On a pitch-dark night, the rain fell gently, washing the streets clean and muffling the city's screams. At the edge of a tall hospital rooftop stood a young man, drenched in blood and rainwater, staring down where a crowd had gathered under the flashing lights of police cars. Some shouted in anger, others recorded on their phones. The distant thrum of a news helicopter echoed above, broadcasting the scene into homes across the city.
All of this… for one boy, whose hands trembled as he held a blood-stained knife.
In his other hand, he clutched a cracked phone displaying an old photo: a shyly smiling little girl, a tired but happy woman, a tall boy standing beside a younger child. He looked at the image like it was the last thing anchoring him to this world.
The sharp voice of a police megaphone broke through his thoughts.
"Raise your hands! You're charged with the murder of a doctor and suspected in the killing of a minor girl!"
Heavy footsteps echoed behind him. Armed officers advanced slowly, weapons raised and locked on him.
"Drop the knife, now!" one of them ordered sharply.
The boy looked up at them, eyes cold. "Do you think I'm stupid? Even if I surrender, you'll still want me dead. Or maybe… you just want your names on the evening news."
One officer moved closer, trying to calm him with words, though his eyes calculated the distance—waiting for the right moment.
"You're sick," the officer spat. "How could you kill your own sick sister? And the doctor who tried to save her? You even mutilated his body. I've never seen a criminal like you... No, you're more like a monster!"
The boy laughed. "No… they're the monsters. I was just the fool who believed in them."
---
Five years ago
A small family arrived in a new country, fleeing a war that had destroyed their homeland—another casualty of Western greed. A mother, two sons, and a daughter dying of cancer.
---
Three years ago
The older brother returned to their war-torn homeland in search of surviving relatives—and died.
As for the younger brother, he fell into addiction, becoming a burden on their mother until she collapsed from overwork. Even with a broken hand, she kept working… just to support her useless son and her dying daughter.
---
Two years ago
He was all that remained. He worked day and night, pouring every penny into his sister's treatment—his only remaining light—hoping she might recover, that he might atone for the past. But even that barely covered the hospital bills.
---
Two months ago
He discovered the truth. His sister was never going to recover. The doctor had lied.
They fed him false hope so he would keep paying. They knew the medicine wouldn't cure her—only prolong her suffering, with no purpose. She was dying… slowly, painfully.
---
One hour ago
He cried in his sister's arms as she begged him to end her pain.
He made his choice. He put her to sleep gently, disconnected the machines, then hunted down the doctor—and everyone who had helped cover up the truth—and killed them.
Brutally. Mercilessly. Without hesitation.
Then, he returned to the rooftop.
He turned his back to the officer, knife pointed at him.
"If you were in my place... would you have done anything different?"
No one answered.
As the knife drew closer, police gunfire tore through the boy's body.
He collapsed from the rooftop, eyes filled with tears, staring up at the sky.
"If only I could live in a paradise… with my family…"
Silence fell. Then darkness.
Then… light.
Pain.
Headache.
His eyes slowly opened.
He froze.
He was lying on a massive bed, in a room larger than his family's entire apartment. Soft sunlight filtered through a window to his left, glimmering on a plush pillow beneath his head.
His heart pounded.
He was sure he had died.
The last thing he remembered was the burning pain of bullets, the crash of hitting the ground.
And now?
No pain—only a sharp throb in his head.
He raised a hand to his forehead—and felt a bandage.
"What...? Am I in a hospital...? No... no way."
He turned suddenly—
"Wait... who's that woman, sleeping over there?"
A woman sat in a chair, dressed in an old-fashioned maid uniform, fast asleep.
The upper half of her face—up to her eyes—was badly scarred, like it had been burned in a fire.
He hadn't noticed her at first, too shocked—he even mistook her for a ghost.
He tried to stand.
He set one foot off the bed—then stopped.
"I'm… taller?"
He looked down at his body, then around the room. Everything seemed like it came from a fantasy novel.
A luxurious bed. A grand room. A maid. Everything was old-fashioned.
No pain. A changed body.
"Hah… I know this kind of crap from anime and manhwa… it's always the same damn plot."
He sighed.
"Did I… get transported to another world? Or reincarnated into someone from the past?"
He got up, searching for an exit.
There were several doors.
He opened one—
—and found a massive wardrobe full of strange clothes. Nothing like medieval outfits. No… these were something else. Fancy. Unusual.
"Well, how convenient. Looks like I reincarnated into some rich family."
He opened another door—
—and stepped into a gigantic bathroom, complete with a mini pool and a mirror covering half the wall.
"Nope. Not just rich. Filthy rich.
What the hell? Why is this bathroom bigger than my old house?!
And… what's that shiny thing?"
He approached the mirror.
And there, he saw his new face.
Or rather… the face of his new body.
A tall, slender frame.
A strikingly handsome, pale face.
Smooth, flawless skin.
Long golden hair.
Two different-colored eyes—one blue, the other black.
And beneath his left cheek… a small black mark, like a beauty spot or tattoo.
He stumbled back, heart pounding.
"What the hell is this...?
No… don't tell me…
Did I reincarnate… into a girl's body?!"