Returned to the Death Toast: My Revenge Starts with Handcuffs

There's an unspoken rule in my household—everyone has to engage in a drinking competition during the holidays.

Whoever gets wasted first will have to pay off one year's worth of house and car mortgages for the other two siblings.

In the first year, I collapsed after my first glass of alcohol. I had to pay the house mortgage for my oldest sister, Dahlia Zeller.

In the second year, as soon as I picked up my glass, I fainted right away. Since then, I had to pay off Jasmine Zeller, my second sister's car loan.

For the next 20 years, I've always been the loser.

In the end, my wife, Jean McCarthy, is forced to jump off a building because of the huge debt I've racked up. The debtors keep dumping paint onto my residence, forcing me to deter away from it.

Ransacked by guilt, I end up damaging my stomach from overdrinking when I attempt to train my alcohol tolerance. As a result, half of my liver has gotten removed.

When I'm on the verge of death, I hear my parents snickering outside my ward.

"Don't you think we've laced too many sleeping pills in his drink? He almost didn't wake up back then!"

"It's fine. He's an idiot who merely thinks he has a low alcohol tolerance. Our family still relies on him for financial survival, you see. We can keep drugging him so that he'll keep getting wasted."

When I open my eyes again, I've already gotten reborn in the timeframe when I'm sitting at the dining table in the 20th year.

Mom and Dad urged me to drink up.

I raised the glass and, with a twist of my wrist, poured it all over the food on the table, causing the smell of alcohol to permeate the surroundings instantly.

In that instant, the laughter around the table ceased. Dahlia Zeller, my eldest sister, stopped with her glass held near her lips. Jasmine Zeller, my second sister, froze while adjusting her glasses.

I barely had time to put my glass down when Ryan Moore, my brother-in-law, yelled, "What the hell do you think you're doing, Weston? That's Dad's prized Macallan whiskey!"

Dahlia slammed the table and rose to her feet, causing the dishes on the table to shake and rattle. "What's wrong with you this New Year's? You could have just said so if you didn't want to drink!"

Jasmine cleaned up the spilled whiskey with a napkin. "Do you have a problem with Mom and Dad, Weston? You've ruined all the food on the table. How could you be so inconsiderate?"

I listened to their accusations and found them all utterly absurd. It was no different in my past life, as they used kinship to manipulate me and rules to weigh me down.

I suffered in silence for the sake of a harmonious home, yet it only led to my family's ruin. I could never forget the sight of Jean McCarthy, my wife, jumping from the 18th floor of the building.

I looked up and swept my gaze over every face at the table. "Who said I didn't want to drink it? My hand slipped. That's all."

Dad slammed his cutlery on the table and snapped, "You're telling me that your hand just slipped, huh? You're clearly trying to pick a fight here! You should just say something if you don't want to help your sisters instead of making up excuses! With that kind of attitude, you don't seem like the son of the Zeller family at all!"

I snorted derisively. "You think this can be considered as helping them, huh? Dahlia has a 1,700-dollar mortgage, and Jasmine has an 800-dollar car loan. You're asking me to pay for everything for them. You're not asking me to help them—you're bleeding me dry here."

Dahlia's face flushed as she pointed right at me and yelled, "You ought to know that we agreed on the rules beforehand! You lost the bet, so you have to deal with it! You can't blame anyone else for being a lightweight! You should also know that nobody forced those drinks on you!"

Jasmine adjusted her glasses and said, "You've done this for 19 years already, Weston. How can you suddenly back out of it this year?"

She then turned to Jean and said, "You should keep your husband in check, Jean."

Jean, who had been sitting silently beside me, took my hand. Her palm radiated warmth. In my past life, she had attempted to put an end to this absurd wager, but I had held her back.

Jean stood up abruptly, separating me from the others. "I won't let Weston drink this. Your mortgage and car payments are your own. Why should Weston take them on?"

Seething with rage, Dad grabbed the whiskey bottle, preparing to smash it. "You insolent fool! How dare a mere daughter-in-law like you talk back to me! You ought to know that what I say goes in the family! Weston will drink this today, whether he likes it or not!"

I pushed Jean behind me and shielded her. I then fixed my gaze on the unopened bottle in Dad's hand, which I instantly knew had been tampered with too.

I picked up an empty glass and turned it slowly, saying, "If those are the rules, then I'm fine with playing by them. It's actually quite dull to just drink if we're measuring our drinking ability, though."

I slammed the glass down on the table with a cold smirk and continued, "Why don't we raise the stakes?"