I never really believed in the whole "heaven and the afterlife" spiel that old folks go on about. I mean, life's tough, and death is just...the end, right? But here I am, staring straight at a blinding light.
Last thing I remember, I was in my room—the so-called "weeb's palace," as my neighbors liked to call it. At just 29 years old, I somehow managed to check out early. Not that it was a shock, really. Ever since I lost my parents at age 9, I'd become a shut-in, spending most of my time sleeping and gaming. Frankly, it's a wonder I made it to 29 in the first place.
Back to the present, though. I can feel something nudging me toward this light. Pushing, even, like some cosmic hand just shoving me forward. Heaven, I thought? Yeah…surely I'm getting heaven, right?
…Right?
Yet the moment I expect some grand pearly gates or a massive "Judgment" sign, all I see is…well, nothing. Blurred, hazy nothing. I squint, trying to make out anything, and slowly, my vision starts to sharpen. There's a voice nearby, someone saying, "Congratulations! The baby has been…born!"
I blink, and suddenly, I'm looking up at a man in a lab coat with glasses so thick they probably stop bullets. Yep, the kind of glasses even a Nokia 3310 couldn't crack. I turn to my left—well, I try to turn—and see a woman lying beside me. Based on Mr. Four Eyes' announcement, I'm fresh out of the womb, so...she must be my mother.
To my right, there's a man, likely my father. Built like a tank, with a face that screams "hardcore," he's got brown-crimson hair and a physique that could probably beat my old dad's in an arm-wrestling match any day. He looks tough, like someone who's used to staring down danger—until he opens his mouth.
"Awwww, my little honey bun!" he coos, voice soft and goofy.Wait, what did he just call me? Never thought I'd hear a guy that beefy say "honey bun" with such sincerity. Maybe he's a little...off in the head? But looking back at my mother, she's a picture of calm. She has this deep red hair and an expression that feels warm, welcoming, motherly. Not hot or beautiful exactly, but kind and lovely in a way that makes me want to cuddle up to her.
So this is my new life, huh?
Well…looks like I was born in the wrong place. This room feels less like an operating theater and more like the setup for some ancient demon summoning ritual. The walls are dimly lit by flickering candles, their shadows casting a strange glow on the stone walls. Judging by the darkness outside, it's definitely night. And in here? No fan, no light switch, not even a clock. Either my family's dirt poor, or…I've been born into the past.
I glance around, my mind racing, searching for any possible escape from this shadowy, almost satanic-looking room. My eyes land on something in the corner—heavy, silver-plated armor glinting faintly in the candlelight. Definitely not the kind of decor you'd find in a normal household.
So…not poor, then. Rich, probably, but in some ancient time. And from the looks of it, a time where people still wore armor like that for battle.
Welp…there's also the chance this is another world entirely. But no…probably not. I mean, it *feels* ancient, but not *alien enough.* Glancing around, sizing up Mr. Four Eyes and my parents, I can't help but think this place looks like some blend of ancient…Japan? Russia? Or maybe somewhere with people of fairer skin? (No offense meant—just calling it as I see it.)
Yeah, definitely feels like I've been dropped in some old-timey, candle-lit era where people wear armor like it's a regular Tuesday.
Oh wow…Mother looks so...motherly? . There's a gentle beauty to her.As if reading my mind, she reaches over and tugs on my father's ear. "Ace, don't be so loud, you'll scare him!" she scolds softly, though there's a smile in her voice.
"Yes, yes, sorry…" Father lets out a sheepish chuckle, one that doesn't quite match his hulking, disciplined appearance. But it's clear he's got a soft side—a far cry from my last father. No strictness, no edge of anger or judgment in his eyes.
Maybe this life will be different.
Just as Mr. Four Eyes was leaving, I caught sight of someone else—an old man peeking in from outside the room. He looked frail, almost like he could be blown over by a stiff breeze, but there was an intense aura about him. His eyes were sharp, calculating, like he was observing me and sizing me up all at once.
Either he's my mysterious old grandpa, some creepy intruder, or…a maid? Nah, no way he's a maid.
As Mr. Four Eyes left, the old man stepped into the room, his expression a mix of amusement and sternness. "So, the brat has been born…huff," he muttered, sounding as if *he* had done all the hard work.
"Yes, Papa," Father replied, with a proud grin. "Your *grand"son"* is born."
Hmm…why was he emphasizing "son" like that? Oh, right. In ancient times, sons were often seen as more valuable than daughters. (No sexism here—just how things were back then!)
"Shut up, idiot… I can see that much," Grandpa snapped, his voice firm and unyielding.
"I'm deeply sorry, Papa," Father said quickly, bowing his head. But Grandpa's expression softened into a smirk. Strict, maybe, but hopefully he wouldn't throw me to the lions for a test of courage…right?
After a moment, he stepped closer and started patting my head, ruffling my hair with surprisingly gentle hands. Okay, maybe he's not *that* bad.
And then…oh, no. *I pooped.*
"Oh, looks like someone needs a cleaning!" Mother said, chuckling as she handed me over to Father.
Please, I silently prayed, don't let this mountain of a man break me while trying to wash me.
Well…a few weeks went by smoothly. In the span of just two weeks, though, I've already been diagnosed with dysentery. Great. My old body wasn't amazing, sure—but it was way better than this!
Yeah, I had terrible eyesight, ghostly pale skin, and hair that practically reached my knees. But all of that had a purpose: gaming! At least in my old life, I was comfortably unhealthy. This new life, though? It's throwing me curveballs already.
I can barely walk, and whenever I try to crawl, my overly cautious (but not totally brainless) parents scoop me up and plop me back into my crib. Still, I've managed a whole week of crawling adventures, and I've picked up a few things about this place.
First off, this house is massive. Apparently, I even have my own personal room—though there's not much in here besides my crib. But the rest of the place? There's a huge library, practically begging me to grow up faster and raid it. And swords…oh, swords are everywhere. Like germs. Literally, in every single room (except mine, of course).
Then there's Grandpa. Turns out, he's actually pretty nice under that tough exterior—he just hides it well. I even managed a game of peekaboo with him, and for a moment, he almost cracked a smile. Guess he's not so bad after all.
I guess I've got a good bloodline—my finely tuned (read: eavesdropping) ears keep picking up words like "heir" and "legacy." Looks like I hit the jackpot with this family.
This place even has a small army of maids and, lucky me, my very own nanny. She plays with me, cleans me up, and takes care of everything I need. But…let's be real, it's *awkward.* There's something seriously embarrassing about having someone see all of me—especially an unmarried woman—when I'm, well, *not exactly fully grown.*
Honestly…I couldn't care less about lineage or family titles. All that "heir" stuff? Doesn't mean much to me. I just need my parents, Grandpa, and…ahem, maybe the nanny too (just kidding just kidding)
Thinking back to my old body…yeah, I was pale as a ghost, with hair down to my knees and dark circles under my eyes that even a panda would envy. My eyesight? Worst of humankind. And don't even get me started on muscles—I was thin as a twig.
But that doesn't mean I was weak! Thanks to hours of gaming, my right hand was actually…pretty impressive. Veins, a bit of muscle—okay, *only* my right hand, but still, I had *some* strength going for me.
I used to think, in my old body, I could at least take on an old guy like Grandpa. But...nope.
*Woosh. Shash. Swish.* (Yes, that's the sound of a sword slicing through the air.)
I watched him swinging a sword around with such speed that I couldn't even track his movements. That's when it hit me—Grandpa wasn't just some strict, grumpy old man; he was a war veteran. He'd served and fought in two wars for the country.
Damn. Now that I think about it, he could've probably sliced me in half back in my old body—or even in this one.
Back to my old body…honestly, I was so thin I could've registered for the Guinness World Record as the skinniest human alive. I had an old grandpa in that life too, pushing eighty, who somehow worked two jobs just to feed a lazy shut-in like me, gaming away all day. I wouldn't have been surprised if I'd died of being underweight—I probably didn't have enough muscle to lift a book, let alone survive an apocalypse.
Looking back now, I almost feel a little guilty.
I wonder…how's he doing now that I'm gone? I know he wouldn't be happy, of course. But maybe—just maybe—he finally has a bit of peace. At least he doesn't have to work himself to the bone anymore to support someone like me.
It's strange to think he might be better off without me…but maybe, in some way, he is.