Time passed quietly in the Arima household.
For Arima Masaki, every day brought another small step toward escaping the miserable limitations of infancy.
First, he learned to crawl properly.
Then he learned to stand.
And eventually, after countless awkward attempts, he took his first steps.
"Masaki! Come to Mama!"
Arima Shiori knelt on the wooden floor, holding out both arms. Her long red hair fell over her shoulders as she smiled encouragingly at her son.
A few steps away, Masaki stood unsteadily, his little hands clenched into fists.
He was barely able to keep his balance.
I'm a grown man mentally. Surely walking shouldn't be this difficult.
He took one step.
Then another.
His legs trembled.
Shiori's expression became increasingly excited.
"That's it, sweetheart! You can do it!"
Masaki took another step before finally stumbling forward into her arms.
Shiori caught him and immediately hugged him tightly.
"You did it! My baby walked!"
She showered his face with kisses.
"Mama's so proud of you! You're the smartest, cutest, most wonderful boy in the entire world!"
Masaki stared at her.
You know, most mothers are supposed to be a little more objective.
Unfortunately, Shiori had never been particularly interested in objectivity when it came to her son.
As far as she was concerned, Masaki could do absolutely no wrong.
If he smiled, he was adorable.
If he cried, someone had clearly failed to meet his needs.
And if he looked at her with those brilliant red eyes, she was ready to give him practically anything he wanted.
Masaki was beginning to suspect that his mother had a serious problem.
A son problem.
A very serious son problem.
By the time Masaki turned three, the difference between him and other children had become increasingly noticeable.
His crimson hair had grown longer and thicker, with soft strands that fell across his forehead. His eyes remained a brilliant, unmistakable red, giving him an unusual appearance that made strangers look twice.
And as his baby fat gradually disappeared, his facial features began to develop.
He was undeniably handsome for his age.
Neighbors frequently complimented him whenever Shiori brought him to the market.
"My goodness, Shiori! Your son is adorable!"
"Look at those eyes!"
"He'll break plenty of hearts when he grows up."
Shiori would smile proudly, sometimes pulling Masaki closer against her side.
"Of course he will. Just look at him!"
Masaki could only sigh inwardly.
Mother, you're supposed to deny it out of politeness.
Instead, Shiori treated every compliment as an official confirmation of her son's greatness.
One afternoon, she even spent nearly an hour brushing his hair and adjusting his clothes before taking him outside.
"All right, Masaki. Let's go!"
"Where are we going, Mom?"
Shiori froze.
Then she slowly turned toward him.
"Masaki…"
He looked up at her.
"Yes?"
"You called me Mom!"
He blinked.
"…I've been calling you that for a while."
"But hearing it from you makes me so happy!"
She crouched down and hugged him.
"My little boy is growing up!"
Here we go again.
Masaki had discovered that speaking was a double-edged sword. It allowed him to communicate properly, but every new word seemed to give his mother another excuse to become emotional.
Still, he couldn't deny that hearing his own voice felt wonderful.
For the first time since his reincarnation, he could finally express his thoughts without resorting to meaningless baby noises.
It was a small victory.
One he intended to enjoy.
As Masaki grew older, he began helping his mother with simple household chores.
He could carry small objects, tidy his toys, and occasionally assist with preparing meals.
Shiori was delighted.
"My son is so dependable!"
"It's just putting the cups away, Mom."
"Still! You're such a good boy!"
She hugged him from behind while he stood near the table.
Masaki had learned not to resist these sudden attacks of affection.
Doing so only encouraged her.
Sometimes, Shiori would sit beside him and stare at his face for no apparent reason.
"Mom?"
"Hmm?"
"Why are you looking at me?"
"Because you're handsome."
"…That's not a reason."
"It absolutely is!"
She gently pinched his cheeks.
"Look at these adorable cheeks! And your beautiful red eyes! How am I supposed to stop looking at you?"
Masaki covered his face with both hands.
He was beginning to understand why some children eventually moved out of their parents' homes.
Unfortunately, he still had a long way to go before that became an option.
Despite her excessive affection, however, Shiori worked hard to provide for him. Their family remained ordinary, and she carefully managed their limited money.
Masaki noticed the effort she put into everything.
She repaired his clothes, prepared his favorite meals whenever she could, and always made sure he had what he needed.
He might occasionally complain about her embarrassing behavior, but he was grateful to have her.
After all, there was a difference between being overprotective and being unkind.
His mother was simply incapable of hiding how much she loved him.
And Masaki had no intention of taking that love for granted.
One evening, while they were eating dinner, Shiori suddenly brought up an interesting subject.
"Masaki, you're growing up so quickly."
Masaki looked up from his bowl.
"Is that bad?"
"Of course not! But soon, you'll be old enough to go to school."
He paused.
School.
Now that was something worth thinking about.
In his previous life, education had been a familiar part of growing up. But this was an entirely different world, and he knew almost nothing about its educational system.
"What kind of school?" he asked.
Shiori considered the question.
"Well, a place where children your age learn to read, write, count, and study all sorts of things. You'll meet other children, too."
Masaki nodded thoughtfully.
"That sounds interesting."
Shiori's smile slowly faded.
"Interesting?"
"Yes. I'd like to learn more about the world."
For a moment, his mother stared at him as though he had announced that he intended to climb a mountain.
Then she lowered her head.
"My little boy is going to leave home…"
"Mom, school doesn't mean I'm leaving home forever."
"But you'll spend time away from me!"
Masaki stared at her.
I knew there would be a problem.
Shiori clasped her hands together dramatically.
"What if the other children don't play nicely with you? What if you get hungry? What if you miss Mama?"
"I can handle those things."
"But you're still my precious little boy!"
"Mom, I'm growing up."
The words escaped his mouth before he could stop them.
Silence filled the room.
Shiori looked at him.
Masaki looked back.
Then she slowly reached across the table and took his hand.
"…You'll always be Mama's precious little boy, no matter how old you get."
For once, Masaki had no sarcastic response.
He squeezed her hand gently.
"I know, Mom."
Her expression softened.
Then, almost immediately, she smiled again.
"All right! If you're going to school, Mama will make sure you have the nicest clothes and the best school supplies!"
"Please don't spend too much money."
"And I'll prepare your lunch every morning!"
"Mom—"
"And I'll walk you to school myself!"
Masaki closed his eyes.
This is going to be exhausting.
Still, beneath his embarrassment, he felt a quiet sense of anticipation.
School meant new knowledge, new experiences, and opportunities to understand the world beyond their small home.
It was the next step in his life.
And perhaps, once he began attending school, he might finally discover more about the strange potential hidden within his crimson bloodline.
Masaki glanced at his mother, who was already enthusiastically discussing school supplies.
He smiled faintly.
Whatever awaited him, he would face it when the time came.
After all, he was Arima Masaki.
And his second life was only just beginning.