Chapter 1 – A Second Chance
The faint buzz of the fluorescent light hummed above his bed, flickering every now and then, casting uneven shadows . The smell of disinfectant clung to the air, sharp and sterile.
Lionel lay motionless, his body little more than skin stretched over brittle bones. Tubes ran from his arms into machines that beeped in a rhythm slower and slower with each passing minute. Every breath rattled like broken glass in his chest. Every moment he had left felt like eternal suffering.
'So this is it… the end of the line.'
His eyes, sunken but still sharp, stared at the ceiling as memories clawed their way up from the depths of his past. Not happy ones. Not the kind you'd brag about to grandchildren. No, his life had been one long joke told by the gods as dark humor.
He remembered bouncing from one orphanage to another, each promising "care" but really just a place to dump unwanted kids like garbage waiting for collection. He remembered washing dishes until his hands were raw, hauling crates until his back nearly snapped, running deliveries in the rain while coughing blood into his sleeve.
Like all that work was for nothing and truly it was .
And then there were the cigarettes.
He snorted softly at the memory.
"Hah… never thought those would actually catch up to me. Figured I'd just die in some alley after a bad shift… not cancer chewing me apart in a hospital bed."
His lips twisted into a cracked grin. His body was weak, but his laughter bubbled up anyway, dry and bitter.
"Hah… hahahaha… what a waste. All those jobs, all that smoke, all that running around—yet I never lived a single damn day. Not once. Just an empty shell that pretended survival was life. What a joke."
He coughed, his chest spasming, but the humor only grew sharper.
"I worked, I smoked, I slept. Didn't love, didn't travel, didn't even taste anything better than instant noodles. I thought I was tough for making it this far, but look at me now—rotting, alone, and dying like a dog. Truly… an impressive achievement, heh "
The steady beep of the heart monitor slowed.
Beep.
Beep…
Bee—
Silence.
But the silence did not last.
Lionel felt weightless.
When he opened his eyes—or thought he did—he floated in an endless void, a cosmic sea of black and violet currents swirling around him. His body no longer ached. His chest no longer burned.
And then—
DINGGGGG.
The sound was massive, like a bell struck at the dawn of creation. It echoed through the emptiness, not only heard but felt, vibrating deep within his soul.
Lionel blinked, then smirked.
"Hah. Even death needs sound effects? Figures. What's next—credits rolling?"
His laughter rang out, sharp and mocking.
A voice followed, not male, not female, but something that dug straight into his being.
"If you had another chance… would you live differently?"
Lionel tilted his head, grin widening.
"Would I live differently? Hell yes, I would. My first run was a disaster—working myself to the bone, smoking like a chimney, wasting years in jobs that killed me faster than the cancer. Didn't live, didn't love, didn't do a damn thing worth remembering. Empty. That's what I was."
He chuckled again, darker this time, the sound bouncing endlessly in the void.
"But give me another chance? I'll flip the script. I'll live big. I'll live loud. I'll take every risk, burn every bridge, grab everything this world has to offer. Regrets? Hah. Not this time."
The void trembled, cracks of white light splitting across the darkness like shattered glass. Warmth surged through him, pulling him forward.
His laughter echoed until the light swallowed everything.
Lionel gasped. Air rushed into his lungs—not shallow, painful wheezes, but deep, powerful breaths. For the first time in years, his chest didn't feel like a battlefield.
His eyes flew open.
He wasn't in the hospital anymore.
Above him stretched a high, arched ceiling of white marble veined with gold. The bed beneath him was massive, draped in silk sheets softer than anything he had ever touched. Velvet curtains swayed gently by tall windows, sunlight pouring through and bathing the chamber in golden glow.
He sat up abruptly, then froze.
His body… it wasn't frail. His hands were strong, his arms filled with vitality, his skin unmarked by needles or scars. He swung his legs off the bed and caught sight of a tall silver-framed mirror.
The boy staring back at him had sharp features, messy dark hair, and eyes that burned with life. He looked about sixteen. Young. Whole. Alive.
"…This… isn't me." His voice cracked—not from weakness, but from disbelief.
He touched his face, his chest. His heart beat strong under his palm. No cancer. No decay. Only life.
"I… reincarnated?" The word tumbled out, half-laugh, half-breathless awe.
Before he could process it, the massive double doors creaked open.
A maid stepped in black uniform crisp, posture perfect. Her eyes widened when she saw him awake.
"Young Master!" she gasped, rushing forward before kneeling low. "You've finally awakened!"
Lionel blinked. Young Master?
The maid's voice trembled with relief. "The entire household feared the worst after your collapse. Go inform the Duchess immediately!"
Duke? Household? Young Master?
Confusion swirled through him, but one thing was certain—Lionel, the empty husk who died in a hospital bed, was gone.
This was a second chance.
His lips curled into a crooked grin, humor in his tone.
"This time… no regrets. Let's see how badly I can fuck this life up . He he "