Five years. Five incredibly awkward, ego-bruising, and humbling years.
You'd think being reborn would give you some advantages. New life, new opportunities, right? Wrong. Nobody tells you about the absolute humiliation of being trapped in a tiny body, unable to do the simplest things for yourself. Do you know what it's like to be bathed by someone else when you have the mental age of a grown-ass man? Let me tell you—it's not fun.
I tried to remind myself that it wasn't their fault. They saw me as a kid, and technically, I was. But it didn't make it any less embarrassing when Nurse Molly would pat my head and say things like, "Such a smart little boy!"
"Smart little boy." If only she knew.
The Hospital
The hospital became my entire world. I wasn't sure who was paying for my long-term stay—and honestly, I didn't want to know. All I knew was that I didn't have a family waiting for me on the outside. No dad, no mom. Just me, a crib, and an endless string of well-meaning nurses.
The staff was kind, though, in that overbearing way people get around kids. They read me stories, taught me basic math and reading, and gave me more attention than I ever got in my old life. I guess they thought I was some kind of genius. Every time I picked up something faster than expected, they'd go on and on about how "exceptional" I was.
What could I say? I was a grown man in a kid's body. Of course I knew how to count.
Still, I played along. Better to let them think I was some prodigy than explain that I used to be a 24-year-old loser who couldn't make rent.
When I wasn't being fussed over, I spent my time reading. Books were my escape from the crushing realization that I was, in fact, a five-year-old living in Gotham City. Yeah, Gotham. The name hit me like a brick to the face when I overheard a nurse talking about "The Bat." At first, I thought I misheard. Maybe they were talking about a zoo or something. But nope. It was that Bat.
Gotham. A city where mob bosses run the government, lunatics in clown makeup commit mass murder, and the local hero is a dude who thinks dressing like a flying rodent is a good idea.
"Why couldn't I have ended up in, I don't know, Smallville?" I muttered to myself one night. "Or literally anywhere else?"
But no. Of all the cities in all the worlds, I got stuck in the one where crime is practically a tourist attraction.
Learning the Rules
The nurses didn't just take care of me—they taught me the rules of Gotham. Not the ones you'd find in a book, but the kind you need to survive in this hellhole.
"Never make eye contact with someone who looks like they've got a temper."
"Always carry cash, even if it's just a little. You never know who's expecting a bribe."
"If you hear gunshots, hit the ground. Don't stop to look."
Their advice was brutal but necessary. Gotham wasn't kind to anyone, let alone a kid with no family.
Life in the hospital was monotonous, but I managed to stay busy. Then one day, everything changed.
I was sitting in the corner of my room, flipping through a book about human anatomy (don't ask—it was the only thing left in the library), when it happened.
Ding!
The sound echoed in my head, clear and undeniable. I froze, wondering if It'd finally snapped.
Welcome, Host. Tyrant System fully initialized.
The words appeared in my mind, glowing like they were burned into my brain. For a second, I thought I was hallucinating.
"Oh great," I muttered.
Host sarcasm detected. Please refrain from wasting energy on unproductive emotions.
I blinked. "Wait, you can hear me?"
Affirmative. Tyrant System functions are now available.
Before I could respond, a flood of information poured into my mind:
Level: 1
EXP:0/50
HP: 100
Abilities: Locked
Shop: Locked
Quests: Active
"Wait, there's a shop?" I asked.
Shop is currently locked. Host must meet prerequisites.
Of course it was locked. Why wouldn't it be? Nothing could ever be simple.
Sighing, I opened the Quests tab. There was only one active quest:
Drink 40 oz of water. Reward: 10 EXP
"Seriously?" I said. "That's my first quest? Drink water? I thought I'd be slaying monsters or something, not staying hydrated."
Host must meet basic biological needs before engaging in advanced tasks. Complaints are irrelevant.
I groaned. This system was already starting to sound like my old boss.
Still, I couldn't help but feel a small flicker of excitement. This was it. The Tyrant System was my ticket out of mediocrity.
Flipping through the interface, I found another tab: Daily Quests. Opening it revealed a list that made me laugh out loud:
20 push-ups
20 sit-ups
20 squats
2 km run
"You've got to be kidding me," I said. "This is just the Saitama workout for kids!"
Host lacks the capacity for advanced regimens. Adjustments have been made to match current physical limitations.
I snorted. "Yeah, thanks for the vote of confidence."
For a moment, the system was silent. Then it responded with something that sounded almost smug:
Continue to improve, or perish.
I sighed. "Great pep talk. Thanks."
Still, I couldn't deny the thrill of having the system. If it really worked the way it promised, I might just have a chance at surviving this city.
With a determined grin, I looked at the quest list again.
"Drink 40 oz of water, huh? Let's get to work."
Chapter Three End.