Quick Transmigration: Manual Mode [BL]

Extra: Gaius

Gaius, a name without a last name, was his most cherished treasure, something of his own that no one could steal. 

At a young age, his family was famished, his mother caught a deadly disease and his father was an alcoholic. No one, more accurately, no adult in the family could provide to sustain the house. 

Even though he was only six, he was still the oldest and most mature among the three children. He sneaked out of the house when his father went out, telling his siblings to take cats of mother. Only then could he work with a peace of mind.

He found some very simple jobs, it was either cleaning the street or delivering newspaper. The pay was not enough but the employers were still nice enough to pay a child of six like him.

All his money, none could be saved as he had to buy food and medicine. All this went unnoticed besides his siblings.

Until one day, the drawer where he hid his emergency fund was wide opened. Alarm sounded in his head as he ran out to confirm his suspicions.

And it was true, his useless of a father took his money to buy some alcohol that could last them a month. He was furious, a kind that would let his fist do the talking.

When his father got home, he immediately lunged at him. He got a few knocks in before getting overwhelmed by the body of an adult. What could a 6 years old do?

His father, out of his mind with alcohol, attacked back mercilessly, his punches carried full strength and blood flew whenever it landed on his body. The siblings could only watch and dare not come forward.

Even if he screamed for help, no one could hear it. Their shabby house was too disgraceful according to the villagers and had to be near the forest.

As he was about to lose his consciousness, a shadow flashed by, he could see a glint of golden thread floating, shining bright and warm, in the air before completely blackout.

When he opened his eyes again, he could no longer remember anything. He felt pain all over his tiny body as he tried to move. Besides him was a sleeping fat man reek of alcohol, if he looked a little closer, there was a big lump on the man's nape. There were also blood on that man's knuckles, seemingly not from the man but himself. He figured that he fought with this man. 

Looking at such a dangerous situation, he dragged his tattered body out of the house, not knowing three pairs of eyes were looking at him from the window, waving their hands.

As a 6 years old with no memories, it was difficult to survive by himself. He tried to be hired but no one accepted such an incompetent small boy. He wandered and wandered until he stumbled upon a gladiator rink. 

He was taken in by the rink owner and  called him 23. At first, he was grateful for the owner but slowly, he realized why he was taken in. It was to be trained to fight in a battle of life and death with much stronger opponents. He overheard how it would make a lot of money to watch a small child struggle against beasts.

There was nothing he could do, he still felt the grace from being taken in. He had to fight and fight countless of battles, each battles carried new wounds. From a scrawny body, his muscles firmed, hands and feet were full of calluses, each parts of his body had scars.

Even then, he was only 14. Thanks to his continuous victories and partly his loyalty towards the owner granted him a day off outside, but he needed to wear a tracking device.

There was a small festival at that time. He was quite excited to join with some coins given by the owner. But soon, his enthusiasm disappeared.

He realized how different outside life was compared to his gladiator life. Looking at the children happily playing with each other, all the laughter of people around, the smell of delicious food, all these, these were 'normal'...