The bedsheets and the pajamas drenched in sweat stuck to his body like a second skin, making Misha feel sticky from head to toes. He tried to push the blankets aside, but they seemed to weigh a ton today, and lifting them took all of his strength. It was by no means an easy feat.

When Misha finally succeeded in tossing the blankets aside, his body shivered and goosebumps spread on his skin, thanks to the cold air. Thus he immediately crawled back under the blankets. He tried to find a comfortable position but to no avail; it was always too hot or too cold.

Misha groaned and buried his dizzy head in the pillows. The damned fever was about to get the better of him. It was to the point where he thought of giving up and letting himself fall into a deep slumber. But he was afraid that unpleasant dreams would hunt him if he were to close his eyes, memories he’d rather forget lurking in the depths of his mind.  

Since his return from the amusement park a few days ago, Misha had been stuck in bed with a fever, his consciousness hanging by a thread. Within those days, nightmares often came by to say hi, and he woke up in panic more often than not.

The worst nightmare appeared on the first day, and even now, Misha still couldn’t get rid of its shadow. Whenever he closed his eyes, it popped into his mind. 

The following day after returning from their trip, Misha was bedridden, unable to even move his pinkies. Thus, Masha took care of him. He could not help but remember how his smiling sister had walked into his room, holding a big glass of water. She bent over to put the glass on the night table, and the necklace Gabriel had given her slipped from the collar of her t-shirt. Then, the heart-shaped leaf pendant swayed before the boy’s eyes with a slow, constant rhythm—almost as if to mock him. 

As soon as Misha saw it, his heart skipped a beat, and he forgot to breathe.

That necklace… his sister deeply cherished it in their past life, and even when she took her life, she was still wearing it around her neck. Back then, the ominous glint of the pendant, which was hanging over the edge of the bloody bathtub, seemed to taunt him. That pendant was supposed to be Gabriel’s proof of love, yet it became the witness of his cold-blooded heart.

Misha took a deep breath and gripped the sheet under the blankets. He didn’t want to think of such things. His sister wasn’t dead; she was living fine. That scene would never repeat itself, no matter what. In this timeline, he swore Gabriel would never break his sister.

Even if Misha was now in the body of a nine-year-old kid, he wasn’t depressed. It wouldn’t stop him from changing his loved ones’ fate. Again, Misha thought of this, trying to comfort himself. The watch, which was lost somewhere between his bed and the wall, gave him a second chance. This time around, he wouldn’t grow up to be a man consumed by grief and regrets.

The only annoying thing was this weak body of his. They had just walked around a little, yet it had been enough to bedridden him. That was already three days ago, and his body was still showing no signs of recovery.

So, how was he supposed to protect his family? Despite his broad fighting experience, he couldn’t do anything against an adult with this young body of his. Right now, it was frailer than a porcelain doll! If he were to hit someone, he was afraid he’d break his wrist.

To make matters worse, Misha had always used brute force to flatten his opponents, throwing punch after punch without thinking; fighting smart was not in his dictionary. Although it seemed that some of his skills remained after transmigrating, Misha wouldn’t be able to go very far if all he could do was throw darts. It wasn’t like his father would stay still and wait for him to riddle his body with holes.

Taking Aikido lessons was also probably out of the question. After running a few laps, wouldn’t he be so out of breath that he’d collapse? Where the hell did his youthful energy run off to?!

Dispirited, Misha whined and pounded on his pillow with his fists, repeatedly kicking the mattress to vent his pent-up frustration. But he soon had to end his tantrum; he felt too dizzy to continue.

Slowly, Misha rolled on his back and stared at the ceiling. “Reality is such a bitch,” he snorted, feeling like the world was against him.

With this in mind, Misha glanced at the old-fashioned walkie-talkie on the night table. A small, sardonic smile stretched his lips. Who cares if the whole world was against him? He still had to protect his loved ones.

Misha stretched a hand and took the walkie-talkie, staring at it with unfathomable eyes. His mother, who was plucking the weed in the garden, had the other walkie-talkie. So if Misha needed anything, he could call her over, and she would run to his side. Knowing that she was close by and easily reachable, he felt at ease.

His lousy mood gradually got better.

In the past few days, the women of his family pampered him like a little king. They were at his beck and call, afraid that he would feel distressed if he couldn’t contact them. Of course, they didn’t want to leave him alone for even a second, but they still had their own obligations to attend to.

Luckily, Misha’s fever wasn’t too high, though it wasn’t too low either. However, it refused to go down, no matter how many drugs the child gobbled up or how many days he obediently rested in bed. It made his family worry to death.

As Misha pulled up the blankets over his shoulders, he squinted his eyes, glaring at nothing. Today, he was particularly tired, and all he did was visit the clinic in the morning because his mother couldn’t stay still anymore. Back in the waiting room, Gulnas looked so nervous that she made others anxious.

After many boring, unpleasant tests, the doctor still couldn’t find what was wrong with Misha’s body, except for his high body temperature. In the end, he came up with a nasty cold to explain the constant fever. Since said fever was low and didn’t threaten his life, he prescribed a few things and sent him back home, telling his mother to put him in bed and watch over him. If the fever worsened or still didn’t go down after two more days, it’d be better to go to the hospital.

A little bit relieved, his mother thanked the doctor, and they left the clinic. They then stopped by the pharmacy to buy Misha’s medicine on the way home.

Even though the syrup for kids the doctor prescribed had a fruity flavor to it, it still tasted awful, making Misha grimace whenever he drank it. Whether he liked it or not, he had to swallow a mouthful of it every few hours to please his mother. Because she was carefully watching him, he couldn’t pretend to take it and spit it afterward.

Misha knew the syrup was utterly useless—it could even harm him instead. Unlike what the doctor said, he didn’t have a cold; it was just his brain that couldn’t keep up with the massive amount of new memories and reflexes. Taking medicine when one didn’t need it wasn’t good for the body. He only hoped the syrup wouldn’t worsen his symptoms, or else he’d go crazy.

Sighing, Misha closed his eyes, thinking he shouldn’t complain too much.  Although he wasn’t feeling well, the constant care of his family was heart-warming.

Over the years, Misha had long forgotten how it felt when his mother and sister coddled him. After Masha died, he was mostly left alone, and when he was sick, there was no one to take care of him. Well, the irresponsible adult that he was also never notified Dereck or Vanessa, too proud to let them know that he was on the verge of dying. He was a big man, and of course, he could handle a simple cold by himself.

Misha couldn’t help but think back to those lonely days. But his train of thought was soon interrupted by the sound of a door opening and closing, which was followed by heavy footsteps coming up from the stairs.

Not long after, someone opened his bedroom door, and Misha’s cloudy eyes swept over them. It was a chubby boy around ten years old. His disheveled dark-brown hair was falling onto his forehead, almost hiding his chocolate eyes and thick eyebrows. He was somewhat familiar, but Misha couldn’t recognize him, even after scrutinizing him up and down.

Before Misha could say anything, the chubby child trotted to his bed.

“Your mom said I could come over and say hello,” the boy smiled as he sat on the bed.

Misha furrowed his brows, staring at the two dimples in the fat cheeks. Then, something flashed in his mind, and he asked in a suspicious tone, “Dereck?”

“Yeah?”

“Nothing,” Misha cleared his throat, blinking a few times to make sure his eyes weren’t playing a trick on him. Meanwhile, Dereck stared at him, puzzled.

Although Misha often teased his friend about his weight in their youth, seeing his chubby body again still shocked him into silence. He had grown used to his adult appearance, to the tall, muscled body and the bearded face, not to this little ball of meat.

The difference between the child and adult versions left him speechless for a second, but Misha quickly got over it. After traveling back in time, nothing could disturb him for long.

Frowning, Misha glared at the clueless Dereck, who asked, “Is there something wrong?”

Misha didn’t answer, and instead, he took one of his pillows and threw it in his friend’s face. He hadn’t forgotten how this little fellow had betrayed him at the bar, holding his arms instead of helping him beat up Gabriel. It was still fresh in his memory, making him gnash his teeth in anger.

Well, Misha had always been petty, and it wasn’t because the chubby Dereck in front of him didn’t know what his future self had done that he wouldn’t vent his anger on him.

However, just throwing the pillow tired him out and made him dizzy. Ignoring the bewildered look on Dereck’s face, Misha hmphed and rolled on his side. He pulled the blankets over his head and pretended his friend wasn’t there.

Chubby Dereck, “...?”

Mini theater

Dereck: Are you really going to sulk for something I still haven’t done?

MC: Hmph.

Author: Oh, Dereck, you’re just in time! I always wanted to ask you something. How the hell were you able to handle this guy’s tantrums for over 15 years? And still be his friend?

Dereck: Oh, I’m used to it. Anyways, isn’t he cute when he pouts? He looks like a little hamster!

Author: True.

MC: (╬⁽⁽ ⁰ ⁾⁾ Д ⁽⁽ ⁰ ⁾⁾)