Consciousness returned not as awakening but as violation, as if existence itself had reached in and dragged him back without asking whether he wanted to remain.
There was no comfort in the transition, no gentle easing into awareness, only the abrupt weight of sensation pressing down on him, light burning through closed eyelids, sound crowding his thoughts before he had the strength to process it, the steady insistence of a heartbeat reminding him that whatever should have ended had failed to do so.
He lay still, not frozen by fear but emptied of it, his mind circling a single dull question that carried no emotion, only disbelief, "why was i am still alive, why can not i rest"
He did not care where he was, because location implied presence, and he want his presence gone, he want to die, to rest.
What unsettled him was the body itself, whole in a way it had never been before, obedient, unbroken, untouched by the damage memory insisted should exist.
He raised a hand and watched it move, the skin smooth, the fingers steady, and felt nothing at the absence of pain, no relief, no gratitude, only a quiet sense of wrongness, as though the world had corrected a mistake he had learned to live with.
He turned his head and took in the unfamiliar room, the bed, the faint scent of cleanliness, all signs of care he had never asked for, and accepted it without reaction, because acceptance required no effort.
He rose and walked to the bathroom, guided more by habit than intention, and faced a mirror that reflected a younger, cleaner version of himself, a face that had never learned to flinch.
Water ran over his hands and then his face, and with it came the collapse, not gradual, not merciful, but immediate, as memories that were not his yet unmistakably his forced their way into consciousness.
They came without order or restraint, a childhood lived under constant comparison, a home filled with success that never included him, praise given elsewhere, expectations lowered for him alone, neglect disguised as fairness, and the suffocating understanding that his presence was tolerated rather than wanted.
His strength failed under the weight of it, and he slid down into the bathtub, the porcelain cold against his skin as the world narrowed and went dark.
When awareness returned again, it was to the sound of knocking, precise and restrained, followed by a voice that announced breakfast with the same careful distance reserved for someone who belonged in name only.
He washed away any weakness, wear his clothes and walk out later to descend the stairs with a composure he did not feel, because the memories had already finished settling into place.
The dining room confirmed what he already knew. At the head of the table sat the father, his presence sharp and unyielding, the kind of man whose approval was rare and conditional, offered as proof of worth rather than affection.
The mother sat beside him, elegant and composed, her beauty polished and distant, her smile practiced in the way of someone who had long ago learned how to look warm without feeling it.
The siblings completed the picture, each successful enough to render him invisible by contrast.
One brother carried the authority of a corporate leader, already groomed as the future of the family.
Another possessed the ease and charm of a famous singer, adored without effort.
The third watched the entertainment industry with the detached control of a famous director.
Their sister, luminous and composed, carried herself like the idol she was, admired, protected, untouchable.
They acknowledged him briefly, politely, and then returned to their own conversations, their attention sliding past him as it always had.
As he took his seat among them, the final understanding settled in, heavy and inescapable, and a faint smile touched his lips, not from bitterness but resignation. This was not transmigration, not escape, not a second chance disguised as mercy.
He had not been given a new life.
He had been returned to one.
Reborn again to suffer and experience the same fate, he once went through.
Reborn into a family where brilliance was inherited, love was conditional, and he remained exactly what he had always been, the excess piece, the quiet failure, the ugly duckling condemned not by cruelty but by indifference, and this time, he understood with chilling clarity, there would be no escape left to cling to, he cannot leave, he cannot rest he will always return to suffer.