The first thing Arima Masaki learned about his new life was that being a baby was absolutely miserable.
He couldn't walk.
He couldn't talk.
He couldn't even scratch his own face properly without his tiny fingers getting in the way.
And worst of all, he had to cry whenever he wanted something.
Unbelievable. I used to be an adult.
Lying in a small wooden crib, Masaki stared at the ceiling of the modest house he now called home. His previous life had ended in a way he barely wanted to remember. Then came the strange encounter with God, the two cheats he had received, and his rebirth into a completely different world.
A world where the legendary Fanalis bloodline existed.
And apparently, he had been lucky—or unlucky—enough to inherit it.
Masaki tried to lift his arm.
A tiny hand entered his field of vision.
He stared at it.
Five chubby fingers. Soft skin. No strength whatsoever.
He clenched his fist.
So this is my body now.
He couldn't help feeling complicated.
On one hand, he had been given a second chance at life. On the other hand, he was currently trapped in the body of an infant who couldn't even sit upright without assistance.
Still, there was no point complaining.
He had time.
Plenty of time.
And if the Fanalis bloodline was as extraordinary as he remembered, then growing up in this world could become very interesting indeed.
Just as Masaki was contemplating his future, the door creaked open.
"Masaki? Are you awake, sweetheart?"
A young woman stepped into the room.
She had long, beautiful red hair that fell past her shoulders, catching the sunlight streaming through the window. Her crimson locks were slightly untidy, as though she had been busy with household chores all morning. Her eyes were warm, and a gentle smile appeared on her face when she noticed the baby staring at her.
This was Arima Shiori.
His mother.
She wasn't a noblewoman or the wife of some wealthy merchant. She was an ordinary woman living an ordinary life, doing her best to keep her small family happy despite their limited means.
Their house was modest, with wooden floors, simple furniture, and a kitchen that always seemed to need cleaning. Money had to be managed carefully, and every purchase mattered.
Yet the house was warm.
And to Masaki, that warmth was something he hadn't expected to find in his second life.
"Look at you," Shiori murmured as she approached the crib. "You're already awake."
She leaned down and carefully lifted him into her arms.
Masaki immediately stopped moving.
Her embrace was warm and comfortable. The familiar scent of her clothes surrounded him, and her hand gently supported his head.
"There we go. Did you sleep well?"
I suppose so, Mom.
Of course, the only response he could offer was a small sound.
"Ah? Are you talking to Mama?"
Masaki blinked.
Shiori laughed softly.
"Oh, you're still too little for that, aren't you?"
She pressed a gentle kiss against his forehead.
Masaki had expected many things when he was reborn. A new world, a new body, perhaps even a chance to become powerful.
He hadn't expected the simple kindness of a mother.
For a moment, he forgot about his previous life.
He was simply a baby being held by the woman who loved him.
And strangely enough, that was enough.
As the weeks passed, Masaki gradually became accustomed to his new life.
His days followed a simple routine.
He slept, ate, cried when necessary, and observed everything around him with the seriousness of a scholar conducting research.
His mother found his behavior amusing.
"You're such a quiet little boy," Shiori often said. "Most babies cry all the time, but you spend so much time staring at everything."
Because I'm trying to understand this world!
Unfortunately, his mother interpreted his intense gaze as curiosity.
Which, to be fair, wasn't entirely wrong.
Masaki paid attention to everything.
He listened to conversations between adults. He observed the way people moved and spoke. He studied the layout of their house and the village beyond their windows.
He learned that their family wasn't rich.
Shiori cooked simple meals, repaired old clothes instead of replacing them, and sometimes counted their remaining coins before visiting the local market.
There were no luxurious rooms, expensive toys, or servants waiting to fulfill his every need.
But Masaki didn't mind.
His previous life had taught him that wealth wasn't the only thing that mattered.
Besides, he had something far more interesting to investigate.
His body.
At first, the changes were subtle. He seemed unusually energetic for a baby. His grip was surprisingly strong, and he rarely appeared exhausted after moving around in his crib.
Whenever Shiori placed him on a blanket, he would kick his legs and wave his arms with remarkable enthusiasm.
"My goodness, Masaki! You're such an energetic little boy!"
She would laugh as he wriggled around.
Masaki, meanwhile, was conducting a very serious experiment.
Is this the Fanalis bloodline?
He couldn't be certain yet.
He was still too young to test his physical abilities properly. Even so, he could feel something different about his body—a strange vitality that seemed to pulse beneath his skin.
It wasn't something he could explain.
But he intended to find out.
One afternoon, Shiori carried Masaki toward a small mirror hanging beside the bedroom wall.
"Let's see how handsome my little boy is today."
She held him securely against her chest and turned him toward the glass.
Masaki finally saw his new face clearly.
For several seconds, he simply stared.
His hair was red.
Not brownish red or a faint copper shade, but a vivid crimson that reminded him of fresh autumn leaves beneath the sunlight. Even as a baby, the color was striking, and the soft strands seemed to glow whenever the light touched them.
His eyes were even more remarkable.
They were a deep, brilliant red.
Two crimson gems set into a small, delicate face.
His cheeks were round, his nose tiny, and his lips soft. He still possessed the unmistakable appearance of a baby, but there was something captivating about his features.
Even now, it was easy to imagine that he would grow into an extraordinarily handsome young man.
Masaki tilted his head.
The baby in the mirror tilted his head, too.
He blinked.
The reflection blinked.
…Well.
He had to admit it.
His new appearance was impressive.
And those red eyes weren't merely unusual. They were unmistakable.
They reminded him of the Fanalis warriors he remembered—their crimson hair, their red eyes, and their legendary physical prowess.
He turned his gaze toward his mother.
Shiori's hair was red, too.
Her shade was softer than his, a beautiful natural red that framed her face and fell over her shoulders. Looking at them together, Masaki could see the resemblance between them.
His crimson hair clearly came from her.
But his eyes…
Those vivid red eyes seemed almost unnaturally bright.
Shiori gently brushed his hair away from his forehead.
"You look just like me, Masaki," she whispered. "Though I think your eyes are even prettier than mine."
Masaki looked at her reflection.
Then he smiled.
It wasn't a calculated decision. He simply found himself smiling at the warmth in her voice.
Shiori froze.
"Ah!"
Her eyes widened.
"Masaki! You smiled!"
She hugged him closer, her face lighting up with happiness.
"You really did! Oh, my goodness, you're so adorable!"
Wait. Hold on.
Before Masaki could react, his mother began showering his cheeks with kisses.
"Mama's handsome little boy!"
Mother, please. Have some dignity.
Unfortunately, his protests came out as nothing more than adorable baby noises.
Shiori only laughed harder.
As Masaki grew, his world slowly expanded.
He learned to roll over, then sit upright with support. Eventually, he began crawling across the wooden floor, much to his mother's delight and occasional exhaustion.
His crimson hair grew thicker, becoming more noticeable with every passing month. His red eyes remained vivid and clear, drawing curious looks whenever neighbors visited.
"Such unusual eyes," one woman remarked while Shiori prepared tea.
"They're beautiful, aren't they?" Shiori replied proudly.
"They certainly are. And that hair! He looks like a little crimson-haired prince."
Shiori chuckled.
"A prince? With the amount of trouble he gives me, I'd say he's more like a little demon."
Masaki, sitting on a blanket nearby, pretended not to hear them.
I'll remember that, Mom.
He had discovered that crawling was far more useful than being carried everywhere. It allowed him to explore the house, investigate unfamiliar objects, and occasionally escape when Shiori tried to put him down for a nap.
However, he also discovered that his mother possessed an extraordinary ability to find him.
No matter where he crawled, she always seemed to appear at precisely the wrong moment.
"Masaki! What's in your mouth?"
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Except perhaps the corner of a cloth he had been investigating.
Shiori hurried over and gently rescued it from him.
"You can't eat everything you find, sweetheart!"
Masaki stared at her with innocent crimson eyes.
She sighed.
"That face isn't going to save you every time."
It usually did.
At night, when the house became quiet, Shiori would sit beside his crib and tell him stories about the world beyond their village.
She spoke of distant cities, traveling merchants, strange creatures, and warriors who possessed strength beyond ordinary people.
Masaki listened carefully.
Every story was another piece of the world he had entered.
And every day brought him closer to the moment when he could finally stand on his own two feet.
He had no intention of wasting this second life.
The Fanalis bloodline was more than an unusual appearance. If its legendary potential was real, then he possessed the foundation to become something extraordinary.
But for now, he was content to grow.
To learn.
To watch over the woman who held him every night and called him her precious son.
One evening, Shiori sat beside his crib, her long red hair cascading over one shoulder.
"Good night, Masaki," she whispered, gently stroking his head. "Grow up healthy, all right? That's all Mama wants."
Masaki gazed up at her.
For the first time since his rebirth, his thoughts became completely quiet.
I will, Mom.
He slowly closed his eyes.
I'll grow strong enough to protect you.
Outside, the evening breeze rustled through the trees.
Inside the humble little house, a child with crimson hair and brilliant red eyes drifted peacefully to sleep.
The world had yet to discover the name Arima Masaki.
But someday, it would.
And when that day came, the crimson blood flowing through his veins would no longer be a mystery.
It would be the beginning of a legend.