In the town of Derry, a five-year-old boy sat at home, listening to his parents argue. The black-haired child hugged his knees, crying quietly as he watched the same scene unfold yet again. He already knew how this day would end. Like so many before it, there would be nothing to eat, and his mother would eventually take out her anger on him—anger born from his father's abuse.
BANG!The door slammed shut with violent force as his father left the house.
The sudden silence that followed was heavier than the shouting.
In that moment, Liam saw his mother collapse to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. He shrank further into the corner, holding his breath, trying to make himself invisible. If she didn't notice him, maybe—just maybe—she would leave him alone.
Then, her crying stopped.
Slowly, she lifted her head and locked her gaze onto him.
"What are you looking at, you spawn of that bastard!" she screamed, her face twisted with hatred. She despised him for a single reason: he looked too much like his father.
She stood up and walked toward the corner where Liam was hiding, grabbing him violently by the hair.
"Ahhh! Let me go!" Liam cried, pushing weakly against her with his small hands. She ignored him completely, lifting him off the ground and slamming her knee into his face.
Pain exploded through his head. The world spun violently.
She released him, and his small body crashed onto the floor with a dull thud. His vision blurred, darkness creeping in as consciousness slipped away. Even then, she looked down at him with nothing but contempt, kicking him once more before retreating to her bedroom and slamming the door shut behind her.
"DAMN IT ALL!" her voice echoed through the house. "MY FATHER FORCED ME TO MARRY THAT FATSO! NOW I HAVE TO SUFFER EVERY DAY, SEEING HIM… AND THAT DAMN CHILD WHO SHOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN BORN! HE ONLY REMINDS ME OF HIM! AHHHH!"
Her screams continued, distorted and broken, as she cried alone behind the closed door.
Liam lay motionless on the floor.
Even in his unconscious state, something within him was changing. An imperceptible shift was taking place as memories that did not belong to this life began to surface.
They were memories of another Liam—a seventeen-year-old boy who had lived a brutal existence. Orphaned at a young age, he had been forced to survive on his own. At first, he stole just to eat. Later, he was dragged into a city gang, where he was used as bait—a pitiful child meant to lure in victims.
He watched countless people disappear, never to return.
To survive, he learned how to fight. Not because he wanted to, but because refusing meant death. Over time, he grew stronger, more efficient, and by the age of fifteen, he had risen to a high rank within the gang. That status earned him rare moments of peace—quiet nights where he escaped reality through series, anime, and movies online, the only joys he ever knew.
At seventeen, those brief comforts ended.
The gang leader saw him as a threat—too strong, too influential. An order was given.
Liam fought back with everything he had. He was skilled, experienced, and ruthless when cornered. But numbers overwhelmed him. Though he managed to take ten of them down, it wasn't enough.
Surrounded, bleeding, and exhausted, his life ended there.
Some time later, Liam opened his eyes.
He stared at his small hands, trembling slightly as he tried to process everything—this body, this room, and the two lives now coexisting within his mind. His face throbbed painfully, dried blood crusted along his cheek, but his thoughts were disturbingly clear.
'Life isn't easy in this world either,' he thought calmly.'But now that all my memories have returned… I won't let anyone hurt me again.'
Slowly, he stood up and walked to the window, gazing outside as if seeing his future laid out before him. A wide smile spread across his face, one that didn't belong on a five-year-old child.
"This time," he murmured, "I'll live a good life."
Turning away, he walked toward his father's favorite armchair—the one no one else was ever allowed to sit in—and climbed onto it, his feet dangling above the floor.
He examined his body thoughtfully.
"This body is weak," he muttered. "I can't rely on brute strength. I'll have to be smart—at least until I can train and strengthen myself properly."
In his previous life, malnutrition had permanently stunted his growth, limiting his potential no matter how hard he trained. He refused to let that happen again. He would push this body to its limits, starting now. According to his memories, his father stood six foot three. With proper training and nutrition, Liam knew he could reach that height—or even surpass it.
"I'll wait," he thought, his expression darkening slightly. "Until the conditions are right."
His gaze turned cold—far too cold for a child his age. Anyone who saw him at that moment would have felt an instinctive chill.
He remained seated in the armchair, swinging his short legs slowly as he analyzed everything with a calmness that did not belong to the body he inhabited.
The house was silent now, broken only by the muffled sobs of his mother behind the bedroom door—a sound that once filled him with terror, but now registered as nothing more than a minor annoyance.