The Road To Malmö

Sebastian stepped into the kitchen, the aroma of fried eggs filling the air. His mother, Emilia, stood by the stove, flipping the eggs on the pan. Her was tied into a ponytail, and she had an apron on.

"Good morning, Mum," he greeted as he placed his duffel bag by his side and sat at the table.

"Morning, love," she replied, turning momentarily from the pan to face her son. "Ready for your big day?"

"You know I am, mum." Sebastian smiled while he answered.

She chuckled softly. "Just confirming." She turned off the stove and began serving the eggs onto two plates. The toast popped from the toaster with a metallic click, and she placed the golden brown slices on the plates beside the eggs.

Sebastian's father, Thomas, entered the kitchen just as she finished. He was dressed in a fitted navy blue button-down shirt, dark slacks, and polished brown loafers.

"Breakfast ready?" he asked, taking note of the two portions of eggs and toast on the table.

"You're right on time," Emilia responded, passing the plate to him while he sat down at the table. She handed him a fork before passing the second plate to Sebastian.

Sebastian immediately dug in. He didn't realize how hungry he was till the first bite of scrambled eggs hit his taste buds. It wasn't even up to a minute, and a significant portion of his food was gone.

"Mum, aren't you eating?" He asked between bites, noticing that there wasn't a third plate.

"Not now," she replied, pouring herself a glass of water. "I'll eat with your sister when she's getting ready for school."

"Oh, okay," Sebastian nodded, understanding. The school bus didn't come for his younger sister till 8:30am, so his mum usually woke her up around past seven.

When he finished with his breakfast, he grabbed a glass of orange juice to wash everything down, then took his and his dad's plates to the sink and rinsed them quickly.

"Are you sure you have everything you need?" Thomas asked, heading to the door as Sebastian grabbed his duffel bag.

Sebastian tapped his bag. "Double-checked. I'm good."

Emilia stepped forward, her eyes warm with encouragement. "Good luck today, Seb. I know you'll do well."

"Thanks, Mum." He hugged her briefly before turning around to follow his father out the door.

Friday was a working day, so his father needed to drop Sebastian off quickly before heading to his office. He worked as a financial analyst for a reputable consulting firm in Gothenburg, earning a decent salary.

Thomas opened the door, and they stepped onto the driveway, his dad's 2006 Volvo S40 waiting patiently for them.

Sebastian placed his bag in the backseat and settled into the front passenger seat as his dad slid into the driver's side, started the engine, and pulled smoothly into the street.

As the car hummed quietly, speeding along the highway, Sebastian stared out of the window, his grey eyes peering through the glass.

Even as they were moving at nearly 80 kilometers per hour, he could see perfectly and recall every single word on the billboards as they went by.

That wasn't normal, right?

Well, he wasn't a normal boy.

When he was three, a specialist gave it a name: Accelerated Cognitive Response Disorder (ACRD). It sounded like a gift, like something belonging to a genius or a prodigy, but it wasn't. Not entirely.

The doctor who first identified it—an eager neurologist fascinated by what he called a "one-in-a-billion" case—explained it clinically:

"Your brain is built for speed, Sebastian. You perceive information faster than almost anyone else, and your mind processes it with extraordinary efficiency. But the connection to your body... that's where things break down."

In simpler terms, his brain raced ahead of his body, sending commands faster than his muscles could obey. For most children, walking was a natural progression. For him, it was a struggle.

His legs had felt like lead, his feet like anchors, stubborn and slow against a mind screaming for action. It was as though his nervous system had been given a formula-one engine while his body was still learning how to ride a bicycle.

While everyone wondered what brought about his condition, he had a hunch. He was fairly certain it was a result of him reincarnating—transmigrating; he still wasn't sure what his case fell under.

But he was sure this wasn't his first life.

He remembered his previous life, or at least some parts of it. He had died by a heart attack at the age of 49 in 2025, but for some unexplainable reason he had woken up as a one-year-old boy in 1999. 

The early years had been...humiliating, to say the least. He was trapped in a toddler's body, needing to be washed, clothed, fed, and carried everywhere. It was a jaaring experience for someone who spent over three decades as an independent adult. 

But what was stranger was having parents again. His previous parents were good people, and they loved and took care of him, but they had died when he was in his thirties.

He had already grieved and gotten over the loss; now here he was, a child once more with a new set of parents, Thomas and Emilia Falk.

It had taken a while, but he had eventually grown to love and accept them as his parents.

But if there was something that made this second chance worth it, it was that he had another chance to really pursue his dreams of playing football professionally. In his previous life, he had dreamed of becoming a footballer. He would spend hours playing with his friends and training on his own, but he felt he wasn't talented enough.

Even after all the extra hours he put in every day, he felt there was no difference between him and his friends, so he decided to nip his dream in the bud and pursue a stable career as a lawyer instead.

It was a very respectable profession, and it more than helped pay the bills, but anytime he watched a football match, he had regrets. He couldn't help but think...

What if he didn't give up?

What if he kept going? Would he have achieved his dreams?

This time he wasn't going to think twice, nor was he going to give up, no matter how hard it was or how many obstacles stood in his way.

Sebastian clenched his fist, his knuckles white, as he kept his gaze out of the car window.