Chapter 1
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 000
Chapter Title: Prologue
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"I wanna grope those perky tits."
The man was always muttering something like that.
Maybe voicing his desires out loud.
Though calling it "thoughts" was a stretch—they were too basic for that. Still, they came from his head.
Those crude words kept rolling around the house.
Like dust. Like bugs.
You sweep them away, and they come back. Stomp them, and they don't die.
"Heh heh... tits... Ah, I wanna pinch those nipples so bad?"
"Yeah, sure you do."
He'd seemed like a normal guy at first. At least on paper.
I must've been six.
Mom ran off.
She should've taken me with her.
Anyway, I was left with Dad. And the booze.
Dad was diligent.
Never missed a day blowing booze-fueled farts and drilling air holes into his thick skull.
All my memories leaked out, leaving just a few phrases behind.
Stuff like perky tits, pinch and the like.
I grew up right beside him.
Well, technically, I got bigger.
Now I'm in my early thirties.
Scraping by on day labor, taking care of Dad.
Changing his shit-filled diapers, spoon-feeding him...
"Pussy! I wanna shove my dick in that pussy!"
"Same here, Dad."
I'd just brush off whatever he muttered.
Not kidding around.
I meant it.
Blood's thicker than water, huh. Didn't wanna end up like him, though.
2025. 12. 20.
Work was extra brutal that day.
And goddamn, it was freezing outside.
Got home, and Dad was making that click-click noise.
His signal for a smoke.
Cold. Tired. Lazy as hell.
Honestly, I didn't wanna think at all.
I lit his cig inside the house.
"Ash it properly."
Said that, then flopped down.
Eyelids drooped. World went dark for a bit.
Woke up, and the house was gone.
That's how I died.
Fuck, I told you to ash properly.
...
My nostrils felt damp.
No smell of fire.
Milk. Medicine. The scent of living people.
Unpleasant... but weirdly warm.
I'm alive.
Why?
Blinked, and the world was blurry. No focus.
Head felt half-submerged in water.
Tried to move,
"Waaah!"
What came out wasn't arms or legs—it was a cry.
What the hell is this.
Only my eyes could roll around, and I saw a person.
...A woman.
Not some dazzling beauty,
but soft eyes, lips naturally curved up.
Looked exhausted.
Shadows under her eyes, sweaty hair stuck to her forehead.
Still pretty, though.
"Mommy... Mommy."
Ah, so she's the mom-to-be.
"Waaah."
And I'm her kid.
Probably, right?
Felt instinctive.
The moment that thought hit, her face lit up bright.
"You recognize me? Yeah... I-I'm your mommy. Baby."
Mommy.
The word lodged in my ears.
No resistance, weirdly.
Got it.
Died and got reborn,
scored a young blonde mom.
Way better than that dementia-riddled tit-obsessed old fart.
Eyes opened a bit more, field of view widened.
Narrow room.
Damp wallpaper, cracks in the ceiling.
Still tidy-ish—not spotless, but someone cared.
She noticed my eyes darting,
"Sorry... for giving birth in a dump like this..."
And she started crying.
Silently.
Tears just plopping down.
Why squeeze out the juice like that.
My gaze followed the droplets rolling down her cheeks,
down below.
And I saw it.
Her lower half looked off somehow.
Ah.
No legs.
Everything below the knees—gone,
wrapped in bandages.
......Ah.
Fuck.
She's pretty.
What a shame.