"Lawyers. So cool. One day, when I grow up, I wanna be a lawyer, Dad," a bright-eyed boy, no older than eight, said excitedly, his eyes glued to the television.
Mike chuckled, stretching his arms as he glanced at the screen. "A lawyer, huh? Well, if that's the case, then you better study hard and sleep early so you don't wake up late for school." He reached over and ruffled his son's hair before sitting beside him on the couch.
He then glanced at the television, curious about what had sparked his son's excitement. Before he could speak again, his son muttered aloud:
"Born from poverty, Atty. Davidson, built with a body akin to a scholar. Without a single doubt, in this room filled with powerful people, he is the most powerful one." Liam's eyes sparkled with admiration.
Mike blinked, surprised by the poetic depth of his son's words. He hadn't realized Liam was capable of something so... profound.
He wanted to repeat what he said earlier, thinking Liam hadn't heard him. But he stopped and thought to himself, Hmm, maybe a few more minutes won't hurt.
Mike then silently walked away to find his wife, Cherry, a smile slowly forming on his lips. He couldn't wait to share their son's newfound dream.
A few minutes later.
"What was it, Dad?" Liam asked, turning to where his father had been sitting. "Huh... weird. Wasn't he just sitting here?" Seeing that his dad had left, he grabbed the remote, turned off the television, and headed upstairs. He needed to sleep before his mom caught him up late again.
---
Eight Years Later
Liam stood outside the university gates, diploma in hand, suit freshly pressed. The ceremony had just ended. A few of his classmates waved him over.
"Liam! We're going out tonight! Bar, drinks, maybe even karaoke. You in?"
He smiled politely. "Sorry, I already promised my parents. Rain check?"
"Suit yourself! Don't get too boring on us!" one of them laughed, disappearing into the crowd.
Just then, his phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Liam! It's Dad. We're waiting in the car outside. Come quick—we're celebrating tonight!"
---
Liam climbed into the backseat of their old but well-kept sedan. Mike was driving, Cherry beside him in the passenger seat.
"You really did it, son," Cherry said, beaming with pride.
"We're so proud of you," Mike added.
As they drove toward the restaurant, Cherry turned slightly. "You still dreaming of becoming a lawyer?"
Liam nodded. "Yeah. Always have."
Her smile widened. But fate, as always, was cruel.
Out of nowhere, a speeding car rammed into them at an intersection.
---
Liam woke up in a hospital bed, head bandaged, confused and sore. But nothing could compare to what came next.
Cherry was gone.
Mike survived, but barely. His injuries were severe.
In a private office lit by warm ceiling lights and the faint aroma of expensive coffee, the lawyer leaned back in his chair. His name was Arlan Vega. Polished shoes, crisp suit, a face trained to express sympathy just enough to appear sincere.
Across from him, Liam sat stiffly. His father's condition had worsened, and Liam had taken on the full responsibility of their case.
"The other party's insurance has agreed to talk," Vega said. "I believe we have enough grounds to push for full damages, maybe even a wrongful death claim."
Liam looked him in the eye. "We want justice, not hush money."
Vega gave a practiced smile. "Of course. I understand."
But behind that smile, behind the legal pads and reports scattered on the desk, something else lingered—a silence, heavy and loaded.
What Liam didn't know yet was that Vega had already been contacted. Handsomely paid. Bought.
The case dragged on for weeks. Evidence was twisted, reports rewritten. The opposing lawyer, a top-tier name from one of the city's most powerful firms, attacked viciously. Judges turned cold. Witnesses went quiet.
Then came the verdict.
Mike Reyes was found liable.
Liam couldn't believe it. They had dashcam footage, street cameras, testimonies. All of it buried beneath power, money, and corruption.
And Vega stood beside him. Silent. Cold. Not surprised at all.
Liam stared at him.
"You knew."
Vega said nothing.
---
The hospital room was quiet. Mike stared at the ceiling.
"So... I'm the reason she's gone."
Liam sat by the window, face unreadable. "You did nothing wrong."
Mike closed his eyes. "Then why does it feel like I did?"
Liam said nothing. He just stared at the lawyer's business card still sitting on the table. Its clean surface now seemed almost taunting.
Days passed.
Mike stopped talking as much. Then he stopped eating. The light in his eyes that once carried strength—even when he was broken—slowly faded.
Liam tried to be strong. Tried to smile. Tried to hold the both of them up… but his father was sinking too fast.
And then one morning…
Liam woke up to silence. A silence too still, too deep. He found him in the garage.
It was too late.
---
Liam didn't go to the funeral.
He couldn't.
Instead, he sat alone in the dark, fists clenched, head low.
He was angry.
Not just hurt—furious.
At the law that promised fairness and delivered betrayal.
At the judge who wore a robe of justice but weighed gold heavier than truth.
At the lawyers—all of them—who twisted the truth like it was a game.
And most of all... at him.
The driver.
The rich man's son whose only punishment was an inconvenience. Whose family bought silence like it was nothing. Who walked free while yours was buried under grief.
His once dream of becoming a lawyer—the ambition that had burned bright in his chest since childhood—had twisted into something darker.
Now, all he felt was hate.
Hate for what the law had become.
Hate for what it allowed.
And somewhere deep inside... a quiet vow was beginning to form.
---
"Fuck those lawyers. Fuck the law."
Liam spat the words into the night, his voice hoarse and trembling.
He didn't care who heard.
He wandered the streets—no destination, just rage.
The city lights blurred through his haze as his legs carried him to the first place that looked like it didn't care who he was.
A small corner liquor store.
He stepped inside, grabbed the first bottle he saw, and slammed some bills on the counter without a word.
That night, he drank until the burn in his throat numbed the fire in his chest.
But even drunk, the anger stayed.
Quiet. Heavy. And unrelenting.
---
Liam stumbled out of the liquor store, the bottle still half-full, the rest of it already burning in his gut.
It was his first drink.
And it hit hard.
Everything around him blurred—honking cars, bright lights, even the pain.
But the anger? That stayed. Clear as day.
In his haze, his thoughts twisted.
They did this.
The lawyers. The judge. The bastard who killed his mother and walked.
He remembered their faces. Their smug confidence. Their practiced sympathy.
And in that drunken, grieving rage… a thought broke loose.
"If the law won't punish them—then I will," he muttered.
He gripped the bottle tighter.
For the first time, revenge felt sharper than justice.
---
Just as Liam staggered down the road, bottle in hand, eyes wild with pain and vengeance—fate struck again.
Time slowed.
The sound of the city dulled. The night lights stretched into blurs. And then there it was—the truck—barreling forward, unstoppable.
He stared into the blinding headlights, heart thundering in his chest.
And with a bitter breath, he uttered:
"I fucking hate lawyers."
And then—
Impact.
The truck slammed into him without mercy.
Fast. Brutal. Final.
His body hit the pavement like glass, everything going silent in an instant.
The law had failed him.
The justice he believed in had betrayed him.
And now, the world had finished the job.
---
Blackness. Then light. A blinding, sterile light.
He gasped, but the breath came out broken and tiny. Weak.
He blinked.
The ceiling was white. Cold. Not the street. Not blood. Not death.
Voices echoed faintly.
"Congratulations, madam, sir—it's a boy."
His head buzzed. His body felt… wrong.
He tried to sit up, but his limbs didn't respond. He turned his hand over—
But it wasn't his hand.
It was small. Soft. Fragile.
He stared at it in disbelief. His mouth opened instinctively.
But only a baby's gurgle escaped.
"W-What the fu—?"
Panic. Confusion. He was alive. He was reborn.
And somehow… he was a baby.