Allow me to introduce myself. I am a 45-year-old individual, a homeless and unemployed writer at the moment. I don't possess any exceptional traits, simply a regular man, somewhat reclusive, deeply regretting how I've lived my life up to this point. The first thing I must share is that, until three hours ago, I had a home. For a long time, I was a reclusive writer who hadn't left his room in the last year.

Recently, I faced the loss of my wife, but due to my isolation, I didn't attend the memorial service that followed nor the funeral, which led to my eviction from the house. Apparently, none of my friends grasped the extent of my sorrow at my wife's passing.

It turns out that, upon their return from the funeral dressed in mourning, they decided to burst into my room and caught me in a compromising situation. Enraged, they delivered a harsh punishment and severed all ties with me. I was ignored, literally thrown out, and not even allowed to change my clothes.

As best as I could, I endured the pain in my chest, likely from the broken ribs due to the beating I had received. I wandered the streets of my city, with the hurtful words of my friends echoing in my mind as they expelled me from the house.

Those were cruel words and difficult to accept. My heart was shattered. What did I do wrong? All I did was immerse myself in my writing on the day of my wife's funeral. What should I do now? Nevertheless, my mind already had the answer: find a job, even if it's temporary; then find a place to live, and, lastly, ensure there's food on the table. But how would I achieve all of this?

Moreover, what would I do after accomplishing all of that? Assuming that I were lucky enough to get a bank loan, buy new clothes, find accommodation, and fill out the forms for the interview... I remember that the form must be completed with an address in my name or a friend's, so even that was a challenge.

It's over. At this moment, I have understood that my life has come to an end. "Hah..." And, as if that weren't enough, it started to rain. We're at the end of summer, the cold was beginning to set in, and this cold rain soaked my clothes that I had worn for countless years, leaving me freezing.

"...... If I could go back, to the beginning," I whispered. The words flowed from my lips in a way I couldn't contain. I wasn't born as such a complacent person.

I was the third child in a relatively harmonious family, along with my two older brothers, my older sister, and my younger brother, occupying the fourth position out of five siblings. Since elementary school, I was considered a creative individual, passionate about writing, although the truth is I wasn't particularly good at academics. Nonetheless, I was quite skilled, and for a time, I became admired by those around me.

Then, when I entered college, I decided to focus on my writing career, where I was advised on which works to read and the creative process. This made me stand out even more in the eyes of my friends and colleagues, who couldn't understand how I could write such moving and profound stories.

The turning point in my life occurred when I was at the peak of my career... well, maybe not. Now that I think about it, it all began when I immersed myself in writing my most recent novel.

Suddenly, I spotted a truck hurtling at high speed toward a group of people. The truck's driver, visibly inattentive, lay with his head resting on the steering wheel, apparently asleep at the wheel. The three individuals, in the midst of their conflict, were unaware of the imminent tragedy looming over them. I tried to shout to warn them of the impending danger, but my voice barely emerged, atrophied by the time that had passed without using it.

Despite my pain and difficulty moving, I ran toward them with determination. I managed to push one of the individuals closest to the truck to safety, but there were still two people in danger. I couldn't afford to leave them; I didn't want to carry more regrets.

With renewed courage, I headed for the path of the truck that was charging toward them, preparing for the impact. Then, just before the truck ran me over, an intense blinding light flooded my vision.