It was a cold, dark night after yet another exhausting day of school. My legs felt like lead as I trudged along the empty road near the shopping district, a few miles from home. Every step was unsteady, every breath shallow. I was completely drained.

"Ha! You actually watch Mecha Slayers? What a loser!" The bullies sneered.

"They’re not stupid! They’re super cool!" I snapped back, but my voice wavered.

That was all it took.

They cornered me in the bathroom, shoving me against the cold tiles before forcing my head into the toilet. My face barely avoided touching the rim, but that didn’t matter—the icy water rushed into my mouth, flooding my throat. I choked, gagging as my lungs screamed for air. Just when I thought I’d suffocate, they yanked me up—only to plunge me down again. Over and over.

By the time they were done, I was soaked, beaten, and barely conscious. The teachers found me collapsed on the floor, but that was it. Another incident swept under the rug.

I had reported the bullying countless times. My parents complained about how I always came home in soaked, filthy clothes. But no one listened. Not the teachers, not the principal—no one.

Kazuko came from a rich, well-connected family. His father had ties to the government, so no matter what I did, no matter how much I fought back, he always got away with it. His wealth and influence shielded him from any consequences.

It was frustrating. No—infuriating.

I was powerless.

Another day, another round of torment. I wished—desperately—that things would just change. But they never did.

Sometimes, I imagined myself as the heroes in Mecha Slayers. No matter what obstacles they faced, no matter how hopeless the situation seemed, they always pulled through. They always saved the day.

I wanted to be like that. I wanted to be someone who stood up for the weak, someone who made a difference. Someone who didn’t just suffer in silence.

Tears burned my eyes as the sky wept with me. Rain poured down in heavy sheets, drenching my clothes, my bag—everything.

What could I do? How could I change?

I wasn’t rich. I wasn’t smart. I wasn’t strong. I wasn’t anything.

As those thoughts spiraled in my mind, I stepped onto the crosswalk. The pedestrian light flashed red, signaling me forward. The wind howled, the thunder roared, and the rain pelted down like daggers from the heavens. I barely noticed.

Until I saw them.

Two red eyes, glowing menacingly in the darkness.

The low growl of an engine rumbled through the storm.

Before I could react, the truck was already upon me.

Time slowed. The world around me seemed frozen, yet the metal beast surged forward, relentless and merciless.

Why?

Why did it have to be me?

No one ever believed me. No one ever cared. My parents only ever compared me to others, disappointed in my grades, my failures. I wasn’t smart, athletic, or talented. I was nothing.

And now, I was about to die as nothing.

No.

I can’t die like this!

I don’t want to die a loser!

I want to be something—someone—just not this!

The truck hit me with a deafening crash.

My body was sent flying, the sky spinning above me in a blur.

All I could see was red.

The world faded.

And I screamed into the abyss—

"WHY?!"

Darkness.

An endless void stretched before me, swallowing everything into its abyss. My screams echoed, yet no one answered. Was this it? Was this what came after death? A lonely, eternal nothingness?

But then—something changed.

A soft, radiant glow pierced through the darkness. At first, it was just a flicker, a single speck of light in the vast emptiness. Then, like ripples in water, it expanded. Slowly, gently, it reached for me.

A hand.

Translucent, ethereal, glowing with an otherworldly hue. It beckoned me forward, as if offering salvation. Without thinking, I reached out and touched it.

The moment my fingers met the light, warmth enveloped me. A soothing presence filled the abyss, and then—

"Greetings, young traveler. You have died a gruesome death."

The voice was neither human nor divine, but something in between. A woman of light stood before me, her form shifting like mist caught in the morning sun.

"Through my judgment of your life, I believe you are qualified for reincarnation."

Her words stunned me.

“Seriously? I can live again?” My heart leapt, hope flickering in the depths of my despair. But almost immediately, that flicker was snuffed out.

I hesitated. “Wait… does that mean I’ll be sent back to that world?”

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"No. You will be reincarnated into another world—one that needs you."

I clenched my fists. Another world? What did that even mean? I barely survived my last life—why would I want to live again?

“I’m not special,” I muttered bitterly. “Isn’t there a heaven or something? I don’t want to be reborn only to suffer again. I’m tired… too tired.”

The woman did not waver.

"It is not your time to die."

Her voice was gentle but firm.

"I am neither an angel nor a devil, but the gate that balances the living and the dead. Your soul’s time has only just begun, young one. Don’t lose faith—live a life worth dying for."

The glow around her intensified, and I felt the space around me shifting.

“Wait—no, please!” Panic surged through me. I reached for her, desperate. “I can’t go back! It’s too painful! I don’t want this—I can’t do this again!”

My cries were met with silence.

And then—

Light exploded around me, swallowing everything.

The void shattered.

And so did I.

----------------------------------------

A sharp gasp tore from my throat.

Cold air filled my lungs, burning like fire. My body was trembling—no, something was wrong. My limbs were too small. My vision was blurry, my movements sluggish. I was wrapped in something soft, warm.

Voices surrounded me.

Strange words. Unfamiliar.

I tried to move, but my body felt weak—helpless.

And then it hit me.

I had been reborn.

I was… a baby.

Everything was huge.

I blinked, my tiny, fragile body unable to do much else as I stared at the two figures before me—a man and a woman. My new parents, apparently. They looked down at me, eyes filled with warmth, but their faces shifted slightly when they noticed something unusual.

Most babies have wide, bright, curious eyes. Mine, however, carried the exhaustion of a life lived once before. A soul too tired to be reborn.

The woman—my mother—gently cradled me, whispering my name for the first time.

“Elfred… Elfred Miller.”

So that was my new name.

It had been a few days since I was reincarnated, and in that short time, I learned a few things. First, we were poor. The house we lived in was small, the walls made of rough wood, the roof covered in dried thatch. This wasn’t some grand castle or noble estate—it was the home of commoners, barely making ends meet.

Second, magic existed.

I had once watched my mother heat a pot of water by conjuring flames from her palm. A casual, effortless motion, as if she had done it a thousand times before.

That was when I assumed I had been reincarnated into some classic fantasy world filled with swords and sorcery.

But then, my entire understanding of this world shattered.

It happened on a quiet afternoon. I was half-asleep in my small, rough bed, enjoying the simple peace of doing absolutely nothing.

"Man, I wish I could stay like this forever. When was the last time I had such a carefree rest?"

But, of course, peace never lasted.

My mother picked me up and carried me to the kitchen for feeding time. And let me tell you—there are few things more humiliating than being a grown man in a baby’s body, forcefully bottle-fed by a doting mother.

"Blasted woman… why do I have to go through this?"

I struggled weakly, but my tiny limbs were useless. There was no escape.

And then—it happened.

A sudden shift in the air. A deep, heavy pressure settled over the house. The wooden walls trembled, dishes rattled, and even the ground itself seemed to quiver.

“Honey… what’s happening? Is it an earthquake?” my mother asked, concern lacing her voice.

My father immediately rushed outside, leaving us in suspense. Moments later, he returned, shaking his head.

“No need to worry. It’s not an earthquake. It’s just the Mecha Brigade Unit passing by.”

…Wait.

Mecha?

Did I just hear that right?

As my mother carried me outside, my eyes widened in complete disbelief.

Soaring high in the sky—gliding effortlessly above the clouds—were mechas.

Massive, humanoid machines, sleek and armored, each one radiating power and authority. They moved in perfect synchronization, a formation of elite warriors patrolling the skies. The metallic sheen of their bodies glowed under the sun, reflecting the light like divine knights descending from heaven itself.

I loved mechas.

Ever since my past life, I had adored them in anime, manga, and games. Seeing them now, not as fiction but as reality, filled me with an overwhelming sense of awe.

My tiny baby hands twitched, instinctively reaching out to them—only to fail miserably. Damn these weak limbs!

My mother giggled at my reaction.

“Aw, look, Elfred likes the mechas, Elmer.”

“Of course, he does. Every kid loves them,” my father replied, his tone flat. “But don’t get any ideas. It’s impossible.”

“What’s impossible?” my mother frowned.

“Elfred becoming a mecha pilot.”

I froze.

My father sighed, his expression hardening. “Only royalty or those with exceptional talent ever make it into the Mecha Brigade Unit. Even if he somehow summoned a mecha of his own, most commoners only make it to the lowest rank—D-Tier. Without an elite bloodline or a massive mana pool, he wouldn’t stand a chance against those monsters in the palace.”

My mother pouted. “Oh, come on. Don’t be such a downer. Maybe he can do it.”

“I’m just being realistic. We’re farmers, laborers. You can use a little magic, sure, but not enough to compete with the elite. That’s just how the world works.”

I gritted my teeth.

So I was stuck. Again.

In my past life, I had been powerless, crushed beneath a system that refused to acknowledge me. Now, I was in a new world, given a second chance, only to be told that even here I had no future.

Was I really doomed to be weak no matter where I went?

I turned my gaze back to the sky.

The mechas continued their patrol, flying further and further away—until they became nothing more than distant specks in the vast blue.

In my previous life, I had admired the legendary pilot Mecha Slayer Purple. No matter how badly he was beaten down, no matter how impossible the odds, he always stood back up. He fought. He endured.

And now, here I was.

Just a powerless baby, trapped in a poor family, unable to even reach out toward the thing I loved most.

How tiring must it be to fight against fate?

But still…

I wanted to try.

I had to try.

Because if I gave up now, then what was the point of being reborn at all?