You ever think about how weirdly simple life can be when you stop trying so damn hard?
I did.
People used to call me a genius which is not much of an accomplishment in a small community. Numbers, patterns, they all just clicked for me. School? Easy. Sports monotonous. Trading? A game. Social stuff? Well, that took some practice, but I got by.
But honestly? I never cared for the constant chase, the grind, the performative hustle everyone seems addicted to. I watched my classmates melt their brains trying to secure internships they didn't even want, trading sleep and sanity for a chance to climb some invisible ladder. I guess I just… opted out.
At eighteen, I had it all lined up exactly how I liked it. Three days a week, I traded. Quiet mornings with strong coffee, a few screens, smooth jazz humming in the background. As long as the markets weren't thrashing around like a shark in a kiddie pool, I raked in more than enough to live comfortably.
The rest of the week? Mine.
I lived near the countryside, a little house with big windows and a garden that honestly looked like it belonged in one of those old-school Instagram posts. I took random day trips whenever I felt like it — sometimes the mountains, sometimes the coast. The kind of freedom that made me feel normal, not some walking talking automaton.
And then their is my grandma, she came to stay with me. Her health wasn't great, and hospitals felt too sterile and confiding for her. She liked my place, said the air reminded her of her childhood home. We spent slow afternoons together, cooking, watching old movies, listening to her stories.
I won't lie; it felt nice. Taking care of her was the one thing that grounded me, that made all the quiet days feel even more worth it.
Then it happened that day.
It was a Saturday. The sky was this beautiful as ever, I rememberer trimming the hedges, while she sat on the porch, humming one of those old jazz songs she loved. I was thinking about making us iced tea afterward, maybe grilling dinner later.
Then… the sky split.
A meteor, not some shooting star you make dumb wishes on, but a real, biblical chunk of space rock — came screaming down like God decided to flip the board on humanity's chess game.
There wasn't even time to think. I remember the flash. The shockwave ripping through the fields. A sound so loud it felt like my bones turned to dust. I remember reaching for my grandma, this instinct to shield her even though we both knew there was no chance.
And then… nothing.
When I opened my eyes again, I wasn't in my garden, or my house, or anywhere I recognized. No flaming wreckage, no smoldering crater.
Instead… just darkness.
I felt like I was floating, or maybe sinking, it was impossible to tell. There was no air, no ground, no sound. Just an endless, suffocating void pressing against me from every direction.
Then it started.
A flood of images, memories that weren't mine. Faces, places, fragments of languages I'd never attempted to learn, sensations I'd never felt. My brain felt like it was on fire, like someone was trying to shove an entire library into my skull all at once.
I saw a boy's childhood, lonely hallways, self given expectations, the stinging cold of isolation. Memories of a piss pour of a mother and her sudden absence.
I felt his heartbreak, his confusion, his fragile dreams about normal things, like laughter with friends he never had, birthdays that felt like ordinary celebrations instead of ticking time bombs, instead of being ridiculed and passed over.
And somewhere in the middle of all that chaos, one single, crystal-clear thought rose above it all.
Fuck. Again? This shit is getting ridiculous ?
It was all so unfair. I had done everything in power to just coast along I lived simply and contently helped my grandma, stayed out of the world's way. And yet, here I was, getting force-fed a new life again, like some fucked up fanfiction.
By the time the memories stopped, I felt hollow and full all at once. Like I had been scooped out and replaced, yet still undeniably me.
That's when I dragged myself to the mirror and saw him or rather, saw me now.
A new beginning. Another chance, or another punishment. Honestly Idon't know.
All I could do was laugh, Because if I didn't laugh, I'd probably scream. Slightly skimming through my memories a skill I picked up naturallly, I thought it the very least I could do was make the best of a crappy situation and complete some of this kids goals becuase this half empty feeling feels like shit.
"Two days later..."
It's weird how fast everything can just… change but it's something I'm getting used to.
The morning after I woke up in this my new body, the cops showed up. They sat me down, gave me that practiced gentle look they probably teach at the academy, and told me what happened.
My mother went out drinking again, not surprising as their are quiet few complaints against her due to public conduct. Except this time she didn't crawl back home to pass out on the couch. She got wasted, stumbled into the street, and got hit by some guy im a four-wheeler. They said she died on the way to the hospital.
Honestly? I didn't feel much about her the news of her apparent death. No tears, nor a dramatic meltdown but yet again I wasn't happy either becuase even though I have no attachment to her personally old Devon did and plus that means I just lost my meal ticket.
What threw me for a loop was what they said next.
They told me I wouldn't be going into foster care or even a group home, Instead, and I still can't believe I heard this right my father had come forward to claim guardianship.
My father.
I don't remember him. I don't even have a single blurry snapshot of him in my mind. It's like he never existed, just a ghost shaped by those empty words she used to spit at me. "He left me because of you".
So now I'm sitting here in this police station waiting room, legs bouncing, fingers drumming against my knee like they have a mind of their own. Running laps in my head, I was trying to piece together why that deadbeat has resurfaced.
Whats he like? Why now? What does he want from me other than potentially selling one of my kidneys… nah… mabey?
Part of me, the part that hates to admit it, wonders what it would've been like to have a dad around. Someone who taught me how to ride a bike, or gave me that first awkward shave talk. Someone who just… stayed.
But I shut that shit right down as soon as those thoughts bubbled up. I didn't need a father before. And I took decent care of my self and for all circumstances, I turned out all right. Even if I might have wanted one deep down, that ship sailed a long time ago.
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How did you all feel about this chapter? A bit different from my earlier work, right? Even though the MC has transmigrated, his perspective is evolving, there's more nuance and complexity, with his thought process.
Funny enough, this chapter almost didn't make it; my draft got corrupted halfway through. But after a long day (and night) of rewriting, here it is, finally.
Special shout-out to Vader98 for dropping the first power stone this one's dedicated to you. And to everyone collecting and supporting the book so far, I see you and appreciate you.
Let's keep pushing the story forward together. See you all in the next chapter. P.S it's 5:17 am I'ma take a fast sleep.