At the factory, my arm is pulled into a machine.

After the surgery, the factory supervisor tells me it's my fault. Because of my arm, the machine has to be shut down for repairs, and every day of downtime will cost them millions.

"Someone has to take responsibility for this, Zachary," the supervisor tells me. "It wouldn't make sense to demand millions from you, so just compensate us with 300,000—that's all."

Under their threats—and my family's desperate begging—I sign the IOU for 300,000. With one arm gone, I can no longer find a job. All I can do is collect trash to repay the debt.

While picking up bottles outside a restaurant one day, I hear the factory supervisor laughing and bragging inside. "Actually, that one-armed guy didn't violate any rules. In fact, the HQ gave three million dollars in compensation. My house and car? All bought with that money," he said.

"I mean, who'd ever find out? With that debt hanging over him, he's probably already run off somewhere."

Shaken by the news, I stagger onto the street. A truck roars out of nowhere, slamming into me and throwing me 16 feet across the road. When I open my eyes again, I had returned to the day I lost my arm.

I was reborn a second before my arm was torn off. Facing the roaring machine, I felt a chill run down my spine. I took several steps back, just about to say, "I quit", when someone suddenly shoved me from behind.

I fell straight onto the machine. A searing pain shot through my arm and exploded across my entire body. Once again, I watched my arm get ground up like butchered meat.

…

"Oh, Zachary… How are you supposed to work and settle down after this?"

When I opened my eyes again, Mom was wailing by my side in the hospital ward.

The anesthesia hadn't fully worn off, so though the end of my arm was oozing blood, it didn't hurt at all. Despair washed over me. My heart felt like it was being twisted violently as I recalled just how close I had been to changing my fate.

Before I could even sort out my thoughts, the door swung open. The factory supervisor walked in. "Zachary, are you feeling better?"

Mom exploded the moment she saw him. "This is all your fault, Connor! You guys ruined his arm! You owe him everything!"

Connor Peterson was technically family—distant, but enough that he called my mom his cousin. He was also the one who got me this job at the factory.

"Calm down, Patty," he said, frowning. "What do you mean it was my fault? He was the one who violated safety procedures."

She froze. "What do you mean?"

He sighed. "We went through the surveillance footage. It shows that he violated the rules, which is what got his arm caught in the machine. And because of that, the entire factory has to shut down. I'm here to talk about how your family plans to compensate the factory for the losses, actually."

Mom looked even more flustered. It took her a long moment to register what was happening.

"What? My son lost his arm because of the factory, and not only are you refusing to take accountability, but you also want us to pay you? Oh, Lord. How are we supposed to live like this? You people are big bullies!"

She plopped down on the floor and started wailing again. Connor ignored her tantrum. He pulled out the bedside chair and sat down facing me.

"Zachary, your mom may not understand how things work, but you should. The machines in our factory are all imported from abroad. Even routine maintenance costs tens of thousands.

"Now, the machine's been damaged because of you, and repairing it requires flying in foreign engineers. That's all money. The production floor has no choice but to shut down.

"Usually, we produce hundreds of thousands' worth of goods a day. Add everything together, and the damages amount to three million dollars. HQ is not happy. They want someone to take responsibility."

His tone was stern, and the number was so huge that Mom forced back her tears in fear. "A-And how do they plan to make him do that?"

Connor replied, "Either Zachary pays for the damage, or he'll go to jail."

"H-How are we supposed to afford three million dollars?" Mom exclaimed, clearly panicked.

She grabbed his hand, almost collapsing from desperation. "Connor, we're family, aren't we? And you're the supervisor. Can't you talk to the higher-ups for us? Please don't make us pay. You know our situation… His father died early, and his little brother is still in high school…"

"Patty, do you think I wouldn't help if I could?" he replied.

Mom's helplessness was exactly what Connor wanted to see. He put on a troubled expression, adding, "I already talked to the plant manager. There's no way they can expect Zachary to cover the entire loss. That's why the factory will shoulder 90% of it, while your family only needs to pay 300,000 dollars."

Of course, 300,000 was still more than what our family could ever afford. It was practically like a death sentence to Mom. She cried and begged Connor to lower it further.

"I'm sorry, I'm not the boss. My word doesn't hold that much power, unfortunately," Connor said, then turned to me. "Actually, 300,000 isn't that much. Go out, work for a couple of years, and you'll earn it back. What do you think?"

"I think…" I looked at him coldly and said, "I won't be paying."

At that, Connor frowned in disapproval. "I know losing your arm sucks, but don't make decisions while you're angry. If you don't pay, you're going to jail—at least ten years. By then, your whole life will be over."

He looked genuinely heartbroken, as if he were truly thinking for my sake. In my previous life, I was completely taken aback by his talks about the three-million-dollar damage and ten-year sentence. I let him talk me into signing that IOU.

The next day, he came to me without a troubled expression and said he had been fired because of my incident. I felt extremely guilty toward him. After I got out of the hospital, I even went to thank him with gifts, only for his neighbor to tell me he had gone to a small town after being fired.

I always thought he was living a hard life there.

One day, while I was collecting garbage in a small town, I overheard him talking with someone. Apparently, right after my arm was crushed, the factory reported it to the headquarters. They were preparing to go public at that time and didn't want that kind of scandal.

Hence, they wired three million dollars to the factory that very night.

Connor volunteered to talk to me, but in reality, he quietly pocketed the entire compensation. Not only that, but he also bought a house and a car in that small town, living an extremely comfortable life.

Just thinking about those years drowning in debt made me want to tear Connor apart. Naturally, I didn't bother being polite.

"I'm not paying a dime, and I'm not going to jail. I was injured while working in the factory. That makes it a workplace injury," I said eloquently.

"According to the workers' comp, if an employee is hurt because of work, the factory has no right to demand that I compensate them for production losses caused by the accident. On top of that, all my medical bills, rehabilitation costs, and hospital meals should be covered by the factory. And most importantly, the factory owes me compensation."

With every sentence I said, Connor's face went a shade paler. My one good hand slowly curled into a fist.

All of this was what I had looked up on my phone in my previous life, right after hearing his lies. And it was reading those words that stunned me so badly that my mind went blank. I didn't hear the people shouting. I didn't hear the truck horn. That was how the accident killed me.

When I finished speaking, a thin layer of sweat had formed on Connor's forehead. I thought he would try to scare me again, maybe tell me not to trust what I had read online, but he took a tissue and wiped his forehead.

Good-naturedly, he said, "Oh, I see now. I didn't expect you to know so much, Zachary. Looks like the HQ just doesn't want to pay and was trying to scare us. Don't worry, I'll talk to them for you. Not a single penny of your compensation will be lost."

I didn't quite understand his sudden shift, but I put on a smile. "You don't need to run back and forth for this, Uncle Connor. I'm definitely not going back to work, and since you will, dealing with my case would only make things harder for you.

"Tell you what—I'll handle all the communication with the factory myself."

He looked a little unhappy but insisted we were family. No matter what, even if it cost him his job, he would make sure I got what I was owed. He was acting formal and serious, and I simply responded with a fake smile.

Eventually, he slunk away. Once he left, Mom started grumbling, "I can't believe you. Why aren't you letting him stand up for you? He's the factory supervisor. How could he not have more influence than a lowly employee like you?"

I didn't say a word to Mom. There was no way I could explain the money situation to her. Even if I tried, she wouldn't get it. To her, keeping good relations with relatives was the most important thing in the world.

If she found out I was doing all this to stop Connor from scamming my compensation, she would never see it as the right move. Instead, she would complain that I was ruining family ties.

After expressing my desire to handle the communication myself, the plant manager, Mike Wilson, unexpectedly showed up in person the next day. He spent 30 minutes expressing his sympathy before he got to the point.

"Connor has told us about your needs. Don't worry. We run a proper factory, and there's no way you won't be given what you deserve," Mike said. "Your medical expenses, lost wages, rehab costs—they'll all be covered."

He then placed an envelope on my bed. "On top of that, you'll be receiving 30,000 dollars in compensation—right here. Now, take care and have a speedy recovery."

Seeing the so-called compensation I deserved, I couldn't help but laugh in disbelief. "Is that all?"

Mike's smile froze. "Okay… What else were you expecting?"

Connor chimed in from the side, "Zachary, 30,000 isn't a small amount. Mr. Wilson even paid it out of his own pocket. How much more do you want?"

I looked them both dead in the eye. "Three million dollars."

The room went silent. A few seconds later, Mike exploded. "Are you out of your mind? Giving you 30,000 is already against the rules. How could you ask for three million? Just rob a bank at this point!"

Connor joined in, "You're going overboard, Zachary. Three million? That's straight-up extortion. If we call the cops, they could lock you up. Just take the win, dude."

That was when it hit me. These two were playing a game. One played the bad guy, the other the good guy. Most likely, they were working together and had already pocketed the three million for themselves.

I let out a cold laugh. "If you think I'm extorting you, go ahead and call the cops. My arm got crushed, and it's considered a total permanent disability. By law, I'm entitled to at least 27 months of salary, not to mention nursing and rehab costs.

"There's no way that adds up to only 30,000. If you want to sue me, I'll sue you back. It's not like I have anything more to lose—well, maybe another arm. I'm disabled, and I can't get a job. I've got all the time in the world."

Under my threat, both of their expressions shifted. They clearly hadn't expected me to go head-to-head with them. Just when I thought Mike might choose the safer path and settle things quietly, he laughed in my face. "Go ahead and sue us, then."

With that, he yanked the door open and strode out. Connor chased after him. Ten minutes later, he came running back to lecture me.

"Zachary, are you crazy? Did you get all that nonsense from the internet? And you actually believe it? The legal team from HQ is insanely strong. They barely ever lose a case. Besides…"

He suddenly lowered his voice. "The footage shows you throwing yourself into the machine. That's really bad for you!"

I shot back without thinking, "Impossible!"

I then recalled being shoved right after I was reborn. "I want to see the surveillance footage."

"The footage isn't something you can watch just because you want to," he argued.

Realizing being soft wasn't working, he switched tones. "We're family, Zachary, so let me give you some friendly advice. Just take this 30,000 and let it go. The footage definitely won't work in your favor.

"Even if you weren't the one who lunged in there, they'd never give you that much money. If they pay you that kind of compensation, and the other workers hear about it, everyone will start following suit. By then, how's the factory supposed to keep running?"

He tried scaring me and coaxing me at the same time, but my answer didn't change. I insisted on three million, no more, no less. In the end, he dropped the act and let out a cold laugh. "Suit yourself."

Connor stood up and headed for the door. There, he ran into Mom, who was returning with food from the cafeteria. She asked if he had eaten, and he sneered, giving her a sarcastic thumbs-up.

"You've raised a great son, Patty," he said before leaving.

After he left, Mom came in to scold me. "I thought you guys were discussing compensation today. What did you say this time?"

I was already in a terrible mood, so I didn't answer.

She frowned. "You can't afford to offend Connor. Just accept whatever they're offering you. You're the one who wasn't careful and lost your arm. The fact that they're giving you anything at all is considered charity."

I pulled the blanket over my head.

After that day, up until I was discharged, no one from the factory came again. Those few days, I replayed everything from start to finish.

In my previous and current lives, I was sure of one thing—I didn't throw myself into the machine. Connor and Mike only claimed otherwise because they were trying to mess with my head.

This time, I was determined to fight them to the end.

After I got out of the hospital, I went straight to the factory to talk about compensation again. The moment I brought it up, Mike spread his hands. "What are you talking about? Didn't you already accept the 30,000?"

I was baffled. "When?"

He pulled a sheet of paper from a folder. It was an agreement saying I had accepted the payout. My name and fingerprint were right there. With one glance, I knew I didn't do it—Mom did.

Fuming, I stormed back home and threw the document in front of her. I demanded an explanation for why she signed something like that without consulting me.

"I was trying to ask for three million dollars! Why did you settle for 30,000?" I questioned.

Mom glanced at the paper, expressionless. "And you think they're just gonna hand it to you because you asked? Connor said you were the one who violated safety rules first. We don't have the upper hand at all."

"I didn't. I didn't violate any safety rules. I never did that!" I screamed, so angry that I started shaking.

I grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the door. "You're coming with me to tell them the agreement is null. You give them the money back!"

We barely made it a few steps before she yanked her arm away. "I'm not going with you. Connor promised to help find connections for Anthony so he can get into a college next year."

She looked at me, her tone finally softening. "Zachary, your little brother has taken the SAT four times. This is his only real shot at getting into college. Do you really want to ruin that for him?"

My little brother, Anthony Neal, had an intellectual disability. He spent four years in middle school and seven years in high school. Every time he took the SAT, his score worsened.

Growing up, Mom always made me give in to him. She would say things like, "He's just not trying hard enough. If he really studied, I'm sure he'd score higher than you."

I never understood it. I was her son too. When I got into college, she said we couldn't afford it and refused to let me go. On the other hand, my idiot brother could keep taking the exam year after year.

When I got injured, she never once asked if it hurt. All she cared about was that I wouldn't be able to work anymore and make money for Anthony's tuition.

I laughed bitterly. "So, Anthony's got his future set. What about me? I lost an arm. Don't I deserve to fight for some money for myself?"

She smiled like it was nothing. "You only lost an arm. The rest of you is still fine. You're smarter than Anthony. You'll find another job just fine."

That was it. Any last bit of hope I had dried up. I laughed coldly and walked out without saying anything.

The more they tried to silence me, the more determined I was to make a ruckus. They thought they could walk all over me. Well, guess what? I would take back every single thing that rightfully belonged to me.

Two weeks later, the CEO, Victor Armstrong, came to inspect the factory. He had just stepped out of the car at the gate when I rushed forward with something in my hands. I got to him a second before Mike could welcome him.

The bodyguards were swift, shielding Victor immediately. Under everyone's gaze, I turned to Mike. "Mr. Wilson, I finally found you! I've been looking for you everywhere!"

Mike went pale. "Security! This guy's crazy! Get him out of here!"

I raised a handmade sign while shouting, "No, Mr. Wilson! Don't kick me out! I'm not here to cause trouble. I'm here to thank you!"

The sign read, "Endless Gratitude for Your Work Injury Support, Mike Wilson. $30K!"

Since this was a visit from the biggest local company, and the headquarters was about to go public, local TV news and online media were all present. When they saw me, they all pounced like wolves on a rabbit, snapping photos of my sign as hard as they could.

Mike went even paler. He stepped forward, snatching my sign away before shoving me. "Alright, I got it. Now, stop making a scene and leave!"

Connor pushed his way through the crowd and yanked my arm. "You're sure a prankster, Zachary. Come on, I'll send you home."

One pushed, the other pulled. Just as they were about to drag me away, Victor shouted, "Hold on!"