Death did not hurt.
That was the first thing Yoo Ren realized.
There was no pain, no suffocation, no lingering awareness of impact. One moment he was crossing the street, lost in thought, and the next—
Nothing.
When consciousness returned, it did so quietly.
He became aware of warmth first. Not heat, but the gentle kind—fabric resting against his skin, a blanket pulled up to his chest. The air felt clean, filtered, carrying a faint scent of flowers and polished wood.
Ren opened his eyes.
White ceiling.
Unfamiliar.
Too close.
"…Alive?"
His voice came out hoarse—and thin.
Ren blinked.
That's not right.
He swallowed and tried again. "Hello…?"
Still the same. Soft. Weak. Like it didn't belong to him.
His brows knit together as memory caught up.
Right. I died.
The truck. The horn. The impossible timing.
And then—
God.
Ren sat up too quickly.
The world spun.
"—!"
He grabbed the edge of the bed instinctively, head dipping as dizziness washed over him. His chest felt tight, breathing shallow.
"…Tch."
It passed after a few seconds, but the message was clear.
This body is weak.
Not injured. Not damaged. Just… fragile.
Ren looked down at his arms. Thin. Pale. No definition. His fingers trembled faintly when he clenched them.
"…So this was the original body."
Before reincarnation.
Before anything else.
A weak child.
Ren leaned back slowly, letting out a controlled breath.
Fine. I can work with this.
He scanned the room carefully.
The bed he lay on was large, far larger than necessary for a child. The mattress was soft but supportive.
The furniture was wooden, solid, expensive without being excessive. A desk sat near the window, neatly arranged. Bookshelves lined one wall, half-filled, as if waiting.
"This place…" he murmured.
He swung his legs off the bed cautiously and stood.
His knees wobbled.
Ren adjusted his stance, redistributing his weight until balance returned.
Definitely not used to movement.
He walked to the mirror mounted on the wardrobe.
A boy stared back at him.
Black hair, slightly unkempt.
Skin too pale for someone who spent much time outside. Eyes sharp—but tired, like they had seen more than they should have.
"…Guess this is me now."
He didn't feel shock.
Only acceptance.
A knock came at the door.
"Ren?" a woman's voice called, gentle but familiar.
"Are you awake?"
"Yes," Ren answered.
The door opened, and Jin Yeojung stepped inside.
She paused when she saw him standing, her expression shifting instantly—not to surprise, but to concern.
"You shouldn't be standing so soon," she said, crossing the room in quick steps. "Sit down."
"I'm fine," Ren replied, though he obeyed.
She placed a hand on his shoulder, checking his temperature, her movements practiced.
"You always say that," she said softly. "And you're always wrong."
Ren blinked.
…Always?
She noticed his confusion and smiled faintly.
"You fainted again last night," she said. "Just like before."
Before.
That meant—
So I was already sickly.
The realization settled quietly.
Jin Yeojung straightened. "Breakfast will be ready soon. Jinwoong is already awake."
"…Thank you," Ren said after a moment.
She looked at him closely, eyes warm but steady.
"You don't need to thank us," she said.
"You're family."
The word lingered.
After she left, Ren sat still for a long time.
So they already knew my parents.
That explained the room. The familiarity. The lack of hesitation.
This wasn't a sudden adoption.
It was something that had been decided long ago.
When he finally left the room, he moved slowly, carefully. The hallway was wide, lined with family photos. Yeojung, Jinwoong—and Yoo Yeonha.
Younger. Smiling more openly.
"…This house is huge," Ren muttered under his breath.
Not in disbelief.
In quiet awe.
Downstairs, Yoo Jinwoong sat at the dining table, reading from a tablet. He looked up when Ren entered.
"Morning," he said. "Sit. You're late."
Not cold. Not distant.
Natural.
"Yes, sir," Ren replied.
"No 'sir'," Jinwoong said flatly. "Eat first."
Breakfast was calm. Warm. No awkward silence. No probing questions.
Then footsteps.
Yoo Yeonha entered.
She stopped when she saw Ren.
Her eyes widened slightly.
"…Oh."
Ren met her gaze.
"Good morning."
She hesitated, then nodded. "Good morning."
She sat across from him.
The air shifted—not tense, but cautious.
She glanced at him once, then focused on her food.
Ren noticed.
She knows me. But not like this.
After breakfast, Jinwoong allowed Ren to walk around the house—but only briefly.
He explored slowly.
The living room. The garden. A private training space.
Ren's fingers tightened slightly when he saw it.
Even here… they prepared.
That night, back in his room, Ren lay on his bed.
This body was weak.
This world was dangerous.
And the story he remembered was cruel.
Five years.
Five years before everything began.
"…Alright," Ren whispered to the ceiling.
"I'll start from zero."