How long has it been since I came to this world?
Three years. Years that, strangely enough, I'd managed to enjoy a lot more than I ever thought possible when I was reborn here, especially considering my past.
Still, there was one thing I was completely in the dark about, a lingering question that kept sparking my curiosity and making me want to know more: birthdays. I wasn't sure if it was just a coincidence, a local tradition, or simply the emptiness of my past life coming back to haunt me.
What mattered was the word itself. It felt important. In my past life, after that fire, nobody cared how I felt. Not even me. There were way too many kids and nowhere near enough budget. The orphanage didn't celebrate individual dates. They just brought out a communal cake every three months to celebrate the "birthday quarter." And yet, every October 14th, the sky seemed determined to remind me of the exact moment I stopped being light and turned into darkness.
The rain arrived right on schedule every single year on that date, marking the only time I could truly let it all out without getting lost in my own thoughts.
Now I was three years old all over again. I was back in a tiny body that would sometimes get tangled up and trip over its own feet, a body I had to build up from scratch. In a way, that made me glad, though I didn't exactly understand why. What I did know was that it meant I finally had another shot to grow and get better on my own terms.
But the question was still there. If I didn't voice it out loud, I was going to drown in it.
Whatever...
So I did the only thing a kid can do when they have no clue how the world works. The exact thing a clueless three-year-old does when they're full of doubts and curiosity. I went up to my mom to ask her a question. A simple task in theory, but pretty tough in practice.
My mom was in the kitchen chopping vegetables and doing a little dance. I walked up to her cautiously and stopped in the doorway, just watching her for a few seconds. But I had to ask, so I tugged at her dress.
"Mom." The word came out clumsy and strange. I was barely three, so I figured that was normal. Even so, I'd been saying it for a while now, and it still felt borrowed.
Zenith jumped a little. I couldn't really blame her for that. I tend to become "invisible" sometimes thanks to my damn habit of walking around so quietly. But then she turned around and looked at me with that smile that completely broke my heart every single time I saw it.
It was a feeling I still couldn't quite explain, not even with Analysis—though it had already told me it wasn't working like it used to.
"Dai?" She tilted her head. "What's wrong?"
Nothing was wrong, yet at the same time, everything was. I just didn't know how to explain it, or even why I was bringing it up in the first place.
"I..." I trailed off for a second. "I was wondering if people here celebrate the day they were born every year. Like, celebrating turning a year older."
Trying to sound all innocent and curious, like a toddler asking about the world, was way harder than I thought. I guess eighteen years of total emptiness don't just fade away that easily.
"Oh, Dai." She knelt down in front of me. "Yes, of course we celebrate them. Though part of me wishes those days would never come."
She scooped me up with that slightly unsettling ease all mothers seem to have, like I weighed absolutely nothing.
"At five, at ten, and at fifteen, when you'll officially be a full-grown adult. Even though I really don't want that to happen," she laughed softly. "I'd love to just hold you like this for a little while longer."
So that's how birthdays worked around here. Only three specific milestones actually mattered, and the rest weren't really a big deal. Yet, each of those dates was celebrated like it was the very last one. So I felt a little more certain.
Was I a little sure?
Yeah, I was.
"You're my precious little boy."
My mom's voice echoed in my ear again. It always did, during both the best and worst of times. It had gotten to the point where I honestly couldn't tell the difference anymore.
"Five?" I repeated, processing the information. "And it's not celebrated every single year?"
"Well, some people do, but the really big parties are for those three," she said, setting me back down on the floor and ruffling my hair. "Why do you ask? Are you in a rush to grow up?"
No. The exact opposite, actually. But I couldn't tell her that.
"Just... curious."
Zenith went back to her vegetables.
"You've still got two whole years before your first big celebration. Don't think about it just yet."
But I was already thinking about it. So I did the one thing I always do whenever I get answers and need some time alone to process them. I walked out of the kitchen and headed out to the garden just as darkness began to reclaim the yard.
"If only I could start all over again," I muttered under my breath in barely audible Japanese.
That was exactly what I'd said right before the truck hit. Before I died. And no, I didn't die trying to save that little girl. I did it to save myself. I just used it as a convenient way to end my own life. Now here I was, feeling completely unworthy sometimes, like an impostor stealing a life that someone else could have enjoyed so much more. I didn't save that girl out of heroism. I didn't do it because I thought it was heroic or necessary for her family.
I did it to break the cycle. To finally end my programming, I had to do the most selfish and, at the same time, the most human thing I had done in all my eighteen years.
Human?
I let out a soft, ironic sigh and sat down on a rock.
"Human. Yeah, right..." I closed my eyes and let the memories wash over me.
I was only eight years old the last time I celebrated a birthday with my parents. Just eight. Mom had worked overtime for weeks to buy me that stuffed animal and throw a big party. I knew all about it because I overheard her talking to my dad one night when they thought I was fast asleep.
I was a smart kid, way smarter than I probably should have been for my age, so I understood exactly what they were talking about. I even looked it up online.
"No matter what, our boy is going to love it..."
"I can't wait for him to see it..."
"It'll all be worth it... when he finally sees that plushie... that little face of his, so lit up when he opens it, it'll be the best thing in the world."
But you died because of a strange fire. You died because of the very same light you were looking for. The flames lit up the entire house. And they took that stuffed animal right along with it.
I never got the chance to tell them that I actually really loved it. That even though I hugged it tight and laughed out of pure happiness, deep down I knew it was kind of ugly. But later on, in the middle of the night, it was my only anchor to fall asleep.
I'm so sorry.
I know I was incredible in my past life. I pulled off all kinds of jobs and had skills that set me totally apart from everyone else. I could see things that would take a normal person ten times as long to notice. I could control the four elements like they were just extensions of my own will. But I was never truly "me." I was just Analysis. That thing that did all the thinking for me, that moved my body before I could even make a conscious decision, turning me into a puppet to my own superhuman instincts.
If having all of that meant I had to lose my parents, then it just wasn't worth it. Because no matter how much you might have, money, success, fame, if you don't have anyone who feels proud of you even when they expect nothing in return, that's when you realize how truly alone you are.
It's different in this world, though.
Analysis is still with me, but it doesn't have the kind of control it used to. Now it's just an archivist, nothing more than a library that stores away everything I learn.
I do the thinking first, and then Analysis files it away. Not the other way around. It's the difference between having someone just hand you the answers, and actually solving the problem yourself and writing it down so you don't forget it.
I lost my connection to the elements. I mourned it at first. They were my only "friends" after I lost everything. But now, I honestly feel grateful. Because when I learned healing magic from Zenith, I was genuinely happy. I smiled, and eventually, I could cast it without an incantation.
The knowledge got archived afterward, sure, but the achievement was all mine. For the first time in decades, I stopped being just a spectator in my own existence.
You have to live, understand? Actually live, not just exist.
Dad, I'm sorry. After you said those words, I only existed. I protected the weak just like Mom told me to, but I completely forgot about your promise. I forgot how to truly live.
How do you even live?
It's so stupid that I even have to ask.
But this time, I'm going to try to make things different. This time, when my fifth birthday rolls around, I won't fake it anymore. I won't let the emptiness swallow me whole. If they give me something I don't like, I'll tell them. No matter how much it hurts. And then, if there's something I actually want, I'll tell them that too. This time, if my new mom hugs me, I'm going to hug her right back with all the strength a three-year-old body can muster.
This time I won't limit myself to just existing.
I am living.
Or, at the very least, I'm learning how to.
I looked up at the strange stars of this new world one more time, and for the very first time in three years, I smiled.
I had smiled before, but this was different.
It wasn't a perfect smile. It still had its cracks and shadows, but it was genuine.
And for right now, that was enough.