When the killer found the house, the fake young master yanked me out of the chest I was hiding in.
And crawled inside himself.
But the killer went straight for the chest.
The fake young master took thirty stab wounds.
I survived, curled up beneath the bed.
When my parents found out, they held me gently:
"Thank God he pulled you out. Otherwise it would've been you."
"Roy brought it on himself. Don't feel guilty."
For the next five years, I graduated, joined the family business, and entered an arranged marriage.
On my wedding day, a truck ran me over.
My parents pried the phone from my hand and hung up my emergency call.
"Five years. It's finally time you felt what he felt."
"Those thirty stab wounds Roy took must have hurt too, don't you think?"
I reached out to my sister, the renowned medical prodigy.
She stepped back, eyes rimmed red:
"Now you know what pain feels like. When Roy was suffering, why didn't you protect him?"
Even my wife climbed down from the truck:
"Why was it you who came back that day, and not him?"
Then I understood.
No one in this family ever wanted me to come back.
When I opened my eyes again, the fake young master was about to drag me out.
I grabbed the lid of the chest and locked it shut.
...
"Lambert Vance! What are you doing? Open this chest!"
The fake young master, Roy Vance, lost it.
I just watched him through the gap in the chest.
I had no intention of opening it.
Footsteps sounded outside the door.
Roy clamped a hand over his mouth.
Panicking.
Just as I had in my previous life, he scrambled under the bed.
The door opened.
Same as before.
The footsteps came straight for the chest.
The chest Roy couldn't open was nothing for the killer.
But then, I'd never planned to hide.
The cold blade sank into my chest.
I stared at the ceiling.
Tears slid from the corners of my eyes.
Those thirty stab wounds Roy had taken. Now I felt every one of them.
It really did hurt.
I closed my eyes.
Dad. Mom. Theresa Vance.
What you wanted me to feel, I've felt it now.
This time, the one who goes back won't be me.
After the thirtieth stab, the killer left without a backward glance.
When Roy crawled out from under the bed, he could barely stand.
"How did this happen... How did this happen?!"
I floated in the air above him.
Watched him stare at the body in the chest, looking like he was about to be sick.
I understood. In my previous life, I'd looked exactly the same.
And then, just as I had, he bolted, stumbling, desperate, running home to beg our parents for help.
I watched his staggering figure disappear.
A bitter laugh escaped me.
This time, they'd finally get what they always wanted.
I had always believed that as the Vance family's real son, lost for twenty years, the fact that I survived should have meant something. That my family would at least be relieved.
It wasn't until the moment I died that I realized this family had never been mine.
And no one, not a single person, had ever wished that I was the one who came back.
Sure enough, the instant they saw it was Roy stepping off the vehicle, the whole family's eyes went red with tears.
No scanning the road like last time.
No hesitation.
They threw themselves at him without a second thought, pulling Roy into their arms:
"Roy's safe! Oh, you scared Mommy half to death!"
It wasn't fair.
In my previous life, the first thing they'd asked me was where my brother was.
Only after Theresa checked Roy over and confirmed he wasn't hurt did the family finally exhale.
Then, almost as an afterthought, someone glanced toward the vehicle:
"Where's your brother? Why didn't he come back with you?"
Roy's gaze flickered, just for a moment:
"When the intruder came... he shoved me forward and jumped out the window to save himself."
