June 27, 2025
Another quiet day. Birds chirp, the sun bathes the sky in a soft blue, and everything feels still—almost too still. Then, a roar: a massive aircraft cuts through the clouds like a blade, its shadow racing across the land below like some watchful predator.
Inside, nestled between crates and worn-down machinery, sit two passengers: a young man and an older gentleman with a thick, black beard.
"Ah, look at that sky, lad," the old man says with a contented sigh. "Tell me that isn't a perfect day."
The young man barely lifts his eyes. "I guess that depends on your definition of perfect, Adam," he replies, his tone flat and unimpressed. "To me, it's just another day away from home."
He shifts slightly, letting his gaze wander across the cluttered cargo bay before adding, "I still don't get it. We're soldiers, right? Why are we hauling farm gear? There's a global crisis going on, and they send us—reservists—to deliver tractors? It feels like a waste."
Adam chuckles, unfazed. "It's an easy gig, kid. Pay's good, no one's shooting at us, and we'll be back at base before you know it. Unload the stuff, grab some rations, and you can go back to those comic books you pretend not to like."
"With all due respect," the young man counters, lifting an eyebrow, "being called 'kid' while working next to you is getting old. And I don't read comics for fun. I read them because there's nothing else to do back at base. I get paid to be bored."
He shrugs, clearly not interested in keeping the conversation going.
Suddenly, a robotic voice breaks the silence:
"Attention: turbulence ahead. Please secure yourselves immediately."
Before they can react, the aircraft lurches violently. The crates begin to clatter and shift. Loose equipment slides with a groan of steel on steel.
Their eyes meet.
"Run."
Without a second thought, they bolt toward the crew section. Behind them, chaos explodes—metal slams, cargo tumbles, and the shriek of straining cables fills the air.
A cable breaks loose. It snakes through the air like a viper.
"Peter!" Adam shouts.
Without thinking, Peter throws himself in front of the old man. The cable hits him hard, slamming him across the bay. He lands in a heap, coughing blood.
"Move, old man! Go!" he yells, trying to pull himself upright.
He stumbles forward—then stops.
Peter's POV:
Wait… that cable—wasn't it holding up something big?
Oh, no.
I snap my head around.
A massive object is coming right for me.
I leap, grabbing onto a metal railing, clinging to it like my life depends on it—which, you know, it does.
The edge of the aircraft is right there—closer than I'd like. I don't think. I just act. I hurl myself upward, smashing through a large glass panel.
And then—I'm airborne.
The sky opens wide around me.
Above me… the cargo.
A truck. Well, half a truck. The cab section.
My body screams in pain. My brain fuzzes out.
I black out for a moment.
Then—clarity.
My eyes blink open just in time to see the earth rushing up to meet me.
I twist, flip onto my back—and there it is again. The truck, falling after me.
One last thought flashes through my mind:
"Truck-kun?"
Then—impact.
And darkness.
I'm floating now. Suspended in nothingness. Time… it slips past me.
The hours blend into each other. Meaning fades. And all I can do is think.
When did things start going downhill?
Was it when my parents split up?When I became target practice for school bullies?When I fell in love—just to be betrayed?Or maybe it was when I jumped in front of Adam, thinking I could save him.
No—maybe it was before all that. Maybe it was when everything started to feel heavy. So heavy I'd try anything to stop thinking. That's when I escaped into anime, manga, and novels. A way to let time slip by, hoping something—anything—would happen.
Most people, when their life flashes before their eyes, probably think about what they've done, what they've achieved. Me? I've never felt "normal." Especially not in a world where everyone's happy to be a puppet on strings.
So here I float. Drifting. Reflecting.I'm twenty-three. Damn. What a ride. Not great, not terrible. Just… average.
I was born in Alsace to a working-class family. My parents were always busy. I had to figure things out on my own. Everything was fine—until middle school.
That was hell.
Daily bullying. Constant ridicule. Just because my mom was Moroccan and I didn't look "properly" German.
Eventually, the tears dried, and the fists started flying. And once middle school ended, I started pulling away from people.
Thankfully, we moved. My dad opened a handyman business in Berlin. High school was better—no one messed with me. But the damage was done. The isolation stuck. I went from dorm to class and back again.
Then came university. I got a full ride to the Polytechnic in Zurich. Not because I was some genius, but because I had nothing better to do than study—and I fell in love with math. Pure, logical, elegant.
And somewhere in that first year… I fell in love with someone else.
Her name was Erika. Sweet, not extraordinary, but kind. Blonde hair, a warm smile. We were together until—well, the incident.
It was the start of our second year. There was a welcome party for freshmen. That's when I saw him.
Joshua. My old bully. Rich, arrogant, the kind of guy who never got punched enough.
I ignored him. Maybe I shouldn't have. But pride's a hell of a thing.
Four months passed. Erika and I were close—we studied, laughed, lived together in that university bubble.
Then came the party. She wanted to go, so I said sure.
Joshua was there. Things were fine at first. Then he showed up, drunk and loud. He started pestering Erika.
I stepped between them.
"The hell do you think you're doing touching my girl?"
I wasn't drunk. Just angry. The kind of anger that simmers for years.
He spat in my face.
I slapped him so hard he spun.
He threw a wine bottle at me. I dodged.
But behind me… I heard a scream.
I turned.
Erika. Hands on her face. Blood seeping through her fingers.
Something inside me snapped.
I tackled him. Pinned him. And I let it all out.
Punch after punch.
Second punch—he went limp.Fourth—I felt something break in his eye socket.Sixth—his jaw shattered.By the eighth, they dragged me off. I kicked him once more, heel to his forehead.
Police came. Ambulance too.
Joshua ended up in a vegetative state. Erika locked herself in her room.
The trial was brutal. Joshua's family tried to pin it all on me. Erika's lawyers claimed I provoked him.
Later, I found out Joshua's family paid Erika's to twist the story.
I lost everything. My girl. My future. My life. All in ten seconds of blind rage.
The only thing that kept me from prison? The European rearmament effort. Five years of mandatory service.
Which brings us back to today. Falling through the sky. Killed by—what, the truck? The fall? Both?
What a crap way to go. Poor guy who has to clean this up.
So… is this it? Is that the end? Kind of lame, honestly.
…How long's it been?Hello?Anyone?I'm screaming, but it's all stuck inside my head.
Guess this is it. Forever floating.
Wow. What a life.
Then—something shifts.
A ripple in the void.
Warmth. Pressure.
Sound.
A heartbeat.
Another.
Then—pain. Sharp.
I gasp—air? No. Water? My lungs burn. My throat's raw. Light blinds me.
Cold air hits my skin. I'm soaked.
…Am I crying?
Voices, frantic and foreign.
"It's a boy!""The gods have blessed us!""Wrap him! He's freezing!"
Wait. What?
A boy?
Blessed?
I try to move. My arms are noodles. My hands—tiny. My vision's a blur, but I can make out people in thick wool and rough linen, rushing around a firelit room of stone and timber.
No. No, no, no.
I've reincarnated.
And judging by the hay on the floor, the drafty walls, and the damn candlelight—
It's not the future.
It's not even the present.
It's medieval.
"WaaAAAHHH!"
Yeah. That scream was mine.