Inside a dimly lit office, one computer was turned on, and one man was seated. His white T-shirt had become rumpled, untucked, and a few buttons were undone.

His hair was scattered, and there were bags under his eyes. He leaned back into his chair and let out a sigh, trying to remind himself why he would go this far.

Working a job that paid minimum wage, and instead of a nine-to-five, he put in more hours, doing extra work to secure a raise and, one day, a promotion.

Why did he go this far every day? Was the reason that important? Well, to him, it was.

He straightened up and picked up the picture frame on his desk, looking at a young man who looked similar to him—his brother, his twin.

For six years now, his twin brother had been unable to live a happy life due to a serious heart disease. After his brother fell sick, he was the only one to carry the burden.

There was no one to turn to. Two orphans from birth, they had only trusted each other, bled for each other, and would die for each other.

The door of the office opened, and a man in a security uniform holding a flashlight walked in. He shone it around and saw the seated man.

He approached the man and started talking. "I had a feeling I would find you here, Oliver; you really are something else," the guard said. It seemed he had become accustomed to this man staying late to work.

"Ah, Rogers, well, I have to put in the hours to get that raise," Oliver said, forcing a smile. He was so tired that it took him great effort to smile.

"Your brother is lucky to have you. You gave up everything for his health. Very few would go that far, even for family," Roger said and pulled out a chair to sit.

"I have to do it. I'd be alone in this world without him; I can't afford to lose him," Oliver said and gazed at the picture again before setting it down.

"Anyway, try not to stay till midnight," Roger said and got up. He gave Oliver a pat on the back and left the office.

Oliver sighed as a teardrop rushed down his face. He took the cup of coffee that had been resting on the desk for a while; it was not as hot as before, but it was still good.

He chugged it down with no hesitation, then dropped the cup on the desk and leaned in to continue his work.

But suddenly, he was struck by a sharp pain in his chest that quickly turned into something worse. He fell from his chair to the ground, struggling to breathe or even make a sound to call for help. Roger was the only one around, and he had left.

Oliver lay there, struggling, trying to survive, but his consciousness was slowly fading. Realizing he was about to die, he felt reluctant—his brother needed him, and his brother would die without him.

He couldn't go now, he couldn't go. He had to be here, he had to stay. Oliver stretched out his hand as though trying to reach something, but soon he died, his eyes shut, ending his chapter in this world.

After midnight, Roger noticed that Oliver had yet to leave, so he decided to check on him. When he walked into the office, he saw Oliver's dead body on the floor.

He quickly ran to Oliver to check if he was still alive. Not feeling any heartbeat or breathing, he took out his phone and called for help.

The ambulance showed up soon after, and his body was moved for a quick autopsy, where it was discovered that he died from caffeine overdose. His strive to keep his brother alive had killed him in the end.

---

The sounds of people talking filled Oliver's ears, but he couldn't understand the language. It wasn't English or any language he had heard on Earth, yet he could understand it; a few people were saying, "It's a boy," and others were saying, "Congratulations."

He couldn't wrap his head around the discussions that were going on.

He tried to open his eyes, and when he succeeded, the first face he saw was that of a woman with a beautiful face and black hair.

Her face was covered in sweat, as though she had just finished hard work, but she was smiling. Her face brimmed with happiness to the point that Oliver was confused.

After a while, Oliver heard a female voice approach and then try to take him from this woman. For some reason, Oliver felt reluctant to leave and tried to talk.

But the sound he heard wasn't his—it was the cry of a little baby, and it was coming from his mouth. That was when it hit him that he was no longer Oliver.

He vividly remembered that he had died; he had a heart attack and died. So how was he here? Did he reincarnate?

Like the average person, he believed that reincarnation was nonsense, but here he was, alive and breathing in the form of a baby. There was no other way to put it aside from the fact that he had reincarnated.

Oliver now understood why this woman had been smiling so much; she had just given birth to her child. The smile on her face was pure happiness at seeing her newborn.

Oliver finally stopped crying, and the other woman, who was dressed in what seemed like a nurse uniform, took him to a large bowl filled with water and began washing him.

The water obstructed his view and sometimes entered his nose a bit, so in an effort to complain, he began crying again while they washed him.

After washing him, he was returned to his mother, wrapped up in cloth. She took him in her arms, and right after, the door swung open and a man in a lab coat ran in.