Reborn: Climbing to Life's Pinnacle

After chewing those two jerks out, I felt like a ton of bricks had been lifted off my chest.

Backpack in tow, I made a beeline for my mom's grave.

In a past life, Dad started fooling around with his mistress while Mom was pregnant.

And when Mom was weak from childbirth, he had the gall to bring that woman and Brittany, their love child, right into our home.

Later, he conspired with his mistress to off Mom and cash in on her life insurance.

Mom came from a family of notable entrepreneurs, while Dad was nothing more than a no-good barber.

She cut ties with her wealthy family to marry him, and within five years, he'd taken out massive insurance policies on her, making himself the beneficiary.

After I was born, seeing Mom was no longer of any use to him, he shamelessly brought his mistress and their kid into our lives.

It enraged Mom so much that she literally spat blood.

When I was four, Mom decided to divorce Dad for my sake.

Yet, realizing Mom's plan, he locked us in and tried to burn the house down the day before the divorce could happen.

By some fluke, I was out playing by the river, dodging a nap, and unknowingly dodging death.

But my poor mom was left to perish on that dreadful afternoon.

I solemnly lit three sticks of incense and bowed deeply, three times, at her gravesite.

I silently vowed to make those monsters pay for what they did to her.

After paying my respects, I inquired about other recent visitors with the cemetery staff.

The next stop was a convenience store with a lottery booth inside.

Desperate for cash in my past life, I thought I'd hit the jackpot by playing the lottery.

Luck wasn't in the cards, though—never hit a single jackpot.

Eventually, I started obsessing over lottery numbers, memorizing every winning sequence right up to the SATs.

Little did I know that small obsession would pay off big time in this life.

I marched into the shop and put all my money down on three sets of numbers.

The clerk gave me a look that screamed, "You're crazy," and muttered under his breath,

"Long shot, kid. Maybe dial it back a bit."

I brushed off his so-called advice like an annoying fly.

Secured the ticket, dusted myself off, and made my way back home to shake things up.

I'd be pleased if Dad got upset.

I'd be more pleased if Brittany got upset.

The angrier they got, the more I enjoyed it.

The house was eerily quiet when I returned.

As I switched my shoes at the door, Brittany crept out of Dad's room on tiptoes.

She glanced around nervously, clearly hiding something.

She didn't expect me here, so when she spotted me at the door, she screamed, "You trying to give me a heart attack?!"

I fired back without missing a beat, "Would be doing the world a favor—less trouble to deal with."

Before she could respond, she glanced toward Dad's room, covered her mouth, and scurried back to her own room.

I didn't chase after her to continue the fight.

Instead, I turned and made my way to the kitchen.

Just as I suspected, hidden in the lowest cabinet was a pack of laxatives.

Brittany always stashed stuff there in my previous life—guess some habits really do die hard.

Her little routine? Just made my revenge plan a whole lot easier.