Reborn as My Son's Classmate

Eighteen again. I share a desk with the resident rebel. He despises textbooks.

Sleeps through lectures, ditches class for basketball, and haunts the local gaming lounge the second the final bell rings.

I refuse to chase him around and micromanage his life like I did in my past life. Then my eyes catch the parent signature scrawled across his math test.

A bold, sweeping signature—Alistair. I freeze in place. So, the son Alistair and I brought into this world… grew up this much?

Chapter 1 The notorious bad boy lounging at the desk beside me isn't Alistair. It's his son.

The mysterious force that brought me here—the System’s final directive to fix the timeline—finally clicks into place.

Years ago, I crashed into this universe and dragged a street punk to the absolute pinnacle of success. That punk answered to the name Alistair.

Rumors claimed he thrived after my departure, conquering the corporate world at a shockingly young age. I stamped my mission complete and slipped back to my original reality.

Nobody warned me his heir would inherit the exact same rebellious streak. Holden didn't just follow in his father's footsteps.

He sprinted past them, crowning himself the new king of the delinquents. A heavy exhale escapes my lips. Now I have to set this kid straight.

Keep him from going down the wrong path before he ruins his own life, and possibly the rest of the world. The System conveniently omitted one tiny detail—our baby survived.

Time crawls in the real world. Barely three years passed since my return. Yet in this universe, my boy morphed into a fullgrown teenager.

A flash of crimson shatters my thoughts as someone kicks the classroom door open. The boy blocks the hallway light. Tall frame. Sharp jawline. Porcelain skin.

Neonred hair clashes violently against a dark stud piercing his earlobe. He wears a permanent scowl.

He marches straight toward my desk, voice dripping with absolute frost. "Move." I look up and meet his dark eyes. My breath hitches. He looks exactly like Alistair. Taller. Colder.

Infinitely more chaotic. I slide out of my chair in total silence, clearing the path.

Holden swings his long legs under the desk, buries his face in his arms, and instantly zones out. My gaze lingers on his sharp profile.

This marks our very first encounter since my arrival. He skipped classes for two straight weeks. Rumors place him in dingy arcades or running wild on the streets.

Alistair simply threw money at the school, ensuring his son avoided expulsion. I pinch the bridge of my nose. A stubborn father raised a stubborn son. What a headache.

The bell shrieks through the hallways. Holden suddenly grips his stomach, his pale complexion draining of all remaining color. Instinct overrides logic.

A sudden, overwhelming wave of motherly affection floods my chest. I lean closer. "Hey, you okay? Does it hurt?" He shoots me a venomous sideeye. "Get lost." Zero manners.

What exactly did Alistair teach this kid? My hand moves before I can even think. Smack—my palm connects directly with the back of his head.

The entire classroom goes completely silent. Dozens of wide eyes pin us to the spot. My hand hovers awkwardly in midair, paralyzed by my own audacity.

I force out the most ridiculous excuse imaginable. "Holden, your hair glares too much. It ruins my focus." Holden grips the edge of his desk until his knuckles turn bonewhite.

His jaw ticks. Murder flashes in his eyes. He prepares to explode, but the warning bell shrills overhead.

Richard struts through the door, immediately zeroing in on Holden’s tensed posture. "Holden! Do I need to drag your father in for another little chat?" The threat hits its mark.

Holden swallows the rage burning in his throat and slams his head back onto the desk, radiating pure hostility.

Jace taps my shoulder from behind, his glasses catching the fluorescent light. "Fierce. Nobody ever puts Holden in his place." A dry chuckle leaves my lips.

Holden never takes a loss. Right before burying his face, he dropped a vicious whisper aimed solely at me. "After school. You're dead." Fine. Bring it on.

But the final bell rings, and Holden vanishes like a ghost. He sprints out so fast his leather jacket stays draped over the chair.

I kill time at my desk until the classroom completely empties. Security guards start their hallway sweeps. Time to bounce.

I swing my backpack over my shoulder, but a harsh buzzing sound erupts from his abandoned jacket. He ditched his phone too. What on earth is this idiot kid in such a rush for?

I dig into the pockets and fish out the device. The screen flashes brightly, illuminating a single incoming caller ID—Alistair. Chapter 2 I want to let it ring out.

But the screen flashes relentlessly, vibrating against my palm like a threat. At the last possible second, I swipe accept.

The man's low voice comes through the speaker, carrying a natural sense of authority. "Where are you?" I clear my throat, the word catching painfully on my tongue.

Heat floods my cheeks as I force the syllables out. "Hello, Mr. Alistair. I'm Holden's—" He cut me off before I could finish. "Right. Tell him to come home." The line goes dead.

I stand frozen, gripping the cold metal of the phone. Alistair. Are you really that impatient?

While I debated how to return the device, a text bubbled onto the lock screen. "Holden, cake is secured.

Come cover the tab." Another ping followed. "Dude, where are you?" A location pin dropped right after. I tap the screen, trying his birthday. Error. I try his dad's birthday. Error.

I even type in the old family dog's birthday. Nothing. Finally, muscle memory takes over. I punch in my own birth date. The home screen unlocks.

My nose stings, and a dense ache spreads through my tightening chest. Eighteen years. Someone actually kept my memory alive for eighteen years. I rub my eyes and follow the GPS pin.

When I push through the bakery doors, Craig, the owner, is aggressively shoving Holden and his crew toward the exit.

Craig sneered, practically throwing them out. "Freeloading punks! Get the hell out! Kids these days lie straight to my face!

Just admit you're broke instead of pulling that 'I forgot my phone' crap!" Seeing their leader disrespected, Jace and the rest of the neonhaired squad grabbed nearby chairs, ready to trash the place.

I lunged forward and clamped my fingers around Holden's forearm. "Stand down. I brought your phone." Holden shot me a look. A messy, unreadable storm swirled in his dark eyes.

He snatched the device and tapped it against the register. The payment chimed. Craig instantly flipped a switch, stammering apologies while hurriedly boxing up the pastry.

I stepped back, leaning against the counter to wait. Whispers drifted from the boys grouped by the door. "Is that his new girl?" "Doubt it.

He just took someone else out to dinner a few days ago." "Probably dumped her. Holden's situationships never last past a week." My brow furrowed.

What kind of walking red flag was he? Who taught him to be so reckless with people? I glanced up. Holden sat upright at a small table, writing earnestly on a card.

I figured he was writing some smooth apology to a girl. I stepped closer. The words registered in my brain, and my feet glued themselves to the floor. Happy Birthday, Dad.

He crossed it out. Wrote it again. Crossed it out again. The dark ink bled completely through the thick paper. He couldn't figure out how to bridge the gap.

Finally, he scratched out a single, detached line: Wishing CEO Alistair continued success. Frustration and a dull ache warred in my chest. This kid.

He wasn't the ruthless rebel he pretended to be. He remembered his father's birthday. He remembered Alistair hated sugar.

The order slip showed a custom request—barely any frosting, absolute minimum sweetness. Holden was entirely too observant, too delicate underneath that jagged exterior.

Right before he pushed the door open, I caught his gaze. "Your dad is waiting at home to eat with you," I said, keeping my voice low. "Alistair despised empty rooms.

He hated being alone, especially today. Just go home to him." Holden didn't reply. He adjusted his grip on the box and stepped onto the sidewalk.

Then, he paused, glancing back over his shoulder. The syllable barely scraped the air. "Thanks." That triggered a memory from a lifetime ago.

Back when Alistair wore the badboy crown, he was ten times more feral than his son. Reckless and completely thickheaded.

He'd sleep through tutoring sessions, but the second his crew whistled, he’d sprint out the door.

Nine times out of ten, I’d hunt him down in that graffiticovered alley across town. I’d grab him by the collar and drag his ass all the way home.

Chapter 3 We lived across the street. Once I started tutoring him, Helen completely dumped all parenting duties onto my shoulders.

Helen handed me her battered feather duster, worn down to a bare stick. She had threatened Alistair with it so many times it was practically a family heirloom, yet he never changed.

That battered stick still worked miracles in my grip. Alistair flinched at the mere sight of the wood. He would bite his tongue and follow me straight to the study desk.

Senior year hit. He finally anchored himself. He secured an acceptance letter to a university. They both cried on results day.

Alistair crushed me against his chest, dampening my shirt with silent sobs.

A single "thank you" carried the weight of a mountain. "I'll listen to you from now on," he rasped into my hair. The first few years of our relationship mirrored a warzone.

Alistair obsessed over online gaming. I took a pair of shears directly to his router cable. He ditched lectures for the arcade.

I grabbed his collar and dragged him back to the classroom. Then came the day he flashed a full tattoo sleeve.

I pinched his ear, hauling him toward the nearest laser removal clinic. He frantically peeled the decal off his skin. "It's a fake! Chill out, your majesty!

I surrender!" I kept him in line like that. Four years flew by. By graduation, Alistair hoarded academic awards and glowing recommendation letters from his professors.

The whole campus knew him as the guy with the terrifyingly fierce girlfriend. I couldn't care less. Dragging a walking red flag to the pinnacle of success demands brutal methods.

After graduation, he launched his startup. But as success arrived, it dragged immense pressure right behind it, forcing him to swap video games for whiskey.

Night after night, he drowned his stress in highend clubs until his lab results came back covered in red ink—severe damage to his stomach lining and frequent internal bleeding.

I tracked him down at a VIP booth one night. Before I could even speak, he violently shoved my hand away.

His eyes grew cold. "Wren, you're crossing the line," he bit out. "Aren't you exhausted?" I stared at him. Dead silence swallowed the space between us.

He dragged a heavy breath into his lungs. "I'm done, Wren. Being controlled by you all these years… I'm just so damn tired." My throat constricted.

Alistair refused to offer a single shred of comfort. He turned his back. He walked away. My boots glued to the pavement. Hot moisture spilled over my lashes.

Drops splattered violently against my knuckles. A thick lump formed in my throat. I retreated to my apartment and stared at the walls.

Looking after him all those years wasn't just exhausting for him. It was exhausting for me too. I absorbed the whispers. The constant accusations of being a shrew. A tyrant.

A barbarian. I knew it all. I even knew about the night he quietly agreed with the gossip. "I'm exhausted too. Should've found someone gentler." Power attracts vultures.

As his empire expanded, a parade of new faces swarmed his orbit. Rumors crawled into my space. Disgusting, suffocating rumors. I never interrogated him. He never offered a defense.

I just stayed silent and tried to make myself invisible. Then the positive test appeared. I foolishly believed a child would reset our fractured timeline.

Reality snapped my delusions in half the day I dropped by his office. A young girl occupied his private sofa. Paige. Softspoken. Meek.

She didn't even dare raise her voice above a whisper. She shot up from the cushions the second I stepped inside. Panic hitched her breath. Moisture flooded her eyes instantly.

I leveled my gaze and fired a single question. "How long have you been sleeping with him?" Paige completely broke down in tears. Alistair stormed into the room moments later.

His jaw tightened, and he clenched and unclenched his fists. He shot me a glare heavy enough to crush concrete. He didn't say a single word.

He just clamped his fingers around my wrist and dragged me out of the building. He locked himself in the study that night. I laid flat on the mattress.

I stared blankly at the ceiling. I didn't close my eyes until dawn. Silence screams the loudest truths. That exact moment, I chose to erase myself from this universe.

Chapter 4 Eighteen to twentysix. I dragged him from absolute nothingness to a corporate empire. I was so tired. I swallow the last bite of my pastry and push out the door.

Holden’s crew still loitered on the curb. They swarmed me the second I stepped onto the concrete. "Hey. It's late.

Holden told us to walk you home." I glanced at the flickering streetlights. I didn't argue.

Step by step, their scattered chatter glued together the shattered pieces of Holden’s life. "Holden’s actually got it pretty rough.

His mom died way back." "His old man is a workaholic. Nobody gives a damn about him in that massive house." "Dude almost died of a fever once.

Not a single person even handed him a glass of water." My fingernails dug violently into my palms. Alistair. You bastard.

Is this how you take care of our son? "But he's loyal to a fault." "His dad treats him like a ghost, but he still buys a birthday cake every single year." "Holden just acts ruthless.

Even my mom says he's got more heart than the rest of us combined." Richard's threat in the classroom flashed through my mind.

Holden instantly backed down the second his father was mentioned. He didn't fear Alistair. He knew Alistair barely had time to breathe.

Holden refused to drop another mess onto his desk. The neonred hair. The toxic rebellion. It was a desperate scream. A plea for a single ounce of his father’s attention.

A heavy knot formed in my throat. My knuckles cracked under the pressure of my own grip. "Just watch.

He dragged that cake home, but his old man won't even touch it." "Same script every year. Holden brings the whole thing back tomorrow and splits it with us." "An entire cake.

Completely untouched." "I don't get how someone can be that coldblooded." My chest tightened with a dense, aching pain. My boy had suffered so much all these years.

I tossed and turned in bed that night. I couldn't get Holden's hollow, defeated look out of my head. My chest physically ached. "System. Burn a lifeline. Show me Holden.

Now." The System granted three lifelines upon my return. Once burned, it would violently eject me back to my original reality. I didn't care. Maternal instinct overrode the risk.

A digital projection materialized. Holden pushed through his front door. He gripped the bakery box, his eyes locking onto a broad back on the living room sofa.

A man in a sharp, tailored suit hunched over a glowing screen. He didn't spare a single glance toward the entryway. Dead silence stretched.

Holden’s knuckles whitened around the thin string of the box. He directed a rough, fractured whisper at the suit. "Dad—I'm home." He called out twice. Absolute silence answered him.

Holden dropped his gaze to the hardwood floor. He stood paralyzed in the foyer, drowning in his own isolation. Glass shattered in my chest.

I wanted to rip through the projection and slap Alistair across his arrogant jaw. Bastard. A long moment passed before Alistair finally lowered his tablet. He rotated his neck.

Goldrimmed glasses framed a terrifyingly composed face. His dark eyes held zero warmth.

He stared at his own flesh and blood with the exact same dead expression he reserved for corporate rivals. "Eat." Several plates cooled on the dining table.

The man clearly waited hours for this dinner. Holden set the box on the marble island. His fingers reached for the ribbon.

Alistair’s glacial tone sliced through the air. "Don't bother. I despise sweets." My boy agonized over that order for you. Zero frosting. Barely any sugar.

You stubborn, dramatic old fool. Holden’s hand froze midair. He stared at his father's stonecarved profile.

His Adam's apple bobbed sharply, swallowing down every single justification burning in his throat. He sank into a chair.

The brutal scrape of silverware against porcelain became the only sound allowed in that massive, empty house. Chapter 5 "How are your grades holding up?" I scoff internally.

Better than yours ever did. Even with zero effort, he outshines your entire academic history.

My son pulls perfect scores even while ditching class. "Fine." Alistair's voice turns freezing cold. "Richard mentioned you've been skipping for weeks.

What exactly occupies your time?" Holden swallows the silence. Alistair refuses to let up. "Wasting your life with street trash. Is that it?" Holden’s knuckles turn bonewhite.

A jagged syllable scrapes his throat. "Yeah." "Do I fund your life just so you can rot in the gutters with them?" Alistair’s gaze snaps directly to the neonred hair.

Absolute disgust tightens his jaw. "Look at what you've turned into." The tension in the room is suffocating.

Holden shoots up, his chair loudly scraping against the hardwood, fists locked at his sides. "You only know how to throw cash at me anyway!

Why the hell do you care who I roll with?" "Care? You think I want to watch you drag yourself through the mud?" Alistair tilts his chin up.

The dining room chandelier casts a brutal glare across his goldrimmed glasses. It’s a predatory, corporate stare.

Way too heavy for a teenager to bear. "I'd rather rot in the mud than suffocate in an empty mansion like you." Holden sneers, practically spitting the words. "You're infinitely more pathetic than I am, Alistair.

Tell me, besides my mom, who the hell in this world ever actually gave a damn about you?" The words hang heavily in the air.

Holden snatches his leather jacket and storms out the front door. The massive estate swallows the silence. Alistair anchors himself to his chair.

His knuckles whiten around the edge of the mahogany table. A hollow, crushing isolation radiates from his broad shoulders. My projection tracks Holden out the door.

The digital feed cuts out the second he slides into a yellow cab. Pure panic floods my veins. Pacing anxiously, I call out. "System. Drop me at Holden's coordinates.

Now." Holden sits curled against a granite headstone. His knees pulled tight against his chest. I stare at the sharp slope of his spine. My heart drops.

Time seems to stretch forever. He finally lifts his head. Moisture clings to his dark lashes. His voice splinters into the cold wind. "Mom.

Dad… he doesn't want me." A choked, broken sob. My nose stings, and I can't hold back the tears anymore. Alistair didn't just resent me.

He actively rejected the very child we created. "Mom, can I just come find you…" The wind violently rips the words away. Leaving only raw, bleeding desperation.

I clench my fists tightly. My lungs seize. I close the distance and stop right behind his trembling frame. "Holden." He violently whips around. His dark eyes lock onto mine. Soaked.

Shimmering under the moonlight. Like an abandoned puppy. I drop to a crouch, brushing my fingers through his violently dyed hair. My chest physically caves in. "Son.

Did that old bastard cross the line again?" His muscles instantly coil, preparing to aggressively shove my hand away. The words register. He freezes completely.

Extreme paranoia and wild hope war in his dilated pupils. A soft exhale leaves my lips. "When you were born, we had a mutt roaming the house. Three years old.

Pitchblack birthmark tucked right under her left ear. Remember her? Your dad and I dragged her off the campus streets back in college. Named her Pearl.

Did she ever have a litter of puppies?" Tears rapidly flood Holden's waterline. He aggressively scrubs his sleeve across his face.

A raw, scraping sound tears from his throat. "No." Defenses still raised, he glares at me. "How do you prove you're her?" I stare at the exact replica of Alistair's face.

A thousand confessions lodge like shattered glass in my throat. I have zero idea how to explain the truth.

The night he entered this world, I intentionally let the hemorrhage take me. Chapter 6 I erased myself completely. I left zero traces behind. No belongings.

Not a single photograph inside that massive house. I thought my departure was absolute. Yet, I somehow left behind the one piece of my soul I cared about most.

I suppress a heavy sigh and slowly shake my head. "I can't prove it. I just wanted to tell you. Your dad's garbage temper hasn't changed one bit over the years.

Don't let his toxicity drag you down. My son is infinitely smarter than him. He is not going to end up rotting in the gutters." Holden locks his dark eyes onto mine.

He looks at me with a heavy gaze. "Did he treat you like that back then?" I search my memories and offer a soft shake of my head. "He wouldn't dare.

I wielded the battered feather duster your grandmother passed down.

It instantly cured every single one of his rebellious phases." I mimic the motion I used to hit Alistair with back in the day. Holden breaks. A genuine snort escapes his lips.

Sharp canines peek through a wide grin. His dark eyes crinkle into soft crescents. "Want to hear more?" He nods vigorously.

I push myself off the freezing grass and brush the dirt from my jeans. "Go home and sleep. Show up to class tomorrow.

Ten consecutive days of perfect attendance buys you exactly one story about your parents." Holden swallows the silence. I pivot and walk toward the cemetery gates.

He follows right on my heels, quiet as a shadow. He listens infinitely better than Alistair ever did. A cab drops me off at my rundown apartment complex. I pull up my banking app.

The screen flashes a pathetic balance—$15.27. My fingers tighten around the phone case. I desperately need to figure out how to survive the incoming winter.

The next morning, I march straight into Richard's office and submit a financial aid application. The gossip spreads like wildfire, mutating before it reaches Holden's ears.

Some claim I can't afford groceries. Others swear I'm dropping out. The most unhinged rumor diagnoses me with terminal leukemia, desperately hunting for treatment funds.

I have zero clue which version Holden actually absorbed. I only know the moment he saunters into homeroom.

He bypasses his desk entirely and violently shoves a heavy, titanium card into my palm. An Amex Black Card. Alistair's account. My breath catches.

I instantly recoil, refusing to close my fingers around the metal. Holden blinks, entirely serious. "My dad drowns in paperwork.

He won't notice one missing piece of plastic." Alistair might miss it. Carter absolutely monitors that account like a hawk. A heavy exhale slips past my lips.

This kid is way too naive. You don't start your criminal record by stealing a limitless credit line. They will catch him immediately. Sure enough.

The stolen titanium barely warms Holden's pocket. Alistair breaches the campus perimeter that exact evening. Holden's knuckles turn bonewhite.

Deep down, he was still terrified of his father. I refuse to let them tear each other apart. I silently tail them through the administration wing.

They occupy the principal's office. Holden stands rigid in his uniform. His gaze glues itself to the mahogany floorboards. The massive room swallows the two of them whole.

Alistair shifts his stare upward. The fluorescent lights bounce sharply off his goldrimmed glasses.

His tone drops to a subzero register. "Are you short on cash?" Holden presses his lips into a bloodless line. His fists lock at his sides. He refuses to speak. "Holden.

Playing mute won't magically erase this. Running away last night. Stealing my card today. What exactly won't you do?" His words carry a heavy weight.

They crush the air out of the teenager's lungs, forcing his shoulders to physically cave. My fingernails dig crescent moons into my palms. The phantom pain suffocates me.

Dead silence stretches. A raw, fractured whisper finally scrapes out of the boy's throat. "I'm sorry." Holden drops his chin completely.

Alistair lets his glacial stare linger for several agonizing seconds. His eyes lock onto the dark metal piercing Holden's earlobe. A look of pure disgust crosses his face.

That single look makes my chest tight with a suffocating ache. Chapter 7 In his eyes, my boy is probably nothing more than a lost cause. A bad seed.

But Alistair… no matter how reckless Holden gets, he's just a kid. When he hurts, he only dares to break down in front of my granite headstone.

He memorizes every single one of your preferences. He is bleeding himself dry just to claw out a single scrap of your attention. Why can't you just give him an ounce of patience?

Just a fraction. Just ask him. Ask him how much agony he swallowed these past few years. How much he actually suffered. But Alistair is entirely deaf to it.

He simply pushes off his chair and marches straight toward the door. Panic spikes my heart rate when he nears the exit. I spin around, desperate to bolt.

The hallway stretches too far. He catches me dead to rights. Alistair registers my bloodshot eyes. He stops in his tracks.

He flicks his gaze toward Holden still inside the office, then back to me. "You answered the phone last night." I tilt my chin up. My fingernails dig brutally into my palms.

I refuse to speak. "You can be friends," his tone drops to an arctic freeze, "but my son doesn't have time for cheap distractions like you." He drops his eyelids, raking a slow, calculated look over my frame.

Unfiltered, absolute disdain drips from his stare. Holden instantly launches himself out of the room. He moves to intercept, afraid I'll clash with his dad.

He throws an arm out, trying to physically shield me behind his back. Too late. Smack—my palm connects hard with Alistair's face. The crisp sound echoes down the empty corridor.

Violent tremors rack my spine. I glare dead into his eyes. "You bastard. When you were a punk, what exactly didn't you do? Who the hell are you to judge anyone else!" Fine.

He didn't date in high school. Because I forced him to wait until he snagged that college acceptance letter before I agreed to be his.

But that doesn't give him the right to degrade my son