Reborn The Son They Threw Away Became the Nation's Pride

"I want to stay here with Grandpa and Grandma."

Grandma was stunned. Despite how much she wanted me to stay, she shook her head. "Go back with your parents. The schools in the city are better, and you start first grade next year. Don't fall behind."

Grandpa chimed in too. "The teachers out here rap your knuckles with a ruler. City teachers hand out candy."

Grandma was strong. She scooped me up and stuffed me right into Dad's car. "You can visit us every break. Don't be stubborn, silly boy!"

The car pulled away. Mom's smile vanished the instant the doors closed.

"Living like a wild animal out there, weren't you? Don't even want to come home anymore? You're not even in school yet and you've already given up on learning. All you do is climb trees and catch crawdads. You're a boy. Can't you try to amount to something?"

I opened my mouth to defend myself, then stopped. There was no point. She'd already made up her mind about who I was.

When I didn't answer, she grew even more pleased with herself. "Nothing to say? Because I'm right, aren't I?"

Dad put on his nice-guy act. "Come on, come on. It's his first day back. Don't upset him."

Mom let out a sharp huff, then turned away and dangled a toy car in front of Lucius. She didn't say another word to me for the rest of the ride.

When we got home, a cake sat on the dining table, shaped like a race car. Around it were little jars and pouches of baby food.

The moment we sat down, Mom announced, "This cake was bought especially to welcome you home. Your little brother doesn't even get one!"

I laughed to myself. Lucius didn't get one because he was still a baby and couldn't eat cake.

And for a cake that was supposedly mine, it was awfully convenient that the design was a race car, Lucius's favorite thing in the world.

The candles were lit. I leaned forward to blow them out, and Mom's hand shot across the table to stop me.

"Your brother can't eat the cake, so at least let him blow out the candles. You'll get the whole thing afterward."

I sat back and didn't move. I watched her coax a one-year-old into blowing out candles.

The baby had no idea how blowing worked. He sputtered and drooled all over the frosting, spraying spit across the icing with every attempt, and then, thrilled with himself, slammed both tiny fists into the cake and smashed it to pieces.

Mom's eyes darted to me. When she saw I wasn't upset, she turned back to Lucius with a beaming smile.

"My boy is so strong! What a good baby!"

I watched in silence. Oh, he's strong all right. The kid could barely walk in a straight line, but in a few years he'd manage to shoot a toy gun with enough force to blind both eyes of someone's show dog worth over a hundred thousand dollars.

A real little powerhouse.

After coming home, I threw myself into studying. Mom would toss out jabs whenever she passed my room. "What's the point of all that studying? Why don't you come help me wash the dishes, or play with your brother for a while?"

I ignored her completely. I kept my head in my books and signed up for every academic competition I could find.

Every winter and summer break, I went straight to the countryside to be with Grandpa and Grandma.

Over time, Mom noticed the distance between us and liked me even less for it. She stopped trying altogether and began pretending I wasn't there.

In my previous life, this would have destroyed me. A teenager starving for his mother's approval, trapped in anxiety and spiraling toward depression.

But now, it didn't touch me at all.

Then came sixth grade.

Lucius burst through the front door in a panic, bolted to his room, and refused to come out for dinner.

Mom rushed to his door and knocked. "Lucius? What happened? Did something scare you while you were out playing?"

He wouldn't say a word.

I glanced at the date on the calendar. I already knew exactly what he'd done. He'd just shot out both eyes of someone's beloved dog, and now he was terrified.

The owner was out there right now, tearing through the neighborhood looking for whoever did it.

In my previous life, I hadn't been home when it happened.

I didn't find out until the weekend, when Mom dragged me in front of the dog's owner and forced me to my knees. She'd told them I was the one who'd shot the dog with the toy gun.

She slapped me across the face. More than once. Then the owner made me kneel before the dog and apologize.

Kids I knew from school saw the whole thing.

I became the irredeemable monster who'd blinded a dog. Everyone turned on me.

A few kids who were obsessed with animals cornered me in the bathroom, beat me bloody, and forced me to drink from the toilet.

So this time, I strolled back home without a care in the world.

I lingered in front of the security cameras on purpose, making sure I never once stepped outside. One look at the footage would prove I hadn't left the house. Even if Mom wanted to pin this on me, she wouldn't be able to.

But I underestimated the depth of her favoritism.

She was worried Lucius wouldn't eat, so she unlocked his door and went in. The moment she saw him sobbing, she panicked.

After pressing him over and over, the truth finally came out: he'd been bragging to his friends about spotting a wild boar, fired his toy gun at it, and only realized afterward that it was someone's dog.

The dog's owner had a reputation for being untouchable. Even Mom's face darkened. "That's Mr. Chavez's wife's dog. Your father works under that man!"

Lucius burst into fresh tears. "Then what do we do?"

The second his wailing started, a fist hammered against the front door.

"Get out here! Your kid blinded my dog! Where are the parents? Get out here NOW!"

"Don't you dare play dumb! I've still got the toy gun! This imported model—only ONE family in all of Bayport City bought it! Don't even THINK about denying it!"

I sat in my room with a book open, listening to the chaos unfold outside.

The instant that knocking started, Lucius's crying vanished. Just like that.

I let out a cold laugh. Already found a hiding spot, huh?

I was about to go out and watch the show when my bedroom door flew open. Mom stood there, face white with terror.

"It was my older son who accidentally hit your dog," she called over her shoulder. "He's young. Please don't be too hard on him."

The woman outside—hands still smeared with blood—stormed past her and slapped me across the face. "YOU'RE the one who shot my dog with this thing?"

I stared at Mom in disbelief. She flinched, looked away. A few seconds later, her eyes slid back to me, pleading.