Chapter 1: The End and the Beginning
My name was Alex Rivera. Thirty-two years old, born and raised in Chicago, working dead-end security shifts at a warehouse on the South Side. Nothing special. No wife, no kids, just a shitty apartment in Pilsen with rent always two weeks late and a fridge that hummed louder than my thoughts. That Tuesday in late 2025, it rained like the sky was pissed off. I was walking home from the night shift, hood up, headphones blasting some old-school Kanye to drown out the city noise. Crossed 18th Street without looking twice—stupid, I know. A delivery truck hydroplaned, clipped me hard. One second I'm upright, the next I'm airborne, then pavement. Pain exploded everywhere, then nothing. Just black.
No tunnel of light. No grandma waiting with open arms. Just... void. Endless, suffocating nothing. I floated there—or whatever you call it when there's no body left—panicking in silence. "This is it?" I thought. "All those years grinding, barely scraping by, and it ends with me splattered on asphalt like roadkill?" Regret hit harder than the truck. Missed chances. Friends I ghosted. The girl from the coffee shop I never asked out. Mom's birthday I forgot last year. Small shit that suddenly felt massive.
Then a voice cut through. Not loud, not booming like in movies. Calm, almost tired, like a DMV clerk on their last hour.
"Alex Rivera. Soul intact. Eligibility confirmed for reincarnation protocol."
I tried to speak. Nothing came out—no mouth, no lungs. But the voice kept going.
"Three wishes. Standard package. No negotiations. Spin the wheel for your vessel, or I randomize it. Clock's ticking."
A glowing wheel appeared in the dark, like a casino slot machine made of starlight. Sections blurred past: historical figures, anime characters, random nobodies. I focused, willed it to stop. It slowed. Landed on a name.
Justin Drew Bieber. Born March 1, 1994. Stratford, Ontario, Canada.
I knew the name. Everyone did. The kid who blew up on YouTube, became the biggest teen idol ever, then... the fall. The scandals, the arrests, the breakdowns, the industry vultures. The stuff with Diddy that came out years later—alleged parties, manipulation, the kind of dark underbelly that made headlines in the 2020s. I remembered the memes, the documentaries, the way fame chewed him up.
"Accept?" the voice asked.
I hesitated. Then thought: *Better than nothing. And I know the script. I can change it.*
"Yes."
"First wish granted: Innate musical talent amplified—perfect pitch, rhythm intuition, vocal range potential unlocked. You will still need to train; no instant mastery."
"Second wish: Life Guidance System integration. Full-spectrum entertainer blueprint. Music production, songwriting, acting fundamentals, athletic conditioning, business acumen, mental resilience protocols, red-flag detection for exploitative relationships and contracts. Real-time alerts, skill trees, progress tracking. Upgrades via milestones."
"Third wish: Physical optimization. Facial structure aligned to Justin Bieber's baseline—blond hair, youthful features—but enhanced: sapphire-blue eyes for striking contrast, symmetrical bone structure, natural charisma aura. Immunity to chemical dependencies; substances will metabolize harmlessly. Height capped at original trajectory for authenticity, but optimized muscle response for dance/sports."
The voice paused.
"Final confirmation: Reincarnation into the fetal form of Justin Drew Bieber, currently in utero with Patricia 'Pattie' Mallette, Stratford, Ontario. Timeline fixed—no butterfly effects on major events unless you act. Same world, same dates, same dangers. You retain full adult memories. Use them wisely."
I felt a pull, like being sucked through a straw. The void spun. Then warmth. Darkness again, but different—wet, muffled, rhythmic thumping like a bass drum. Heartbeat. Not mine. Hers.
I was inside. Curled up, tiny, blind, but aware. Floating in fluid, hearing distant voices. A woman's soft humming—Pattie's voice, I realized later. Young, tired, scared. She was only eighteen, pregnant by accident with a guy who wasn't ready. Low-income life ahead. But she chose to keep me. Kept singing to her belly sometimes, old church hymns mixed with pop radio.
Time blurred in there. No clocks, just sensations. Growing limbs, kicks that felt like my own reflexes. The system pinged early—soft blue text in my mind, like augmented reality only I could see.
[Life Guidance System Online]
Host: Justin Drew Bieber
(Soul: Alex Rivera)
Current Status: Fetal Development – Week 28 equivalent
Core Abilities Unlocked:
Perfect Pitch (Passive)
Charisma Boost +15% (Innate)
Addiction Immunity (Passive)
Sapphire Blue Eyes (Cosmetic/Genetic)
Skill Trees Available:
Music Mastery (Vocal, Instrumental, Production)
Performance Arts (Dance, Acting, Stage Presence)
Physical Optimization (Athletics, Martial Arts, Endurance)
Business & Industry Navigation (Contracts, Networking, Red Flags)
Mental Fortress (Anxiety Resistance, Focus, Therapy Protocols)
Alert: High-risk environment incoming post-2005. Industry predators flagged. Primary: Sean Combs (Diddy) – Exploitation probability: 87%. Secondary: Usher Raymond – Gatekeeper role, mixed intent.
Recommendation: Prioritize independence training. Avoid blind trust in managers until age 16.
I laughed inside—bubbles in amniotic fluid. A system. A goddamn cheat sheet for life. Not god-mode, but close enough. It even had tutorials: mental simulations where I could "practice" guitar chords in my head, run vocal scales without lungs yet. Acting scripts from classics. Basketball drills visualized. It was patient, like the best coach—never yelling, just dropping knowledge when I asked.
Months passed. Pattie talked to me more as due date neared. "You're gonna be special, baby. I can feel it." She was broke, working odd jobs, living with her mom Diane in a cramped Stratford house. Jeremy came around sometimes—awkward, young, not ready to be a dad. But he tried.
Then the day came. March 1, 1994. Contractions hit hard. Hospital rush—St. Joseph's in London, Ontario. Bright lights, doctors, Pattie's exhausted screams. I felt the squeeze, the pressure, the cold air hitting skin for the first time.
Cried. Real, loud, baby cry. But inside? I was grinning.
Pattie held me close, tears streaming. "Justin Drew," she whispered. "My little Justin."
I looked up—blurry at first, then sharpening. My eyes—sapphire blue, brighter than the original. Nurses cooed about them. "Those eyes! Like sapphires." Blond fuzz already on my head, soft and light.
The system pinged again.
Birth Complete.
New Life Initialized.
Objective: Become the Greatest Entertainer – Rewrite the Narrative.
First Milestone: Survive Infancy. Reward: Basic Motor Skills Boost.
I closed my eyes, tiny fists clenched. The timeline was the same. Fame at thirteen. The madness at fifteen. The darkness later. But this time, I remembered everything.
This time, I wouldn't let it break me.
I was back. And I was ready.
End of Chapter 1