"DON'T HIT ME!"
"PLEASE, MOM, STOP!"
"WHY CAN'T YOU DIE? JUST DIE!" My mother was beating me with an iron rod…
From a third-person view, I'm watching my past self—before reincarnation—being torn apart by pain.
My mother started beating me when I was four.
Maybe earlier. But everything I remember began after I turned four.
My mother was a prostitute, and her clients often came to our house.
My father was no better—just another piece of trash.
I was born when he was with her.
Sometimes he came to visit, but only to call me a loser.
As if my mother's beatings weren't enough, he always looked for an excuse to add more pain.
I saw my mother getting fucked by another man many times—and I was disgusted.
She broke me, piece by piece.
Nothing changed until elementary school.
Then, something did.
One day, I found my sunlight.
While wandering through the city, I stumbled upon a small library.
A kind middle-aged woman greeted me when I entered.
I always called her Mrs. Miller. She introduced me to books.
Whenever I didn't understand something, she explained it and debated with me.
It must've looked absurd—a small child talking about Freud, or trying to interpret Dostoevsky.
But Mrs. Miller taught me.
I searched for hope in life, yet I underestimated the curse of knowledge.
By the time I turned fifteen, it got worse.
Mrs. Miller was getting older, and the things I read were spiraling out of control.
I kept thinking, and thinking—the library became my home.
I understood the absurdity of life far too early, and it hit me hard.
If there's any good side to it, it's that my mother being a whore and my father being a bastard forced me to grow up too fast.
Mrs. Miller tried to take me away from my family, but the court never granted her custody.
I was never bullied, because even if five people ganged up on me, I was always the type to bite back.
Never forget, a cornered rat is more dangerous.
I was never kicked out of my home, though I wish I had been.
They seemed happy when I suffered.
Whenever I went outside, I wore a mask.
Only with Mrs. Miller could I be myself.
She taught me so much.
At home, I stayed out as long as I could—learned to play instruments in my spare time.
It never became more than a hobby.
Mrs. Miller lived just two streets away.
I scored incredibly high on the university exam and got into Harvard Law.
It was all because of Mrs. Miller. But that year… she passed away.
I stood before her grave."Mrs. Miller… thank you for everything, thank you…"I cried harder than I ever had in my entire life.
I became a successful lawyer, but my social circle was small.
I tried to live like a normal young man—because I had to deceive myself.
If I didn't, I wouldn't survive this life.
I started playing games.
One day, I found a game called "Before the Dawn".
It was technically an otome game, but surprisingly dark.
I fell in love with it. I didn't care about much else anymore.
Its world—half medieval, half modern—fascinated me.
A perfect world.A world I'd want to live in."Even there… happiness would be hard to find."
I read manga, watched anime, and explored philosophy—it was fun.
Sometimes I laughed, sometimes I was shaken to my core.
As a lawyer, I was successful.
My education and connections guaranteed that.
But there was another truth no one knew—my body was covered in old burn scars and cuts.
Every time I saw them, I remembered the pain.
Books, games, and work were all I had.
I was popular among women—successful, handsome. But I never thought of them romantically.
Freud says everything comes down to libido. He was wrong.
When a beautiful girl offered herself to me, I didn't refuse.
I slept with them—but every time, I felt empty.
After every sex, I threw up.
Eventually, I got used to it. But my mother's memories never left me.
I wished she were dead.
I wished she were dead.....But she wasn't.
I hated being touched.
I wouldn't even shake hands; I just placed my hand on my chest instead.
It was the same with women; my touch was fine, but their touch enraged me.
My illusion of being "normal" was always shattered in those moments.
As a lawyer, I didn't care if my clients were guilty or not.
The right to defense is sacred.
Maybe not to me, but society demands it before punishment.
My last client was different.
He was the defendant.
Usually, I could use legal loopholes to clear my clients, even when the plaintiff had solid evidence.
But not this time.
This case was about whether an abused child should stay with his family or go to an orphanage.
The evidence I had was damning.
I had to defend a bastard who hurt a child.
I made my choice.
Standing before the judge, I said:
"Your Honor, given the evidence and the legal protections for children, it's clear this child was abused. There's nothing to defend. According to the law, Mr. Henry T. Filming should go straight to FUCKING JAIL. THIS SON OF A BITCH IS GUILTY!"
The courtroom froze.
Even the judge had never seen me like that. I didn't care.
The man who beat his child was sentenced to nine years in prison.
It was all I could do.
As I walked toward my Ford Mustang in the parking lot, two Black men approached.
Something felt off. Just as I reached for the door, one grabbed me.
I kicked him hard between the legs.
The other one swung at me—I hit him back.
As he fell, he pulled out a gun and aimed it at my face.
"Mr. Henry sends his regards."
He coughed blood—and then shot me straight in the forehead.
Everything went dark. I was drifting in a dream, watching the fragments of my old life—the life I never wanted to remember.
The world shook.
"RAUL, WAKE UP!"
I opened my eyes "What's wrong, Artemis?"
Artemis looked at me with pity "You were trembling and groaning in your sleep… I tried to wake you, but you wouldn't."
A single tear fell from her eye.
I slowly sat up."It's fine… must've been Hypnos's doing. I'll visit him later."
I touched my face. And realized, I was crying...
When I saw Mrs. Miller…I didn't want that dream to end.
Damn it.
I wiped my tears away.