Alex lay quietly in his cradle, the sunlight filtering softly through the window onto his small face. His eyes opened slowly, taking in the ceiling above, the gentle sway of the mobile, and the stillness of the room around him. No sounds. No footsteps. No familiar voices. He looked all around and saw nothing but empty rooms and quiet halls.
He was alone.
He felt a strange weight in his chest, something stirring that was more than hunger or discomfort. It was the question that had haunted him since he woke up in this new life.
Where am I?
He didn't know how long he lay there before the restless part of him—the part that had lived a lifetime before—urged him to move. With effort, he grabbed the edge of the cradle and pulled himself up. His limbs were weak and unsteady, but he was determined. With a small grunt, he swung one leg over the side and slipped onto the soft carpet.
The sunlight was warm on his skin. Outside, the day was bright, peaceful. He crawled toward the living room, his small hands tracing the carpet fibers as he moved. When he looked around, he saw that the house was empty—his parents were not there.
For a moment, memories crashed through him. The family he had lost. The fire. The screaming. The silence that followed.
His breath caught, but he forced himself to calm down.
They're probably just at work, he told himself.
He kept crawling until he reached the dining room. On the desk lay a large book. Alex's eyes were drawn to it. It was heavy—unimaginably so for a one-week-old baby—but somehow, he pulled it down onto the floor.
He opened the book, his small fingers brushing the pages. The words were in English, and relief flooded him. He didn't have to learn a new language again. The weight of that thought made him smile faintly.
But then he looked at the cover and froze.
How to Think Like a Billionaire.
The author's name was printed boldly: Bruce Wayne.
His heart skipped. The name was familiar, terrifying.
He looked deeper into the book and saw a young Bruce Wayne pictured inside—around his teenage years, still training.
Alex's breath caught.
He wasn't in the wrong universe. This was the DC world. And if Bruce was still training, that meant the biggest challenges were yet to come.
A wave of fear swept through him, but beneath it rose something stronger—determination.
If I want to keep up with them, I have to train hard. I have to become stronger.
Suddenly, he felt a strange pressure in his belly. His face scrunched instinctively—and just as the door opened—
Pffffft.
A loud, unmistakable baby fart escaped, followed immediately by the realization: he had pooped himself.
His small eyes went wide in horror.
The footsteps paused.
His mother's voice called out warmly, "Mi amor, we're home!"
She entered the room, her smile faltering as she took in the scene: the open book, the scattered pages, the dirty, slightly sagging onesie—and her son, frozen in panic on the floor.
"Oh Dios mío," she said, rushing over and picking him up, her nose wrinkling in surprise.
His father appeared behind her, giving a dry chuckle. "Looks like the baby's already got a few tricks up his sleeve."
Alex felt his cheeks burn hotter than any shame he'd ever known.
But as his mother cleaned him up with gentle hands, Alex realized even in a new world, some things were just… universal.
He was still just a baby.