The last thing Lee Sunwoo remembered was the truck.
No, that wasn't entirely accurate. The last thing he truly remembered was the notification on his phone — "Swordmaster's Youngest Son: Chapter 1147 Updated" — and the giddy dopamine rush of reading during his lunch break. He'd been walking back to the office, eyes glued to his screen, reading the latest chapter where Jin Runcandel absolutely dismantled a—
Then: horn blaring. Tires screeching. A flash of white.
And now...
This.
"Waaaah... waaaaaah..."
Wait. Who's crying? That sound is... really close. That sound is...
...me?
The realization hit like a sledgehammer wrapped in absurdity. He was crying. Not figuratively, not metaphorically — he was literally, physically wailing, and he couldn't stop. His body was doing it on its own, tiny lungs pumping air in and out with an efficiency that would be impressive if it wasn't horrifying.
He couldn't see properly. Everything was a blur of warm light, dark shapes, and something soft beneath him. His limbs — oh god, his limbs — were short, chubby, and completely uncooperative. He tried to raise his hand and managed something closer to a spastic flail.
I'm a baby.
I'm a goddamn baby.
The crying intensified. Partly because his body demanded it, partly because the existential horror warranted it.
A warm pair of hands lifted him. Gently. Carefully. With a practiced tenderness that immediately calmed his tiny, traitorous body even as his mind spiraled.
"There, there, Young Master Jin. Gilly is here. You're safe."
His crying stuttered.
...Gilly?
Young Master... Jin?
The world slowly came into focus — or as much focus as an infant's eyes could manage. He could make out a face above him. Young. Kind. Auburn hair. Eyes full of warmth that he had only ever imagined while reading.
Gillette. Jin Runcandel's devoted nanny. The woman who stayed loyal when the entire world turned its back.
No way.
No. Freaking. Way.
He looked past her — blurry, straining his pathetic newborn vision — and saw the room. Enormous. Stone walls. Tapestries bearing an emblem he couldn't quite make out but somehow knew — a sword wreathed in storm clouds.
The crest of Runcandel.
His mind went blank for a full three seconds.
Then it rebooted.
I've been transmigrated into Swordmaster's Youngest Son. I am Jin Runcandel. I am... one year old. I am ONE. YEAR. OLD.
I have read 1147 chapters of this story.
I know everything that's going to happen.
I know who betrays Jin. I know who tries to kill him. I know about Solderet, about Murakan, about the Shadow Sword techniques, about the family's secrets, about the coming wars and—
—and I can't even hold my own head up.
Gilly rocked him gently, humming a soft melody. His body, the treacherous little thing, began to relax against his will. Eyelids heavy. Warmth spreading.
No, wait. I need to think. I need to plan. I have literally the greatest cheat code in isekai history and I need to—
He yawned.
A tiny, squeaky, soul-crushingly adorable yawn.
...I need to sleep, apparently.
As consciousness faded, one final thought surfaced:
Cyron Runcandel is my father. The strongest human alive is my FATHER. And he's going to ignore me for the next decade.
Okay.
Okay, I can work with this.
Probably.
He slept.
He woke to the sound of footsteps.
Heavy. Measured. The kind of footsteps that belonged to someone who could kill you in seventeen different ways but chose to walk politely instead.
Gilly's arms tightened around him almost imperceptibly.
"Lady Rosa," Gilly said, and even in his infant haze, Sunwoo — Jin, he corrected himself, I'm Jin now — could hear the careful deference in her voice. "The young master has been well. He fed an hour ago and—"
"Is he healthy?"
The voice was cool. Not cruel, exactly, but clinical. Like someone evaluating an asset rather than checking on a child.
Rosa Runcandel. My mother. The woman who views her children as chess pieces on the Runcandel board.
"Yes, my lady. Perfectly healthy."
A pause. Jin felt eyes on him. He kept his own shut, feigning sleep, heart hammering in his tiny chest.
Don't react. Don't react. You're a baby. Babies don't tense up when their mother walks in. Be normal. Be a potato. A sleeping, drooling potato.
"Good."
Footsteps retreated.
No warmth. No touch. Not even a lingering glance, as far as he could tell.
The door closed.
Gilly exhaled slowly — a breath she'd been holding. Her hand came up to gently stroke his head.
"Don't worry, Young Master," she whispered, voice thick with something that made his chest ache. "Gilly will always be here."
I know, he thought, and to his shock, his eyes burned. I know you will. You never left. Not even when everyone else did. Not even at the end.
A tear rolled down his chubby cheek.
Gilly noticed immediately, dabbing it away with practiced care. "Oh, are you hungry again? Let me—"
No, Gilly. I'm not hungry. I'm just... grateful. And terrified. And possibly losing my mind.
But mostly grateful.
He grabbed her finger. His tiny hand barely wrapped around it. But he held on as tightly as his pathetic infant grip allowed.
Gilly smiled.
And in that moment, Lee Sunwoo — reborn as Jin Runcandel, youngest son of the greatest sword clan in the world, age approximately one year old — made his first decision in this new life.
I'm not going to let the story play out the way it did.
No one's throwing this life away. Not Gilly's loyalty. Not Luna's kindness. Not the years of suffering the original Jin endured.
I have time. I have knowledge. And I have the stubbornness of a man who once read 1147 chapters in three days during a work week.
The Runcandel family wants to ignore their youngest son?
Fine.
Let them sleep on me.
Literally. I am, after all, currently in a crib.