Today marked one year since my reincarnation.
Or, as I preferred to think of it: today I turned eighteen years old, trapped in this tiny body.
No one in the house said anything about a "birthday." No cake, no exaggerated congratulations, not even a simple "happy birthday, dear." Paul and Zenith acted like it was just another day—him training in the yard, her taking care of the house.
Back in Japan, my mother would've insisted on a small cake, even if it was nothing fancy. On my seventeenth birthday, she gave me a stack of books wrapped in plastic grocery bags. Here… it seemed like no one really cared about dates. Or maybe they just didn't expect much from a baby who could barely stand without wobbling.
That was fine. Low expectations hurt less when nothing happens. I learned that early in my previous life.
And in any case, my body was finally starting to cooperate a little more. Crawling didn't take as much effort anymore, and I could stand for a few seconds—as long as no one stared at me like I was some kind of circus act. The language of this world had also stopped sounding like something alien. I still stumbled over some words, but I could already form short sentences without sounding like a complete idiot.
I could probably even sing… if I really tried.
But for now, I'd rather save that humiliation for when I was alone.
As a baby, however, there wasn't much I could do besides stay quiet and observe everything around me. And observing was exactly what I did best.
Whenever I stayed quiet like that, Lilia would throw me that quick glance. Her reddish-brown eyes would narrow slightly, without even trying to hide the discomfort. Then she'd look away.
Clearly, she wasn't a fan of children. Or maybe she just wasn't a fan of me.
Putting that aside, a few weeks ago, while crawling around the house looking for something—anything—to distract myself, I found a simple room on the second floor. Books stacked in a corner, like someone had forgotten they even existed.
That was when I noticed the letters.
The script seemed to follow systems of its own. The characters felt ancient—sharp and angular, yet somehow fluid—nothing like the kanji or hiragana I knew. Even so, the way the symbols grouped into syllables faintly reminded me of structures I'd seen before. It was as if someone had taken the idea of "one symbol = one sound" and reshaped it into something far older… and unnecessarily ornate.
At first, I thought the familiarity would make things easier.
It didn't.
Since then, I'd gone back to that corner more times than I'd like to admit.
Today, however, was different.
Because someone had the brilliant idea of dragging me out of it.
"Come on, Rudy. At least pretend you're impressed."
Paul had been repeating the same moves for about ten minutes. Sweat ran down his face as he cut through the air and, every now and then, shattered a rock with a clean strike.
He was clearly trying to impress me. And it wasn't like it didn't work. Watching a human break rocks that easily was still impressive.
Even so, I raised my hand and clapped in the clumsy way my body allowed.
He froze mid-motion. Then smiled and, after a moment, rubbed his chin.
"Maybe I should start teaching you earlier than I planned."
"What did you say, dear?"
Zenith appeared behind him—soft, but firm enough to make him stiffen.
"Teach what?" she continued, looking from me to the sword. "He can barely stand."
"I was just thinking out loud." Paul scratched the back of his head, still smiling.
"Then think more quietly. He's still a baby."
That's right… keep this maniac away from me while I still have a chance.
"Well, that's enough playing around. Lunch is ready." Zenith opened her arms. "Come on, Rudy?"
I backed away, shaking my head and clutching the book to my chest.
"No?" Zenith raised an eyebrow, feigning adorable offense. "You're going to refuse your mother's cooking?"
"Urgh…"
Just imagining the smell of that watery soup made me nauseous. I'd much rather stay here watching Paul than be carried back and fed like a puppy.
Paul let out a short laugh, sheathing his sword.
"Leave the kid alone, Zenith. If he wants to sit there and starve, that's his problem. Just don't complain when you don't even have the strength to lift a stick."
He walked over and ruffled my hair with his still-sweaty hand.
"Listen here, champ: if you don't eat, you don't grow. And if you don't grow…" Paul tapped his sword lightly, "…you'll stay this short thing that can't even reach this. How do you expect to get strong like that?"
Zenith placed her hands on her hips and sighed.
"Paul, don't encourage him to skip meals with that warrior nonsense."
She picked me up.
Well… compared to the time I survived solely on her "assets," this soup wasn't that bad.
But as she lifted me, her eyes fell on the book pressed against my chest.
"Rudy? What did I tell you about this?"
"…I was just… looking." I glanced away for a moment. "Dad said reading was good."
Paul raised an eyebrow ahead of us.
"I don't remember saying that."
Of course you don't.
Honestly, neither of them seemed bothered that I spent most of my time buried in books. Every now and then they'd comment—usually in that same amused tone—that I was "playing" with them.
"Look, Rudy, I like seeing you… read and all," Paul said, crossing his arms and clearing his throat. "But… uh… too much of anything isn't good."
…Was that his attempt at sounding like a civilized father?
"So… balance is important, you know?" he added, nodding to himself.
Zenith sighed, rubbing her forehead.
I stayed silent for a moment, frowning slightly.
"…Fine," I muttered, closing the book a bit harder than necessary.
Like I'd stop just because someone told me to. If I don't learn this on my own, I'll just keep being dead weight in this house.
"Rudy…" she began, her tone too calm. "What was that?"
I froze.
"I didn't—"
"Hmm." She tilted her head, studying my face. "That sulking look, slamming things shut… what is that?"
I looked away, feeling my face heat up.
"He got that from you," Paul commented with a grin.
"Paul, please," Zenith replied without even looking at him. "That's not helping."
I cleared my throat, still feeling my face burn. Damn… I really made a childish sulking face. That's humiliating when you have an adult mind.
After that, the atmosphere got a bit awkward—at least for me. Maybe it was the first time I spoke to her like that, and my own boldness left me embarrassed.
As for the book, I held it tightly against my chest. The rest… I kept to myself.
---
Later, when night fell, I was sitting in the corner of the room, alone with my thoughts. Or at least, that's what I wanted it to look like.
In reality, Zenith was going through some papers near the table, while Lilia arranged the utensils with her usual precision.
Still, something bothered me. Every now and then, Lilia would cast me that quick glance—the same as always. As if I were just another piece of furniture in the house.
Seriously… what is it with people seeing me as furniture?
I ignored her gaze as best as I could and turned my attention back to the book resting on my lap. The candlelight was dim, flickering over the worn pages. My fingers traced the symbols slowly, trying to memorize the shapes of the letters.
"…ka… ru…"
Still, it didn't matter whether I had read it before or not—learning something from scratch was already hard enough. I just didn't expect it to be this frustrating without anyone to guide me.
Where's Nanahoshi when I need her? If she were here, she'd probably have already memorized half the book and scolded me for being slow. But of course, she wasn't. And even if she were, she'd probably already be far ahead of me.
…What happened to them after I died?
I let out a small breath through my nose, looking away for a moment. They were probably fine. Akito was with her, after all. If anyone could keep things from going wrong, it would be him.
Even so, when my eyes returned to the book, that feeling hadn't gone away.
"…ka… re…"
It simply didn't make sense to me.
I never believed in things like "life energy," "chi," or any mystical nonsense people talked about back on Earth. I thought it was all bullshit. But here… I had seen it with my own eyes.
It was just some random afternoon. Paul cut his finger while sharpening his sword in the yard—a nasty cut, bleeding quite a bit. Zenith approached calmly, placed her hand over the wound, and murmured a few quiet words. A soft green glow appeared between her fingers, almost like a faint light leaking from her skin. In less than a minute, the bleeding stopped and the cut closed, leaving only a thin pink line.
I watched the whole thing up close, pretending I was just drooling on the floor like a normal baby.
That glow burned itself into my memory. It wasn't a trick of the light. It wasn't an illusion. It was real.
And when I asked Zenith, she said everything started from this very book I carried around all day like a shield. "The foundation of all magic is here," she said, looking straight at me with a warm smile.
But the smile didn't reach her eyes. That part was… unsettling.
Since then, I'd been trying to connect the dots.
My fingers traced the symbols slowly once again, searching for anything that resembled "healing," "energy," "light," or "green." Could one of these characters correspond to the glow I had seen? Did the order of the strokes matter? Or was it the sound I murmured along with them that triggered something?
But it didn't matter whether I touched or whispered — nothing happened. No glow. Not even a spark. Just the silence of the room and the distant crackle of the fireplace.
"Lilia, why don't you take a break and get some rest?"
"It's no trouble, Lady Zenith."
I lifted my eyes from the book and turned my attention to them.
"I know it's 'no trouble,' but I'm asking," Zenith insisted, leaning slightly forward in her chair. "Paul is already snoring upstairs, and I'm about to do the same here at the table. Go lie down—I'll take care of these last utensils myself. I'm serious, Lilia, you can go."
Lilia paused for a second. Just one. Her shoulders straightened even more, and she turned to Zenith with a short, mechanical bow.
"I appreciate your concern, truly. But the kitchen is my responsibility." Her tone was polite, but it carried the impenetrable barrier of a concrete wall. "I would not be able to sleep peacefully knowing I left tasks for you to handle. Excuse me."
And without waiting for a reply, she returned to her work.
Zenith let out a defeated "hmph" and went back to her papers, muttering something about how difficult it was to be kind to someone so stubborn.
Damn…I thought, watching the scene from the corner of my eye. This is every CEO's dream: an employee who refuses to take a break and still politely shuts down the boss.
Back in Japan, we called that work ethic. Here, it felt like something deeper… and a bit more unsettling.
And seriously… watching Lilia arrange every container with such precision, I could almost swear my mother from my old world had reincarnated as the perfect maid. All that was missing was her calling me to study and complaining about the mess in the room. Irritating and fascinating at the same time.
I couldn't just sit there watching. If Zenith wanted her to rest, then it was my duty to try and help, right?
"Miss Lilia… don't you think it's about time you got some rest?"
She didn't even look away from her work. She merely tilted her head slightly, like someone evaluating a persistent fly buzzing too close, completely ignoring my concern.
…Huh? What was that?
Does she know something? Is that why she keeps looking at me like that?
It made sense. I didn't know how magic worked here. But… what if she had realized I wasn't normal? Maybe she sensed something strange about me. Or maybe she read my mind.
Ah… now even that time made sense. The strange song she hummed while dancing around me, the garlic scattered in the room… Back then I thought it was just one of her weird habits.
Now I understood.
She was trying to protect herself from me.
…No, that couldn't be it.
I shook my head slightly, feeling the weight of the book in my lap. If she were certain that an intruder — a parasite — had settled in the child of the family she worked for, she would have already told Paul. But she said nothing."
And honestly, I couldn't blame her. I'd be suspicious too of a baby that observes too much… and understands more than it should.
"Rudy?"
"Huh?" I looked up.
Zenith was staring at me from across the table, her expression slightly concerned.
"It's late." She tilted her head slightly. "Don't you think you're straining those little eyes too much?"
"…Hm?"
I brought a hand to my face instinctively, blinking a few times.
"Straining?"
"They look… strange," she continued, narrowing her eyes slightly. "Too tired for someone so small."
Ah. So that's all. I shrugged, returning my gaze to the book.
"A sign of efficiency, don't you think?"
Zenith let out a small sigh—half relief, half resignation.
"Babies shouldn't think so much, Rudy."
…Too late for that.
Or so I thought.
Because the next moment, she was already in front of me. She crouched down, pulled the book away—no hesitation—and lifted me into her arms without ceremony.
"That's enough for today."
"Eh—wait—"
Too late.
The book was already out of my reach, and I was being carried like my opinion was optional. Which, to be fair… it was.
I rested my chin on her shoulder, casting one last glance toward the table.
Damn it. I was starting to understand it. Just a little more and maybe—
"No 'just a little more,'" Zenith murmured, as if she had read my thoughts.
I frowned slightly.
…Did she read my mind?
"Your body needs rest."
Ah. That's all.
I let my body relax against her this time, without much resistance. Fighting it would be… counterproductive.
As we went upstairs, the gentle sway of her steps and the steady warmth began to weigh on me more than I'd like to admit.
"…I can stay awake," I murmured.
"I can see that," she replied, in a tone far too amused to be taken seriously.
Tch.
My eyes stung slightly… inconvenient.
The last thing I saw before closing them was the ceiling slowly passing above me… and the soft echo of her footsteps along the hallway.