The darkness that had swallowed Jinwoo for decades in the Time Capsule finally lifted.
He opened his eyes.
The ceiling above him was cracked and yellowed, a faint light bulb flickering as if it too struggled to survive. The air smelled faintly of detergent and cooked rice, humble and worn. His chest rose and fell heavily, and when he tried to move, a sharp pain stabbed through his ribs.
He hissed.
This body was not his own.
He sat up slowly, pulling the thin blanket aside. What greeted him was a round, heavy child's body, skin marked with fresh bruises and cuts, the skin still swollen from recent blows. His arms shook just trying to support his weight. His lungs burned with every breath.
"…So this is the vessel," Jinwoo muttered coldly. His voice no longer carried the resonance of his old, adult self, but the high, weak tone of a ten-year-old.
And then the flood came.
Memories. Not his, but Daniel's.
The jeers of children rang in his mind like cruel bells.
"Fat pig!"
"Look at him wobble—hey, Daniel, roll for us!"
"Your mom's a garbage picker, right? She scrapes waste and sells it to feed you!"
"Hah! No dad, no money, no future! You're nothing but trash like her!"
In those memories, Daniel's little fists had trembled. He had tried—just once—to throw a punch. But it was laughable. The other boys had beaten him down, their fists and kicks merciless. His body had curled into a ball, his face pressed against the dirt, tears sliding silently down his cheeks.
The humiliation burned deeper than the pain. The words about his mother cut the deepest.
He remembered staggering home, face swollen and clothes torn. His mother's voice had broken the silence:
"Hyung-seok! What happened to you? Why are you hurt?"
But Daniel had run past her, locking himself in his small room. He sat there, knees pulled to his chest, unable to answer. His heart whispered one thing only: I'm weak. I'm useless.
That night, his mother had knocked gently, her voice trembling.
"My son… please, tell me what's wrong. Don't shut me out."
But Daniel had stayed silent.
The memory ended, but Jinwoo's fists clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms. The old businessman's heart—the heart that had endured betrayal and empire-building—roared with silent rage.
"You suffered this. And she suffered for you. All because you were weak." His jaw tightened, his eyes gleaming like sharpened steel. "Never again. I swear… I will not allow anyone to spit on her name. Every child who mocked you, every fool who looked down on her—they will pay. I will bury them in fear and kneel the world beneath our feet."
As his rage burned, a soft voice broke the silence.
"Hyung-seok… are you awake?"
The door creaked open. A tired but warm face peeked in—Daniel's mother. Her hair was tied messily, strands falling across her face. Her clothes smelled faintly of the restaurant where she worked, but her eyes shone with nothing but concern.
When she saw his bruises, her smile faltered, and she rushed to his side.
"My son! What happened? Who did this to you?" Her hands hovered above his injuries, shaking, too afraid to press down.
For a moment, Jinwoo froze. He had never known this. In his past life, he had been an orphan, clawing his way up with no one to catch him when he fell. A mother's love—this warm, desperate concern—was something he had craved in silence all his life.
A foreign warmth spread through his chest. He let out a breath and forced a reassuring smile.
"I'm alright, Mom. Really. I just got hurt while playing. It's nothing serious."
Her lips pressed tight, eyes glistening, but she nodded. "…At least wash up before dinner. I'll prepare something warm for you."
"Go ahead," Jinwoo replied softly. "I'll join you soon."
She gave him one last worried look before leaving.
The room fell silent again.
Jinwoo dragged himself toward the small bathroom. The floor creaked under his steps, and his reflection in the mirror nearly made him laugh.
A chubby, bruised child's face stared back at him. Round cheeks, swollen lips, tears dried at the edges. But behind those battered eyes burned something entirely new—the predator's calm, the emperor's hunger.
He placed his hand against the mirror.
"This body is weak. Soft. Pitiful." His voice dripped venom. "But weakness can be broken. Flesh can be reforged. I'll make this body my perfect vessel."
His lips curled into a cruel, determined smirk.
"I will become the richest, strongest man in this world. I will build an empire so vast, so unshakable, that no one will dare to challenge me. Not the bullies at school, not the gangs in the streets, not even the government. And anyone who dares mock her—" his eyes blazed, "—will beg for mercy on their knees."
The bruised child in the mirror remained the same. But the soul inside had changed.
Daniel Park was no longer just Daniel Park.
The Reincarnated Emperor had awakened.
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