exciting—just picking up a few things from the company and dropping off some packages to his friends.

After taking care of the errands, I had plans to hit the gym. I could already feel the itch to lift some weights, push myself. Working out was the one thing I'd kept from my previous life—the discipline, the drive to push myself physically. It grounded me in this new reality, reminding me that no matter how peaceful things were here, I still had the same body, the same desire to grow stronger.

It had been part of my identity back then, and now, even in this simpler life, I couldn't let it go. If I wasn't pushing myself, I felt... stagnant. It was the one place I felt truly in control, like I could connect

But even though I always moved away from trouble, it had a funny way of finding me. No matter how much I tried to keep my head down, something always seemed to pull me back in.

Sigh. What a drag, I thought, as I watched a group of girls surround another, fists flying, and cruel laughter filling the air. The victim, a girl much smaller than the others, curled into herself, trying to shield her face from the blows.