Adrian had wanted greatness from the very start of his life. He wanted prestige, power, to be someone who mattered. So he spent his entire life training, studying, and, in the process, ignoring any semblance of a social life.
After years of struggle and relentless effort, he became the CEO of a major private medical organization—the best in the entire country. Adrian himself was not a doctor, but he handpicked the finest specialists in their respective fields, assembling a team capable of running the most successful and expensive clinic in the nation.
By his thirties, Adrian had achieved what few could even dream of: immense wealth, clinics in every major city worldwide, and a reputation for excellence. He was brilliant, a mind capable of solving complex problems faster than most could even process, and relentless in applying that intelligence to achieve his goals.
Adrian was tall, strikingly handsome, with dark, perfectly styled hair and a sharp jawline that gave him an air of intensity. He was always impeccably dressed, every detail of his appearance carefully curated to project control and power. Years of disciplined training had sculpted him into a strong, muscular figure—fast, agile, and capable of feats most would struggle to match. Women were drawn to him wherever he went; he had numerous lovers over the years, fleeting and thrilling, but never a wife, never children—he had no time for attachments that could slow him down.
One day, while walking to work and waiting at a traffic light, he noticed a little girl suddenly run into the street, chasing after a ball. Adrian saw her sprinting straight toward an oncoming truck. He could have saved her—his speed and strength were unmatched even in his early thirties—but he did nothing. He watched coldly as the moment unfolded, expecting the inevitable.
But fate had other plans. At the last second, the truck swerved to avoid hitting the girl and struck Adrian instead. He died instantly.
Or so it seemed.
Adrian awoke in a completely white realm, a place of utter silence and peace. In the distance, he could hear only laughter—a figure, unseen, who he assumed was some god-like entity. The laughter echoed, hollow and mocking. Then the voice spoke.
"You lived a sad life," it said. "All work, all study, nothing for socialization or fun… and then you die in the dumbest way possible."
Adrian shrugged mentally. "Well, it is what it is. I lived my life. I was many things, but I'm dead now. So I guess I can go wherever I'm meant to go—heaven, hell, purgatory, whatever."
The figure laughed harder. "Hahaha… not in your case. You will be reborn in another world."
Adrian blinked. "Really? No need for that. My life was fine—I'm satisfied enough to die in peace."
The figure's tone darkened. "Maybe you are, but I am not. Like it or not, you will be reborn."
Before Adrian could respond, he swore loudly—and suddenly, he was in the body of a crying baby, staring at the wooden ceiling of some house.
Crying as a baby, Kael (Adrian) had no idea what to do. He had lived over thirty years and achieved everything he wanted. Now he was supposed to live as a baby, then a child, then a teenager? It was horrifying, humiliating, and absurd. He wanted to end it all immediately—but he guessed that the figure would just throw him back into infancy again if he tried. No escape.
His parents, meanwhile, were ecstatic about their new baby boy. They debated names and eventually decided on Kael, though Adrian, now Kael, didn't even hear it amidst his crying and shock.
When he finally calmed down enough to look around, he realized he was in a small wooden house with a brick stove for heating. Then he looked at his father—an enormous, classic woodsman, huge and muscular from labor, with a thick black beard and long black hair. His arms were thick, his hands enormous. Kael immediately thought to himself, Well, he definitely satisfied my mother. He couldn't help but smirk in his baby-sized misery.
His mother held him gently, an emotional, delicate woman whose eyes teared up as she looked at him. Her long, light-brown hair framed her slim body, and Kael could tell just by the smell of the cooking that she was an excellent chef. Every meal was divine, yet he was furious—he couldn't eat solid food. He had to breastfeed.
A thirty-plus-year-old man breastfeeding. The thought was mortifying. He tried to ignore it, desperate to "grow up" as quickly as possible, but the absurdity of the situation gnawed at him.
End of Chapter 1