Darkness.
At first, it felt like drowning—not in water, but in silence. Aron Tuner thought he had died. In fact, he was sure of it. The last thing he remembered was the rain, the broken windscreen, and Liana's lifeless face in his arms. He tried to move, but his body wouldn't respond. Something heavy pressed against his chest, while strange voices echoed far away.
Then, warmth.
The darkness cracked open like a shell, and faint light spilt in.
"Bruce… Bruce, can you hear us?" a woman's voice asked softly.
That name didn't belong to him. Bruce? No. He was Aron Tuner. The ruthless king of the underground. The man who shaped empires and crushed nations with numbers. Yet, when he tried to speak, a weak, childish voice came out instead.
"My… name… is…" The words broke before they could form.
It was then that he noticed his arms—small, fragile, soft. The strong, scarred hands of a fighter were gone. His chest barely rose when he breathed. Panic rushed through his body like ice.
He opened his eyes completely.
A young couple stood before him. The woman had silver hair tied in a bun and was wearing a crisp white dress. The man beside her was tall and calm, wearing glasses and a simple shirt. Both looked at him with eyes so full of love that it almost hurt to see.
"Oh, dear," the woman whispered, brushing the hair away from his forehead. "Our little Bruce finally woke up."
The man smiled warmly. "Welcome back, son."
For a moment, Aron thought he was dreaming. Son? He couldn't remember calling anyone that in decades. He wanted to tell them they were mistaken—that he wasn't their Bruce—but then a sharp pain struck his head.
It was like being hit by lightning. A flood of memories poured in—his childhood as Aron at the orphanage, the dark streets he once ruled, and Liana's face smiling in sunlight. But mixed in those memories came something else—softer, brighter, unfamiliar.
A different boy's memories.
Running barefoot across an old orphanage yard.
Being bullied by older kids.
A broken leg from a cruel beating.
Tears falling on bruised skin while no one helped.
Aron's body—no, Bruce's body—trembled. The pain wasn't just in his skull—it was everywhere, burning from within as if two lives were fighting to exist inside one mind.
Both sets of memories tangled, surged, and then merged.
He saw through Bruce's eyes.
The day a rich couple—this couple—appeared at the orphanage. They had everything: wealth, grace, and a kindness that couldn't be faked. Instead of pity, their gaze held acceptance. When they saw the crippled boy limping with a stick, they didn't turn away. They smiled.
The man bent down and said, "How about coming home with us, son?"
That was the moment Bruce cried—the first real tears of hope in his small life.
The headache slowly faded. Aron—no, Bruce—lay still, letting the warmth of their presence wash over him. The woman gently kissed his forehead.
"You're safe now," she said with a trembling voice. "You've been asleep for days. We were so worried."
Safe.
It had been years since Aron heard that word and believed it.
His throat tightened. "Mother…" The word came out weak, yet honest. He didn't know whether it was Bruce's instinct or his own longing that made him say it, but when she smiled and hugged him, something in him cracked again—an old wound reopening just to heal properly this time.
Days passed before he fully recovered.
The house he woke up in was larger than any palace he had seen—a mansion surrounded by green hills and silent lakes. Servants bowed whenever he walked by, but his parents stopped them, saying, "He's our child before he's anyone's master."
In his new memories, he learnt that the family's name was Valen—a name so prestigious that the entire country moved when they spoke. But behind their wealth, the Valens were known for their modesty and compassion.
And Bruce wasn't their only child. He had five adopted sisters.
They were older, each one extraordinary in her own way.
Aria Valen, fierce and commanding, a woman whose gaze could silence any soldier.
Seren Valen, calm like a shadow, her movements sharp as blades.
Luna Valen is tall, confident, and said to be unmatched on the battlefield.
Clara Valen is delicate in appearance but brilliant in medicine and strategy.
Eve Valen, the youngest of the sisters, was cool and mysterious, with eyes that hid secrets few dared to guess.
Each of them loved their little brother deeply. In Bruce's memories, they were merciless to the rest of the world—but warm as sunlight to him.
As Aron explored the house, he began to notice things he couldn't ignore. His body was weak, the limp making every step uneven. The boy had suffered much at the orphanage; the leg never healed properly. The sight stirred something fierce inside him—the same rage that had driven him to build an empire as Aron Tuner.
When he looked out over the rolling gardens and saw his reflection in the window—a child's face staring back—he whispered, "So this is my second life."
For the first time since Liana's death, he felt something other than despair. It wasn't happiness, but purpose. He clenched his small fists and murmured, "This time, I'll protect them all."
Then, he heard a faint voice behind him. "You don't have to do it alone."
It was Aria, the eldest sister. Strong-willed and intimidating, but now she only smiled gently. "Dinner's ready, little brother."
He nodded, hiding the swirl of emotions in his chest.
That night, as he sat with his family, laughter filled the grand dining hall. The Valens spoke to him casually, as though he had always been part of them. His father talked about expanding a new company. His mother discussed charity projects for orphans.
Orphans.
The word stabbed at him softly.
Bruce—no, Aron—watched the light shimmering from the huge chandelier. He thought of the life he once led: the power, the wealth, the blood. None of it had ever given him what this simple dinner gave him now.
Warmth.
When the family laughed, he tried to smile too, though he still felt like a stranger among them. But deep inside, he knew this peace wouldn't last forever. Fate had never given him happiness without a price.
As he stared at his small hands resting on the table, something glowed faintly—a silver mark on his palm, pulsing softly like a heartbeat.
A voice—calm and mechanical—echoed in his head.
[System Activated. Supreme Space Interface Online.]
[User: Aron Tuner / Bruce Valen. Rebirth confirmed.]
[Unlimited storage and construction functions unlocked.]
His heart skipped. His eyes widened, but no one else seemed to hear it.
Inside that glowing space, he felt it—the pulse of endless power, a dimension vast beyond imagining, filled with resources, weapons, and even shimmering rivers of magical water.
He gripped his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady again.
So this was the gift of his rebirth. A second life, a new family… and a new power to defend them.
He smiled faintly, whispering to himself so no one could hear:
"This time, I won't lose anything."