How Not to Die Again (and Why You Should Laugh While Trying)

If someone had told me, three minutes to the second, that I was going to die over a collectible figure, I would have handed them back the look and said, “what the hell are you talking about?” And yet here I am — or rather, was there: sprawled on the floor of the train station with one shoe missing, a hoodie that had seen better lives, and the last limited-edition cartridge of Dragon Lord: Rebirth crushed under a taxi wheel.

It wasn’t epic. There were no lightning bolts, no goddess sobbing into her divine hands. It was… embarrassing. A mix of terrible coordination, cheap pride, and the absolute conviction that a digital collectible gives life meaning. The moment my body decided to stop paying attention to my thoughts, the only thing I thought was: “Screw it.”

And then someone (or something) decided laughing made sense.

“—Welcome, Tomás.” The voice had no gender and probably no throat; it sounded like a hungover operating-system notification. “Congratulations on proving how quickly human pride collapses when gravity’s on duty.”

I watched from a place without eyes as my own chest faded away. It would have been nice — if I were into drama — to hear a song. Instead, a HUD — because of course it was a HUD — popped up floating in front of me. White letters, neon blue, and an icon showing a Dignity bar: empty.

[SYSTEM ACTIVATED — REINCARNATION: INTEGRATED]

Primary Purpose: Utilize souls with good hearts and a high potential for screwing up as material for entertainment and progression.Warning: This system is sardonic. Do not ignore.

“System?” I asked. My voice, ironically, came out with the calm of someone who has watched too many anime.

“Questions? Great start.” The system made a sound that might as well have been a chuckle. A list of “Skills” appeared on the screen. “Human Memory: COMPLETE.” “Physical Stamina: DEPENDS.” “Charisma: LOW–MODERATE (with spikes on the pervert-meter).”

“Can I change my name?” I tried to negotiate, because that’s what you do in the middle of a cosmic screw-up.

[NAME SAVED: TOMÁS]

[WORLD ALIAS: LYRAN TOM]

“You could pick something more exotic, but it suits you. Also,” the system added with a note of digital mischief, “I gave you a little bonus. You can see and hear the system. That’s not the same as controlling it.”

I woke with a start in a body that smelled of milk and fresh wood. There was a cradle, giant hands that weren’t mine, and a face that probably one day would become a meme titled “how to spot a baby with video-game PTSD.” Inside my skull: every memory. My twenty-seven years of bad luck and better stories, the sounds of my childhood, the time I left the door open and the turtle went for a walk — all intact and painfully present.

“What is this?” I asked out loud, which made the woman beside me look at me with that exact blend of love and terror reserved for first-time mothers.

“Mom says he’s the prettiest baby in the whole world!” chirped a small voice beside me — suspiciously like a little girl with twin pigtails.

Oh. I also had memories that weren’t mine — a little extra the system apparently found amusing. The girl’s name was Iris, and as far as my memory went she was the daughter of the village healer. She grinned with a confidence that didn’t fit her age and tossed me a cookie. I tried to say “hello” with an adult brain and choked on a syllable. Very dignified.

[INITIAL MISSION: SURVIVE INFANCY]

Secondary Objectives:
1. Learn to crawl before a pig bites your feet.

2. Keep your “pervert-meter” from spiking more than necessary. (Yes, it exists.)

3. Acquire at least one friend you can talk to without being stared at like a weirdo.

“That’s it?” I asked, trying to sound less desperate than I felt. “No grand endings, no kings, no prophecies?”

“Not for you. Yet.” The system let the line drop like salt into a wound. “Every great journey starts with learning not to swallow the soup bowl.”

I looked at my tiny hands and thought about how ridiculous the situation was. Me — who thought the worst thing that could happen was losing internet — now had to learn to smile with baby teeth. Irony does not go unnoticed when your ego has been reincarnated along with you.

Iris hammered the cradle like it was some sacred drum and said, with a seriousness that did not match her pacifier: “You are going to be my friend.”

“Aren’t I… a bit old for that?” I stammered.

“You’re perfect.” She said, then ran off to tell her mom that “the baby talked weird.”

Meanwhile, the house around me looked exactly like a fantasy tavern: wooden beams, potions on shelves, and the smell of fresh bread that made me, for a second, wish very hard that this was a dream with a lot of carbs. But it wasn’t. I had a HUD, a mission, and a system with an ego. And most importantly: I had memory. That, I thought with a cocktail of panic and opportunity, changed everything.

“Listen, System,” I murmured in my adult voice that nobody could understand. “If you’re going to put me through tests, at least give me something useful. A talent? A skill? Anything that doesn’t involve crawling through sand or proving I can say ‘mama’ properly?”

[PARTIAL UNLOCK]

Skill: Comprehended Speech — Allows conversations with people of this new world without sounding like a lunatic. (Limited by skull size and saliva duration.)

Side Effect: Tendency to blurt inappropriate comments at inopportune moments. Level: Moderate.

“Perfect.” I said — which was actually an irony-laden “perfect” that carried a promise of future problems. “Then let’s begin.”

Iris tossed me another cookie. This time I managed to catch it. A small victory — beginnings are made of tiny wins and a lot of embarrassment. I lay back in the cradle, stared at the ceiling, and heard the system whisper one last thing before disconnecting — something it certainly would not do without dropping one final joke.

“Remember, Tomás: dying for a figurine is tragic. Reincarnating and becoming the kind of guy who doesn’t need it… that’s art.”

I smiled despite myself. Under the layers of sarcasm and HUD text, something flickered on: the possibility of not repeating the same mistakes. And if I could laugh at myself in the process, all the better.

The door opened and a tall figure came in carrying a bucket. They brought news and problems I probably won’t read about until chapter one. For now, my life consisted of a cradle, a cookie, and a system that considered me “interesting material.” And Honeyfeed, in my head (because of course I was already thinking about followers), would probably title it: “Chapter 0: How Not to Die Again (and Why You Should Laugh While Trying).”

Iris put her tiny hand over mine — my hand, which was ten times smaller than I remembered — and said, “Promise me that when you’re big you’ll take me to see dragons.”

I promised without thinking. Promises are dangerous, but they do the job of setting stories in motion.

“I promise… I’ll try.” I said, and the system quietly added a point to my “Don’t Be Trash” bar.

That, little reader, is where it all begins.