I always figured my funeral would be attended by at least three people: my mom, my neighbor's cat (because I fed it more than she did), and possibly that one coworker who borrowed my stapler in 2019 and never returned it.
Instead, I got reincarnated. Reborn. Isekai'd. You know, that thing anime protagonists do when a truck decides to smooch them into another world? Yeah. Except in my case, it wasn't even that glorious.
I died saving someone.
A kid, to be precise. A five-year-old who ran out in front of a speeding car, and I, in all my heroic brilliance, dived after her like I was some kind of budget Superman. I managed to push her out of the way.
And then—
Wham.
Lights out.
You'd think there'd be a heartwarming ending, right? Turns out, the little brat I saved was some kind of low-tier goddess or a reincarnated demon lord or... I don't know, but she looked me dead in the eyes with a glare that could curdle milk and muttered, "Stupid mortal. Should've minded your own business."
Then she walked away.
I got murdered. By my own rescue.
And the next thing I knew, I opened my eyes to find myself reborn.
As a baby.
Naked.
Screaming.
Covered in goo.
With an audience of nobles staring at me like I was the next Messiah of their kingdom.
---
"Oh my stars! The Saint has been reborn!" cried some overly enthusiastic woman with a hairdo so tall I could've climbed it and escaped this situation.
"The family prophecy! The line of Reinhardt is saved! The Saint lives again!" shouted a man in robes who smelled faintly of incense and panic.
Let me be clear: I was not a saint.
I was a dead guy with a crippling addiction to coffee and sarcasm.
And now I had baby fingers.
Worse? I couldn't even control them properly.
I tried to roll my eyes at the absurdity of it all, but my newborn muscles betrayed me. I looked like a confused slug twitching under a blanket.
Meanwhile, a pompous-looking man—who I would later learn was my new father, Duke Reinhardt—lifted me up with glistening eyes.
"My son! Our hope! The empire's future!"
Inner Me: Your son just peed on your ceremonial robes. You sure about that future thing?
Yeah. My inner monologue had survived death. And he was not going quietly.
---
Fast forward a few years. I say that casually, but let me tell you, toddlerhood with full adult memories is HELL. Ever tried potty training when you vividly remember the dignity of adult bathrooms? I cried real tears.
Also: noble life? Overrated. Fancy food? Cool. Corsets and mandatory etiquette classes at age five? Less cool.
My new family was powerful. Old money. I was apparently the third son of the Reinhardt House, which made me both important and expendable depending on who you asked.
And then there was the kicker.
Betrothals.
I was promised to FOUR different noble girls. Not one. Not two. Four.
Why?
Because apparently all four of my grandmothers made drunken marriage oaths with rival families during a kingdom-wide wine festival.
"For peace," they said.
"For political harmony," they claimed.
Now I had a harem contract signed before I could walk.
Inner Me: And people say paperwork isn't dangerous.
---
Oh, did I mention I had a system?
Yeah. Like every Isekai hero ever, a beautiful blue window popped up one day while I was trying to sneak out of embroidery lessons:
> [Congratulations, Host! You have awakened the Potential System! Would you like to unlock your overpowered destiny?]
My first response was: "Finally!"
Then came the fine print:
> Warning: System has rejected host for excessive sarcasm.
> System has left.
It LEFT.
The system dumped me.
I am the only protagonist in history who got ghosted by the cheat code.
So here I am. Reborn. Nobleborn. Rejected by fate. Engaged four times. Trying not to trip over my oversized baby pants.
But I swear this to you, dear reader:
I will rise.
I will train.
I will survive.
And I will sass my way through this world until even the gods roll their eyes.
Because I am not the chosen one.
I am the accidentally reborn, politically entangled, sarcasm-powered one.
And this is my story.
Stay tuned.
...