I sipped my coffee as I watched the final episode of my current favorite series, Soul Land. Despite the noise around me in the crowded coffee shop, I couldn't hear any of it. My focus was entirely on my phone's screen. On it, the protagonist clashed with Qian Renxue, both locked in a ferocious battle for their respective factions. The animation, the voice acting, the soundtrack—it all had me completely hooked.
Just as the fight reached its peak and the iconic music began to swell, I felt a slap on my back hard enough to nearly make me spit my drink.
I spun around so fast I almost gave myself whiplash.
"What the hell?!"
My friend's obnoxious grin filled my vision as he chuckled. "Get off your phone, you lazy otaku. I brought you here so we could finish our project, not so I could stare at your ugly mug while you watch your stupid shows."
I turned off my phone, stuffed it into my pocket, and glared. "You could've, I don't know, just poked my arm or something? Did you have to slap me? I nearly gave you a coffee shower. Maybe you're into that kind of roleplay, but that's not my kink."
He walked around to sit opposite me, flipping me off in the process. "Screw you. What do you even like about that show anyway? I get the hype around Naruto or Dragon Ball, but some of the stuff you watch is just dumb. And now you've even started watching that Chinese stuff. Didn't you once say, and I quote, 'I will never watch anything involving the Young Master of the Pang Clan and his glorious journey through the nine heavens?'"
He finished with a dramatic wave of his hand, like a third-rate theater actor.
I snorted. "Okay, yeah, I did say that. But this one's different. Sure, it's got some dumb clichés, but it's not overwhelming—and for once, it's not a harem anime. That's new. Honestly, it feels kinda Western in its storytelling. Less wish fulfillment, more action."
He shrugged, already opening his laptop. "Whatever. Let's just get this project done. I'm not eating a 10% late penalty because you got distracted by your bootleg Dragon Ball Z."
"Yeah, yeah, got it. Let's wrap this up quick—I want to finish that episode tonight."
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A Couple Hours Later
"I'm home!" I called out as I stepped through the door, kicking off my shoes and heading into the apartment.
"Welcome back," my dad called from his makeshift office. "Dinner's on the table. I'll be there in a minute—just finishing something up."
I made a beeline for the bathroom, washing my hands and changing into my usual home clothes: a T-shirt and sweatpants I'd left hanging on the doorknob that morning. By the time I came out, my dad had already plated the food and was setting utensils at the table.
"How was your day? Did you finish that project you were talking about yesterday?" he asked as I sat down.
"Yeah, it took way longer than we expected, but it's basically done. We'll probably submit it tomorrow or the day after. What about you?"
"Same old, same old. Work was a bit slower today, thank God. Oh, and your order arrived—I left it on your bed."
"Thanks, Dad! I appreciate it."
After dinner, I ran to my room and pounced on the package like a kid on Christmas morning. Inside was a custom Siegfried figurine I'd ordered—a model I'd wanted for months now. I tore the tape open with reckless abandon, scattering cardboard and plastic on the floor until I saw it.
White hair that shimmered faintly blue under the light. Piercing, silver-dragon eyes. A black-scaled jacket with red accents, open at the chest to reveal a glowing thunderbolt-shaped crack across his torso. Silver armor at the joints, and in his hand, the most beautiful sword I'd ever seen, inscribed with ancient Norse-looking runes.
Perfection.
I was practically vibrating with excitement. The artist who made this had absolutely nailed what I wanted. Without hesitation, I placed it on the small black pedestal on my desk, right next to my monitor.
Still buzzing with joy, I picked up my phone again and reopened the Soul Land episode I hadn't been able to finish earlier.
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Five Minutes Later
I leaned back in my chair, eyes on the ceiling.
"That was amazing," I muttered. "Bittersweet, but so good."
It was over.
But then I remembered—there was a sequel. Soul Land II. I'd start that tomorrow. No way I could leave the story there.
As I let my gaze wander around the room, my mind replayed the highlights: Tang Hao's dramatic appearance at Spirit City during the tournament; the moment Dai Mubai threatened Ning Rongrong after she annihilated him with a brutal roast; and, of course, my favorite character—Zhu Zhuqing. Quiet. Determined, despite being the youngest. Easily the one with the most heart, despite being the weakest.
My eyes landed on the Siegfried figure on my desk.
A thought drifted through my head.
What if someone like Siegfried or Karna was thrown into Soul Land?
What if someone awakened Balmung or Vasavi Shakti as their martial spirit?
What if someone had Fafnir... or Surya?
Now that would be cool. Overpowered as hell, sure—but everyone loves a broken main character once in a while, right?
As that thought lingered in my head, drowsiness began to settle in. My vision blurred slightly. My limbs felt heavy.
Sleep claimed me before I even realized it, and the last thing I remember thinking was:
This is gonna hurt like a bitch in the morning.
And then—surprise surprise—I was right.
Except it wasn't a stiff neck, or my dad throwing cold water on me to wake me up when I slept in, or even my friend smacking me awake again.
Nope.
I woke up in a crib.
A literal crib.
With wooden bars. And towering above me was a woman with a radiant smile... enthusiastically shaking what looked like a wooden hammer.
Who in their right mind shows a baby a goddamn wooden hammer?
And just to really sell the absurdity of it all, I was wrapped in a blanket that smelled like milk and—somehow—grease and old men. You know, like the kind of blanket you'd find shoved into the corner of a retirement home next to an unused walker.
I tried to sit up—doing my best to ignore the woman still shaking the hammer like it was a pair of maracas—and immediately faceplanted into my own chubby baby arm.
My arms. Were. Tiny.
My brain short-circuited on the spot. All I could register was the woman cooing at what she probably thought was an adorable attempt to roll over, and the muffled sound of two men chatting further away.
I used my stubby T-Rex arms to flip myself onto my back after that glorious failure of a move and stared blankly at the ceiling, which looked like the grainy black-and-white screen of an old cinema.
What the actual hell is my life right now?
And right after that thought crossed my mind... I felt it.
I pooped myself.
Note to self: stress causes babies to poop more easily. Who would've guessed? And again, to whatever eldritch, dimension-hopping god thingy that sent me here—seriously—what the hell is my life?
Reincarnation? ✔️
Crib? ✔️
Dignity? Left behind in Montreal, apparently.