Chapter 1

I had a father who loved to play the tough guy.

He had a toothache so bad he couldn't eat for a week before he finally agreed to see a doctor. After the surgery, he could only eat liquid food, yet he blamed me for wasting money just to make him suffer.

Despite having myocarditis, he insisted on joining a winter swim challenge in sub-zero temperatures. When I tried to stop him, he screamed that I was ruining his fitness goals.

On a day with an extreme heatwave warning, he insisted on going out to deliver UberEats with his buddy just to show off. When he passed out from heatstroke, he claimed he was "just taking a nap" and blamed me for being a busybody.

He got dragged to an underground poker table, ran up massive debts, but still bragged that it was "pocket change."

Until the loan sharks showed up at our door. He told them he could sell me to settle the debt. During the argument, he pushed me off the balcony.

"Sarah, what’s wrong with my tooth? It was fine yesterday. Why does it hurt so bad to chew today?"

Then came my mother’s soft, soothing voice.

The scene in front of me was terrifyingly familiar. It felt like a dream.

But the dull ache in my bones, the burning skin, the shattered feeling in my chest, and the dizziness from massive blood loss all reminded me of one cold fact—I had just been pushed to my death. I was reborn.

"Hey, you worthless brat over there! Can't you see I'm hurting? Go make me a bowl of noodles. This rice is too hard. I don't even know if it's cooked. Next time, make it softer!"

I did as he said and went to the kitchen. I didn't warn him to go to the hospital like I did in my past life.

The noodles were ready quickly, but when I set the bowl in front of him, he was still furious.

"Are these noodles made of rubber? Did you even put salt in this? It tastes like cardboard! What is the point of having a daughter like you? You can't even get the small things right. Go wash the laundry from yesterday. Just looking at you gives me a headache."

We had a washing machine at home. But whenever I was home, they forced me to hand-wash everything.

Looking at the soapy water in the plastic tub, I made up my mind. Since my toxic father loved to play the tough guy so much, I would let him. This time, I wouldn't say a single word of warning.

For the next few days, every meal was a nightmare. He complained the food didn’t suit his taste, that the rice was too dry, or that the chicken was undercooked.

But I knew the truth. It was his rotting teeth.

After days of barely eating, Robert's cheeks had sunken. Every night, I could hear him groaning in pain from his bedroom.

My mom couldn’t take it anymore and suggested taking him to the clinic.

"Mom, it’s not that serious," I said smoothly. "It’s just a seasonal cold. Dad has the strongest body in town. Why waste money on a doctor?"

Sure enough, hearing my praise, Robert immediately waved his hand.

"She’s right. My health is perfect. Why waste hard-earned money on doctors? We need to save that cash for Dylan’s college tuition and his future house!"

Looking at my beaming father and my hesitant mother, I let out a cold laugh in my head. I only hoped their precious golden boy would be able to clean up the mess when Robert finally broke down.

And so, relying on herbal tea and cheap painkillers, Robert dragged himself through another two weeks. It was only when the pain grew so intense that he couldn’t even speak that he finally surrendered.

He agreed to go to a sketchy, cheap dental clinic down the street.

This time, it was much worse than my previous life. Six fillings and three extractions.

The high-pitched screech of the dental drill echoed through the small room. Robert was shaking, his face flushed red with agony, but his stupid pride kept him from frowning.

I smiled to myself. The best part was yet to come.

The fillings were done quickly. The dentist came out of the back room with a long, terrifying syringe of local anesthesia.

"What's that?" Robert grunted.

"Anesthesia. Pulling teeth hurts. Normal people can't stand it without this."

"Normal people." That was the trigger word for Robert. He prided himself on being a super-man.

"I don't need it," Robert scoffed. "Those teeth are already rotten to the root. They'll pop right out. Don't waste the medicine."

Seeing the dentist hesitate, I stepped forward. "Doctor, my dad is a tough guy. He once dug a splinter out of his own hand with a rusty pocket knife without flinching. Don't worry, his pain tolerance is legendary."

These words fed Robert’s ego perfectly. He actually smiled at me. "Well, I'm not as young as I used to be, but back in the day..."

Fortunately, the dentist was ready. "Open wide," he said, cutting off Robert's endless, fabricated stories of glory.

A second later, a blood-curdling shriek echoed through the clinic.