Chapter 3: "Happy Respawn"
January 5, 1998 – Los Angeles, California
California Children's Home Society
---
The morning dawned different.
Richard noticed it as soon as he opened his eyes: the orphanage's hallways smelled of freshly baked cake, and in the distance, he could hear a murmur of excited voices, stifled giggles, and the clinking of plates. There was something in the air, a kind of joyful electricity that wasn't usual on any Tuesday.
As he walked toward the dining room, he discovered the reason: balloons stuck to the entrance, colorful ribbons hanging from the ceiling, and a huge sign, hand-painted with worn markers, that read in uneven letters:
> "HAPPY BIRTHDAY RICHARD"
The letters were crooked, some stained with ink, and all around them were drawings of dinosaurs, lightning bolts, and even what appeared to be a dragon wearing a party hat.
Richard stood for a few seconds, his throat tight.
> "Wow… this is for me."
In his other life, birthdays were just a forgotten Facebook notification. If he was lucky, a "Happy Birthday Bro" posted at 11:59 p.m. by someone he'd never even met in person. There was never a cake, no banners, no people actually waiting for him.
But here… here it was different.
The kids were waiting for him inside, some hiding behind tables, others barely concealing their excitement. As soon as he crossed the threshold, they all shouted in unison, disordered but full of joy:
"Surprise, Richieee!"
Susan appeared from the back, wearing a ridiculous party hat and grinning from ear to ear.
"Happy birthday, honey!"
Richard put his hands to his face, feigning dramatic shock, as if he'd just witnessed a Game of Thrones plot twist.
"No way!" A birthday party? And there are no hidden microtransactions here?
The children looked at him in confusion, but started laughing anyway. They didn't understand the reference, but they did understand the affection in his voice.
Lily ran up to him with a glittery paper crown.
"It's for you, King of the Dinosaurs!"
Richard bent down for her to place it on him, bowing his head with exaggerated solemnity.
"I accept the title, my subject. I promise to rule with justice... and cake."
The children clapped and laughed. Susan rolled her eyes, but couldn't help but smile.
On the long dining room table were colorful plastic cups, orange juice, cookies, and a homemade cake with white frosting and five red candles awkwardly stuck in. It wasn't a fancy bakery cake, but for Richard, it was the best cake of his life.
He approached, and for a moment, the murmur of laughter and voices faded into the background. He looked at the flickering candles, tiny flames that watched him like five glowing eyes. He felt a lump in his throat.
> "Five years in this world… and this is the first time I truly feel like I belong somewhere."
Susan patted him gently on the back.
"Come on, make a wish, Richie."
He closed his eyes. And silently, amid the echo of his two lives, he prayed:
> "May this respawn be worth it."
He blew out the candles. The children clapped, shouted, and surrounded him, some throwing paper streamers at him, others hugging him tightly.
Richard let himself go, truly laughing, without sarcasm or filters. That laugh wasn't that of an ironic gamer or a tired adult; it was the pure laughter of a five-year-old surrounded by friends who, like him, just wanted a little happiness.
And deep in his chest, a thought crept in without him being able to stop it:
> "Maybe... maybe this second life isn't so bad."
—
The orphanage, normally orderly and quiet, became a makeshift theme park for a few hours. The hallways were decorated with balloons hanging from doorknobs and twisted streamers held together with tape. It wasn't a professional display, but every detail was filled with love and effort, and that made it a thousand times more precious to Richard.
The playground filled with shouts and laughter with the first major attraction: the water balloon competition. The children ran in all directions, dodging and throwing like warriors in an epic battle. Richard, with his superhuman athleticism, could have easily swept the boards, but he held back; he let himself be caught several times, exaggerating his falls as if he were in an action movie.
"I'm hit! I'm... falling...!" He threw himself dramatically onto the grass, tongue sticking out, drawing laughter from the little ones.
The scene culminated with Susan soaked, her hair dripping with water, futilely chasing Mark, who ran with a cry of victory. Richard, watching this, thought that he had rarely seen anything so ridiculously happy in his two lives.
Then, inside the dining room, came the board games. There were Parcheesi, checkers, cards, and even an old Monopoly board with crumpled bills and missing pieces. Richard, with his absurd IQ, could anticipate every move… but he still managed to fake clumsy mistakes:
"Oh no! I lost at checkers again… how could this happen to me…" he said, dramatizing with a hand to his forehead, as Tommy defeated him for the third time.
The boy jumped with excitement, convinced he was a prodigy. The other children looked at him with renewed confidence: if Richie could lose, then they could win too. And Richard smiled silently, satisfied that it wasn't about him, but about them.
The climax came with the homemade chocolate cake. It wasn't large, nor was it perfectly decorated; the frosting leaned to one side, and one of the candles was crooked. But when it was placed on the table, with six lit candles twinkling like small stars, Richard felt it was more beautiful than any expensive party in his first life.
The children gathered around him, singing in off-key voices, sometimes jumping ahead or repeating verses. The sound was chaotic, but it was full of tenderness, warmth, something real.
Richard looked at those smiling little faces: Tommy with chocolate on his cheek, Lily singing off-key but happy, Mark trying to clap the rhythm by tapping the table. Even Susan, still wet from the water balloons, was there, clapping with a crooked hat.
In that instant, his chest tightened.
> "I never had this before… not in my first life, not in this one. Maybe… this is my first real party."
He closed his eyes, feeling the excitement wrap around him like a warm blanket. And he made a wish.
He didn't wish for riches, or superpowers, or fame. He didn't think of feats or adventures. His wish was simple, childlike, and therefore pure:
> "I don't want to be alone anymore."
He blew out the candles. The smoke rose in soft spirals, disappearing into the air of the dining room, as if carrying his wish to some secret place in the universe.
The children burst into applause, shouts, and hugs. Some surrounded him to congratulate him, others handed him small "gifts": folded drawings, a broken toy car fixed with tape, a shiny stone found in the yard. They were humble gifts, but Richard received them as if they were priceless treasures.
With a genuine smile, he hugged them one by one.
> "Perhaps this is what it means to be truly reborn… not a new body, not new powers… but a new opportunity to feel."
—
The Unexpected Gift
While everyone was eating cake, the orphanage's main door opened with a soft creak. It wasn't usual for someone to interrupt a birthday party, especially with such a presence.
Principal Harris appeared first, his expression always formal, and behind him entered a man who seemed to fill the space just by walking.
Jackson Evans.
54 years old, 1.91 meters tall, with an impeccable three-piece suit that contrasted with the childlike colors of the balloons and streamers. His gray hair was carefully combed, his posture as erect as an oak tree, and his serious, penetrating eyes seemed to have seen too much.
The air changed instantly. The caretakers stood up almost instinctively, with a mixture of respect and caution. The children, who seconds before had been laughing with their mouths full of chocolate, fell silent, fascinated by the imposing figure.
Richard, sitting with a piece of cake in his hand, watched him with overwhelming curiosity. It wasn't just his elegant bearing or the confidence in every step; it was something else… an invisible weight that enveloped him, as if every glance, every gesture carried with it a history of loss and battles.
"Children," Principal Harris announced in a solemn voice, "this gentleman is calling. His name is Jackson Evans."
Richard raised an eyebrow, barely murmuring, "Evans…"
The last name echoed in his mind. He had never heard it before in this life… and yet his body reacted as if he knew it.
Jackson scanned the room. The children were looking at him with a mixture of amazement and nervousness. He barely managed a smile, brief, polite, almost as if he was learning how to use it again. And then… his eyes stopped.
Right on Richard.
It wasn't a coincidence. It wasn't a random glance. It was a recognition, as if he'd gone there looking for him and, at last, had found him.
Richard felt a chill run down his spine. It wasn't fear. Nor discomfort. It was something else, a strange familiarity that struck him deep inside, like a blurred memory that didn't quite belong to this life or the last.
The man took a few firm steps toward him. Each stride seemed to drag silence, and the other children moved aside, leaving him a clear path.
"Are you Richard?" Jackson asked, his voice deep, laden with more than simple curiosity. There was tenderness hidden beneath, mixed with an old sadness, like that of someone who had lost too much and was afraid of losing again.
Richard stared at him. He looked only five years old, but behind those eyes shone an adult soul, accustomed to reading people. He saw the rectitude, the discipline, the toughness of a man who had lived to control... but also the hidden tremor of someone burdened by guilt.
He tried to sound calm, casual, even though something inside him was stirring strongly.
"It depends... are you going to give me another cake or did you just come to ask?"
The children burst into immediate laughter, and even Susan, who was trying to maintain her composure, had to cover her mouth to keep from laughing. The ice broke for a moment.
Jackson wasn't offended. On the contrary, something in his features softened. His lips curved into a genuine smile, the first he'd shown in a long time. A brief, contained, but real smile.
"You have character... I like that."
Richard looked down at his cake for a moment, then back up, studying him. He was a stranger. He'd never seen him in his previous life, nor in this one. And yet... his chest tightened, as if something in his veins knew how to recognize him.
This man conveyed respect, strength... but also a pain that Richard couldn't ignore. A pain that, unwillingly, felt familiar.
> "This guy… he's not just anyone. There's something about him… something of mine."
And although he didn't fully understand it, Richard knew, deep down, that Jackson Evans's arrival wasn't just any visit. It was a turning point.
A before and after.
—
Later, when the party dissolved into distant laughter and the children returned to their games, Jackson approached Richard. He walked with the calmness of someone who measured each step, as if even something as simple as crossing a room carried the weight of a lifetime.
In his hands, he held a small box, wrapped in blue paper with a discreet bow. He stopped in front of the boy and, without losing his imposing bearing, his voice softened.
"Happy birthday, Richard."
Richard blinked in surprise. No visitor brought gifts for children at the orphanage; the closest thing was a bag of candy shared between twenty hands. He took the box carefully, as if it might break just by looking at it, and began to unwrap it.
Inside was a wristwatch. It gleamed in the light, a classic design, much too large for his small wrist. It wasn't a toy, nor something bought at the last minute; it was an object with a history, polished over the years and laden with invisible memories.
"It's a little big," Richard said, arching an eyebrow and turning the watch between his fingers. His tone was light, but his eyes shone with that keen curiosity that distinguished him.
Jackson looked at him closely, and something in his face cracked for a second. His voice came out lower, almost nostalgic.
"It was for me too when I received it." He straightened his tie, as if the gesture gave him the strength to continue. "It was my father's. He gave it to me when I turned five."
Richard looked up. That detail was no coincidence. Five years, to the same day as he is now. He felt a strange tingling in his chest, as if the watch weighed more than the metal it was made of. It wasn't just a gift: it was a chain, an invisible bond that tied him to something much larger than his life in the orphanage.
He held it to his chest, closing his eyes for a moment, and then nodded seriously.
"Then... I'll take care of it." Until I'm fine.
The answer was simple, seemingly childlike... but something in his tone, in his firmness, sounded too mature for a boy his age.
Jackson looked at him, and for the first time in many years, he felt a lump in his throat. He wasn't prepared for the warmth of those words, nor for the way Richard was looking at him: with a mixture of pure innocence and inexplicable maturity. As if that child understood him more than he should have.
A whirlwind of emotions coursed through the man: pride, pain, hope, fear. All tangled up in an instant.
> "Laura... even though I failed you, I won't fail him."
His fingers trembled slightly, but he hid them behind his jacket pocket. Even so, Susan, from afar, watched him with her arms crossed, noticing the crack in that iron shell.
The children, still playing in the background, paid no attention. Only Richard, with his large, alert eyes, perceived the magnitude of what was happening. And although he still didn't fully understand, something inside him whispered that this man was no stranger.
That this watch wasn't a simple gift.
It was a promise.
---
When Jackson left that afternoon, Richard stood in the orphanage courtyard. The air smelled of damp grass and chocolate cake still wafting from the dining room. On his too-small wrist, the watch he had just received glittered.
It was large, heavy, cold against his skin... and yet it gave him a strange feeling: as if it weren't a simple object, but an invisible thread connecting him to this gray-haired man.
He sat on the rusty swing, pushing himself with the balls of his feet. The swing was slow, almost hypnotic, as he held the watch to his chest.
> "Who are you really, old man? And why do I feel like your gaze weighed more than a thousand words?"
Richard wasn't used to it. He'd learned to read people like NPCs in a game: behavioral patterns, superficial emotions, obvious intentions. But Jackson was different. His smile wasn't that of a complacent adult; it had been awkward, shaky, like someone who'd forgotten how to smile… and remembered it right when he saw him.
That disconcerted him.
---
The other children ran around him, shouting, playing tag with a half-deflated ball. Occasionally, they called to him:
"Richie, come play!"
"Yes, Richie, now it's your turn to catch!"
He raised his hand and responded with a friendly smile, but he didn't move from the swing. He couldn't. Something inside him kept him rooted to that moment, mulling over feelings he didn't know how to explain.
"Why did you look at me like that?" he murmured softly, unaware that he was speaking out loud.
Susan, who had been watching him from the dining room door while clearing dishes, watched him in silence. She was used to Richard's bursts of energy: always running, laughing, solving everything with jokes and strange references that no one understood. But that afternoon, for the first time, she saw him still, his brow slightly furrowed, like an adult trapped in a body that was too small.
And inside, Susan felt a small knot of fear.
"That boy... he always seems to be waiting for something. As if his real life weren't here."
---
Richard gripped the watch tightly, feeling the cold metal in his palm.
He couldn't explain why, but he was certain that this man hadn't come to the orphanage by chance. He'd been looking for something. He'd been looking for... him.
And even though he didn't know him, even though he didn't know his story, something inside his chest churned with a mix of impossible emotions:
Anxiety, from the fear of getting his hopes up for something that might never come.
Hope, because ever since he'd been reborn, he'd always dreamed of having a family.
Fear, because he didn't want to abandon the children who had become his siblings in that place.
It was an internal battle he couldn't win. A normal six-year-old wouldn't think about that... but Richard wasn't a normal boy.
> "Tutorial completed... now the main campaign begins."
He laughed to himself at the thought, as if that phrase anchored him. A kind of sarcastic shield to hide what he truly felt: that something had changed forever on that birthday.
---
Meanwhile, a few blocks away, Jackson Evans was in the backseat of his car. His right hand rested on his leg, empty. The watch was gone.
He looked at the reflection of the city in the window, and his eyes moistened for the first time in years. He pressed his lips together, swallowed, and murmured:
"Richard…"
The driver said nothing. Silence filled the vehicle, a silence that was half sadness, half relief. Jackson felt like he had recovered something he thought was lost forever.
And deep inside, he made a decision:
> "I'm going to bring him with me. No matter what."
---
Back in the yard, the sun was beginning to set, turning everything orange and gold. Richard was still on the swing, surrounded by children's laughter that seemed increasingly distant.
And for the first time in a long time, he smiled sincerely, without irony, without jokes, without masks. A calm, hopeful smile, as if the watch on his wrist had given him permission to believe that life could offer him something more.
He didn't know it yet... but he had just met the man who would change his destiny forever.
---