My name is Savin—just a given name, no surname. My family abandoned me, said I wasn't worthy of their legacy. I didn't care to carry their name anyway.
People called me "great potential, zero motivation."
The potential? Debatable.
The lack of motivation? Absolutely true.
I drifted through school, college, and work—doing the bare minimum to survive. Everyone saw me as a disappointment. A waste of space.
But to me, every human is insignificant alone.
Is our worth in intelligence? Adaptability? No.
It lies in our numbers. Together, we matter.
Alone? We're nothing.
You're probably wondering why I'm telling you this.
Well… I'm lying in my flat. Alone.
It's a single-bedroom unit—bare, clean, practical. A narrow bed shoved against the wall. A scratched-up desk, no chair. A half-stocked kitchenette with a rusting kettle. No photos. No books. No clutter. Just a space to exist, nothing more. A box that matched the life I lived.
And now, my heart is giving out at forty.
It begins with tightness in my chest—dull at first, then sharp, spreading like wildfire. My left arm numbs. My body seizes. I drop to my knees, gasping. A jolt of pain arcs through my ribcage. My fingers dig into the cold floor as my body refuses to move. Breathing turns shallow, panicked. My vision tunnels.
My head hits the ground. My cheek scrapes the tile.
My body trembles.
So this is how my insignificant life ends.
No glory. No redemption arc. Just fading.
I close my eyes. Everything dissolves into black.
I hope for eternal rest—freedom from the weight of living.
But then… something shifts.
I feel my soul tearing free—ripping out of my dead body and crashing into something new.
But I don't get it…
Why the hell have I just reincarnated?