There's an unspoken rule in my household—everyone has to engage in a drinking competition during the holidays.

Whoever gets wasted first will have to pay off one year's worth of house and car mortgages for the other two siblings.

In the first year, I collapsed after my first glass of alcohol. I had to pay the house mortgage for my oldest sister, Dahlia Zeller.

In the second year, as soon as I picked up my glass, I fainted right away. Since then, I had to pay off Jasmine Zeller, my second sister's car loan.

For the next 20 years, I've always been the loser.

In the end, my wife, Jean McCarthy, is forced to jump off a building because of the huge debt I've racked up. The debtors keep dumping paint onto my residence, forcing me to deter away from it.

Ransacked by guilt, I end up damaging my stomach from overdrinking when I attempt to train my alcohol tolerance. As a result, half of my liver has gotten removed.

When I'm on the verge of death, I hear my parents snickering outside my ward.

"Don't you think we've laced too many sleeping pills in his drink? He almost didn't wake up back then!"

"It's fine. He's an idiot who merely thinks he has a low alcohol tolerance. Our family still relies on him for financial survival, you see. We can keep drugging him so that he'll keep getting wasted."

When I open my eyes again, I've already gotten reborn in the timeframe when I'm sitting at the dining table in the 20th year.

Mom and Dad urged me to drink up.

I raised the glass and, with a twist of my wrist, poured it all over the food on the table, causing the smell of alcohol to permeate the surroundings instantly.

In that instant, the laughter around the table ceased. Dahlia Zeller, my eldest sister, stopped with her glass held near her lips. Jasmine Zeller, my second sister, froze while adjusting her glasses.

I barely had time to put my glass down when Ryan Moore, my brother-in-law, yelled, "What the hell do you think you're doing, Weston? That's Dad's prized Macallan whiskey!"

Dahlia slammed the table and rose to her feet, causing the dishes on the table to shake and rattle. "What's wrong with you this New Year's? You could have just said so if you didn't want to drink!"

Jasmine cleaned up the spilled whiskey with a napkin. "Do you have a problem with Mom and Dad, Weston? You've ruined all the food on the table. How could you be so inconsiderate?"

I listened to their accusations and found them all utterly absurd. It was no different in my past life, as they used kinship to manipulate me and rules to weigh me down.

I suffered in silence for the sake of a harmonious home, yet it only led to my family's ruin. I could never forget the sight of Jean McCarthy, my wife, jumping from the 18th floor of the building.

I looked up and swept my gaze over every face at the table. "Who said I didn't want to drink it? My hand slipped. That's all."

Dad slammed his cutlery on the table and snapped, "You're telling me that your hand just slipped, huh? You're clearly trying to pick a fight here! You should just say something if you don't want to help your sisters instead of making up excuses! With that kind of attitude, you don't seem like the son of the Zeller family at all!"

I snorted derisively. "You think this can be considered as helping them, huh? Dahlia has a 1,700-dollar mortgage, and Jasmine has an 800-dollar car loan. You're asking me to pay for everything for them. You're not asking me to help them—you're bleeding me dry here."

Dahlia's face flushed as she pointed right at me and yelled, "You ought to know that we agreed on the rules beforehand! You lost the bet, so you have to deal with it! You can't blame anyone else for being a lightweight! You should also know that nobody forced those drinks on you!"

Jasmine adjusted her glasses and said, "You've done this for 19 years already, Weston. How can you suddenly back out of it this year?"

She then turned to Jean and said, "You should keep your husband in check, Jean."

Jean, who had been sitting silently beside me, took my hand. Her palm radiated warmth. In my past life, she had attempted to put an end to this absurd wager, but I had held her back.

Jean stood up abruptly, separating me from the others. "I won't let Weston drink this. Your mortgage and car payments are your own. Why should Weston take them on?"

Seething with rage, Dad grabbed the whiskey bottle, preparing to smash it. "You insolent fool! How dare a mere daughter-in-law like you talk back to me! You ought to know that what I say goes in the family! Weston will drink this today, whether he likes it or not!"

I pushed Jean behind me and shielded her. I then fixed my gaze on the unopened bottle in Dad's hand, which I instantly knew had been tampered with too.

I picked up an empty glass and turned it slowly, saying, "If those are the rules, then I'm fine with playing by them. It's actually quite dull to just drink if we're measuring our drinking ability, though."

I slammed the glass down on the table with a cold smirk and continued, "Why don't we raise the stakes?"

In that instant, everyone in the living room fell silent. Dahlia and Jasmine looked at each other, evidently surprised that I, who had always been meek, was acting so firm today.

Mom laughed hollowly to break the tension, though her gaze repeatedly drifted toward the whiskey bottle that had been tampered with. "You silly child. It's just a drink between family members, so there's no need to make a big deal out of it. You should just take a seat, Weston. I'll pour you a glass."

I raised my hand and directly blocked the bottle the moment Mom raised it to pour me a drink. "I'd need you to hold it right there. I'll certainly drink it, but let's be clear about the stakes first."

Dad's expression turned grim. His breathing grew heavy as he threw his cutlery on the table again. "I'll go along with whatever game you want to play! You'd better make sure that you don't go back on your word or start whining when you're defeated!"

I smirked coldly, glancing at the glasses on Jasmine's face before looking out the window at the new BMW. "I'd like to up the stakes since you're so eager, Dad. The first one to pass out covers the mortgage and the car payments for the next year. I'd also like to add another clause for this year."

I stopped for a moment, making sure my voice carried clearly into every corner of the room. "I've heard that Jasmine is planning to buy Mom and Dad a bigger place and is a bit short on the down payment. I want the loser of this wager to cover it. It's not much—only about 45 thousand dollars."

In that instant, my statement caused an uproar.

Jean went pale with fright and grabbed my arm. Her voice was shaking. "Have you lost your mind, Weston? You're setting yourself up to fail! It's 45 thousand dollars! How are we supposed to pay that?"

Those surrounding relatives also went wild. They looked at me as if I were an idiot, though their faces were full of anticipation for the drama to follow.

"You said it yourself—everyone here is a witness!"

"You'd better not try to back out when you lose the bet!"

"He's been cornered, so he's just saying whatever comes to mind."

Jasmine adjusted her glasses. A glint of barely contained glee and greed shone behind them. After all, she had been looking for a way to squeeze money out of me, and here I was handing it to her.

"I'm fine with that! I'm not going to stop Weston if he's so desperate to show off how much he loves Mom and Dad! You shouldn't get in the way, Jean! You play, you pay—those are the rules!"

Jean was fuming. Her chest heaved as she tried to argue.

I merely squeezed her hand, signaling for her to trust me, and gave her a reassuring glance. "I'm fine with 45 thousand dollars, but I have a condition that needs to be met first."

I looked around the room. My voice was steady as I continued, "If I win, I'm not pitching in a dime for family expenses ever again. I want Dahlia and Jasmine to take over Mom and Dad's retirement completely.

"I also want them to pay me back every cent I've given them over the past 20 years. It's not much—roughly 300 thousand dollars in total."

Ryan let out a yelp and nearly jumped out of his seat. "You want 300 thousand dollars from us? You must be out of your mind! You gave that out of respect for Mom and Dad! Why should it be returned to you?"

Jasmine scowled. "You'd better not go too far since we're still family, Weston. Do you intend to cut off the family?"

I laughed hollowly. "What's the matter? You can't possibly be getting cold feet, right? You're the ones who said I was a lightweight. You're the ones who said we should play by the rules. You guys couldn't possibly be doubting yourselves right now, right?"

Dahlia struck the table and shouted. Spit flew from her mouth. "I'll do it! I'm not afraid of you! You're a lightweight who collapses after three rounds, so there's no way you're winning this! You're paying that down payment and mortgaging your home once you lose the bet!"

Jasmine tried to intervene but couldn't stop her, so she simply nodded. Her expression was grim. "I'm in since Dahlia agreed. I don't think a verbal agreement is enough, though. We have to sign a formal agreement."

That was just what I had in mind. I took out my phone and turned on the recording function. "I think a written agreement is necessary—and we should get some witnesses too. It just so happens that Aunt Maria and Aunt Nina are playing cards downstairs, so let's get them up here to act as witnesses."

Mom and Dad looked extremely displeased, but there was no turning back now. Dad waved his hand at Ryan and said, "Go get them this instant! I'd like everyone to see how ungrateful Weston truly is and how he's throwing away the family's fortune!"

I finally turned to Jean and said, "Go to the store downstairs and grab two cases of vodka. Make sure they are 40% ABV."

Jean gazed at me worriedly. It looked like she wanted to say something, but she held back.

I leaned forward and whispered, "You have to trust me, Jean—I won't lose this time. I'll reclaim everything we've lost."

Jean met my resolute gaze and nodded. "I'll go get them now. If we lose, we'll take it on together."

I watched her back as she left, and my eyes stung. I was determined to make them pay back what they owed in blood this time.

It wasn't long before both of my aunts, Maria and Nina Zeller, arrived upstairs, followed by several relatives who were eager to watch the scene unfold.

In that instant, the room was crowded.

Upon hearing what happened, Aunt Maria furrowed her brow. "Why make such a big scene over a family dinner, Jack? You guys are even drafting an agreement over a drinking contest? If any of this gets out, the Zeller family will become a laughingstock!"

Dad sneered and pointed at me. "It's that brat who insisted on making a scene. I couldn't do anything about it, and since he thinks he's man enough to handle this, then fine—I'll let him try!"

I printed the agreement and slammed it onto the table. "It's all written clearly right here—whoever loses and goes back on their word is a coward."

Ryan chimed in from the side. "You're really pushing your sisters to the edge, Weston. How could we possibly scrape together 300 thousand dollars? There's no way we could gather that, even if we sold everything we had!"

In that instant, those relatives around us started whispering among themselves, pointing fingers in my direction.

"How could he be so heartless? He's keeping such strict accounts with his own family?"

"Why did they bother raising him!"

I paid no attention to them and passed the pen to Dahlia. "Go on and sign it."

Dahlia grabbed the pen and quickly signed her name. "I'll sign it! You'd better not come crawling back when you lose, Weston!"

Jasmine paused briefly before signing. Mom and Dad, who were serving as witnesses, were pressured into adding their thumbprints to the agreement as well.

Jean walked in right then, lugging two cases of vodka. She was sweating from the effort as she dropped them on the floor. "I got the vodka. None of them has been opened before."

In that instant, everyone's expression shifted.

Dahlia immediately yelled, "What's the meaning of this?"

"I've grown tired of the same drinks we always have, so I thought we'd try something different this year."

I took out a bottle and twisted it open. The strong scent of alcohol instantly rushed into my nostrils. I then set a large bowl before me and said, "I think glasses will take too long since we're going big. I think we should drink one bowl at a time—no more pouring until yours is drained."

Dahlia stared at the large bowl before her. Her throat tightened as she swallowed hard. She quickly regained her bravado, though. "I'm fine with that! I'm going to make sure you know exactly why you lost today, Weston!"

Jasmine's expression shifted slightly. She soon regained her composure after noticing the looks Mom and Dad were giving her, though.

Mom suddenly stood up, acting all hospitable. "You shouldn't drink on an empty stomach. You should have some of your favorite honey-mustard-glazed fish, Weston."

Having said that, she put a morsel of fish in my bowl. Its surface was dusted with a tiny amount of white powder.

It was subtle enough to miss, but I knew exactly what it was—ground-up sleeping medication.

It turned out that they hadn't just spiked the drinks—every dish had been tampered with as well.

I stared at the fish. A wave of nausea hit me when I realized that the person before me was my own mother. I couldn't believe that she was willing to drug her own son just to protect her daughters' interests.

I picked up the fish and moved to take a bite.

In that instant, everyone was focused on my actions. Mom's gaze held a hint of expectation, while Dahlia and Jasmine were already smiling slyly.

In the blink of an eye, my wrist twitched, causing the piece of fish to land on the floor. "Oops. I lost my grip on that one."

I then sighed and added, "I guess I wasn't meant to eat the fish."

Mom's expression immediately froze. Her forced smile gradually slipped away. "It's no big deal. I'll just serve you another piece, Weston."

She reached toward the dish again, aiming for the fleshiest part of the fish—the very spot where the concentration of the ground-up sleeping medication was highest.

I directly placed my bowl face down on the table and said, "It's alright, Mom. I've been having an upset stomach lately, so I don't feel like having any fish. It'd be for the best to just get started on the drinking contest."

I tipped the bottle. The vodka splashed into the bowl until it nearly spilled over. I raised the heavy bowl and looked at Dahlia and Jasmine. "I'll drink first to start things off."

I threw my head back and downed the drink before they could even react. I could feel the stinging liquid burn its way down my throat and into my stomach, but I only felt exhilaration, not pain.

In my past life, I pushed my drinking to the point of injuring my stomach, all to build tolerance—the trade-off was that I developed an iron liver; I could drink anyone under the table.

I tilted the empty bowl toward them, showing it was drained clean. "Your turn."