The boy's gear looked like human clothing with sharp technological elements— a look both primitive and futurist. He was bare chested, wearing a red leather harness with a trailing strap nearly his height, loose shorts, and a heavy belt. A horned helmet with glowing red eyes completed the look, giving him a dragon-like presence. But what caught Goldick's attention was his right arm… metallic, jointed, and unmistakably mechanical.
The boy sprinted across the junkyard, his bare feet clanging against scattered metal sheets. In his small arms was a bundle of scrap tech and broken tools that he dropped without care the moment he saw her. His glowing helmet eyes flickered erratically as he cried out again, his voice cracking with emotion.
"Mommy! You're awake! You're really awake!"
Goldick froze. The boy collided with him, throwing his arms around Goldick's waist, clutching him tightly as if he were afraid to let go. The force nearly knocked Goldick off balance.
"Hey, what the—?"
Goldick stammered, his hands hovering awkwardly in the air. The boy pressed his face into Goldick's chest, sobbing hard, his small shoulders shaking.
"I thought you were gone again! You didn't move, you didn't breathe— everybody thought you wouldn't come back this time!"
Goldick stood there, stunned. The words hit him like distant echoes in a foreign language.
"Come back? What the hell is he talking about?"
He looked down at the boy, and for a brief second, something inside him cracked. The kid's voice, the trembling in it… it was raw, desperate. The same way he sounded when his family died before his first Olympic match.
Without thinking, Goldick's hand moved to the boy's head, brushing his hair aside. It was soft, unkempt, and colored like rusted copper— almost the same shade as his own long red hair. The sight made something twist painfully in his chest.
"Why are you crying like that? I don't even know you."
The boy looked up, his eyes wide beneath the flickering helmet.
"Don't joke like that, Mom… it's me! It's Rusty! Your son!"
Goldick's brain froze. The air left his lungs in one sharp breath.
"Son?"
He repeated, the word trembling out of his mouth. The kid nodded quickly, tears still streaking down his cheeks.
"You scared me! I thought you'd never wake up again! I… I didn't know what to do if you were gone. I can't live without you!"
Goldick's lips parted, but no words came out. He felt the sting in his eyes before he realized what it was, a tear slipped down his cheek. For a moment, the panic quieted. For a moment, he wasn't Goldick Bravo, the Olympic champion, or the man with a ruined reputation. He was… someone else.
Then it hit him again, the wrongness of everything.
"Wait— what the fuck did you just call me?"
Goldick shouted suddenly, stepping back, pointing at the boy.
"Mommy? Mom?! I am not your damn mother! I'm a man! A full grown man! You hear me?!"
The boy blinked, confused, his small face scrunching up as if he couldn't understand a single word. Goldick stumbled backward, clutching his head.
"This can't be real! I don't have a kid— hell, I don't even want kids! What kind of sick joke is this?"
He looked down again at the boy, at that red hair that matched his own. A chill ran through him as realization clawed its way into his mind.
"No… no, no, no! This isn't happening. I got murdered. I died. I was Goldick Bravo. And now I'm—"
He looked at his thin hands, at the wound on his side, then back at the trembling boy in front of him.
"I got transmigrated into a single mom's body!"
He dropped to his knees.
"You've got to be kidding me! I died drowning in pussy, and now I wake up as a broke, bleeding mother in a junkyard! What kind of cosmic bullshit is this?"
The boy— Rusty, just stared at him in fear and confusion, his small hands clenched at his sides.
"Mommy… please don't say weird things again. You're scaring me."
Goldick pressed his palms against his face, groaning loudly.
"Oh, I'm scaring you? Kid, I'm the one who just lost his dick and gained you!"
Celine tilted his head, completely lost.
"Your head must still hurt, huh? Come on, Mom. Let's go home. It's not safe here— the red river will just make your head worse."
Goldick was losing it. Completely. He stumbled in circles in the shallow red water, tugging at his own hair, mumbling incoherently.
"No way, no damn way— this isn't real! I'm not a woman, I'm not a redhead, and I sure as hell not a mom!"
The little boy was still tugging on his arm, desperately trying to drag him toward the shore.
"Mom, please! Don't stay in the red river too long! It's bad, really bad!"
He thrashed in the shallow water, splashing furiously.
"Get off me! I can't be your mother, kid! I have to find my body! My real body!"
He ranted, sloshing water everywhere.
"I had women, lots of them! My life was perfect! And now I'm stuck with boobs and—"
Suddenly something pulled his dress hard from behind. Goldick stumbled forward, nearly face planting into the mud. He turned around furiously and saw the hyena biting the hem of his tattered dress, pulling with all its strength to drag him out of the river.
"You ugly thing! Let go of my—!"
But the beast didn't stop. It growled lowly, determined, its yellow eyes flicking from him to the boy as if to say: "Move, idiot!"
"Mother, please!"
The boy begged again, his small hands shaking as he pointed at the reddish current.
"The red river makes us sick! You can't stay in it long… please!"
Goldick opened his mouth to yell again, but the sound died in his throat. The boy suddenly coughed hard. A wet, awful sound. He doubled over, his small hands clutching his chest as blood splattered into the water. His nose started to bleed immediately after.
"Hey! Hey, what the hell— what's happening?! Why are you coughing up blood!"