Five years since I, Kenji, the unfeeling, unyielding background character, had been reborn as Jack Mikus. And I was now five years old, a respectable age for a child in this… peculiar new world.
We were in Oregon, a vast landmass nestled in the southern part of the continent simply known as WESTERN KINGDOM .
My family, the Mikus, were minor nobility, residing in a sprawling manor in a town called Sorna. It wasn't a grand, imposing fortress like something out of a medieval epic, more like a very, very large country estate. Still, it came with servants, groundskeepers, and an endless supply of bland but nutritious gruel – or so I remembered from my early days. Now, at five, I could at least demand actual solid food. Small victories.
My new mother, Jane, was as beautiful and doting as ever. My father, Karl, was a stern but fair man, preoccupied with the family's landholdings and local politics. And then there was Mary. My sister.
Mary, now nine years old, was a force of nature. She was everything I had painstakingly avoided being in my previous life: loud, opinionated, and utterly, unapologetically extraordinary. She had awakened her magic at the tender age of seven, a prodigy by all accounts. While other children were still learning basic arithmetic, Mary was conjuring sparks and making small objects levitate.
I watched her, often from a discreet distance, as she practiced in the manor gardens, a miniature whirlwind of black hair and green eyes. Sometimes, she'd inadvertently set a bush on fire, or send a garden gnome hurtling towards the stables. The servants would scatter, shrieking. Karl would sigh and dispatch the head gardener with a new repair budget.
Jane would simply beam with pride, muttering about her "talented little sorceress."
A prodigy, I thought, suppressing an eye-roll. Of course she is. Because if I'm in a fantasy world, someone in my immediate vicinity just has to be a chosen one, destined for greatness. It was almost too perfectly cliché. I just hoped her "greatness" didn't involve accidentally blowing up our manor. My dreams of a quiet life were already fragile enough.
My own magical aptitude remained, thankfully, undiscovered. I had no idea if I even possessed any. And I genuinely, profoundly, did not want to know. The very thought of manifesting some grand, flashy magical ability sent shivers down my spine. That would attract attention. Unwanted attention. The kind that led to quests, prophecies, and world-saving endeavors. My internal screaming intensified whenever Mary talked about "adventurers" or "powerful mages."
Please, oh merciful void-overseer, let me be magically inept. Let me be the utterly, gloriously normal one.
Beyond her magical prowess, Mary was also surprisingly adept with a sword. Karl, for reasons I couldn't fathom, had decided that proper noble children should be trained in self-defense. So, Mary, all of nine years old, was now regularly "dueling" with the household guards.
I would often see her, a tiny whirlwind of determination, facing off against a burly guard twice her height. She'd wield a practice wooden sword, her small frame surprisingly agile. She couldn't actually beat them, of course. Her physical strength was still limited by her age. She'd get knocked down, scramble back up, and attack again with an unyielding ferocity that made even the battle-hardened guards look a little unnerved.
"Hah! Take that, Sir Reginald!" she'd shriek, narrowly missing his knee.
Sir Reginald, a grizzled veteran with a perpetually tired expression, would parry her blows with exaggerated slowness, careful not to actually hurt her. "A valiant effort, Lady Mary! But your stance is still too wide!"
And I, Jack Mikus, would be there, sitting on a bench, munching on a sweet bun, silently cheering her on. "Go, Mary!" I'd pipe up, my voice deliberately high and childish. "You can do it!"
Mary would glance over, a wide, triumphant grin on her face. Her unwavering energy and relentless pursuit of excellence were, I grudgingly admitted, impressive. Even if they threatened to shatter my carefully constructed normalcy.
My support, I think, was one of the reasons Mary absolutely adored me. She loved Jack so much it was almost terrifying.
I had ample evidence of this. The most memorable incident occurred when I was three. A particularly clumsy new maid, bless her soul, was changing my diaper. In her inexperience, she somehow managed to lose her grip. I, being an infant who rarely cried, simply flopped onto the changing table with a soft thud, more confused than hurt. I remember blinking up at the ceiling, wondering what the sudden change in elevation signified.
What happened next was… illuminating.
A bloodcurdling shriek pierced the air. "You fool! You clumsy, incompetent imbecile! How dare you hurt my brother!"
I shifted my gaze to see Mary, a tiny, furious blur, launching herself at the maid. Her small hands were surprisingly strong as she grabbed the maid's ankle, attempting to trip her. Her green eyes, usually so bright, were narrowed into slits of pure, unadulterated rage. She was literally trying to bite the maid's leg.
The maid, understandably terrified, shrieked and tried to back away, stumbling over her own feet. It was a bizarre, almost comical scene of a three-year-old attempting grievous bodily harm.
Karl, alerted by the commotion, burst into the nursery. He took one look at the enraged Mary and the cowering maid, sighed, and then, with surprising speed, scooped Mary up.
"Mary, darling! What is the meaning of this?!"
he exclaimed, trying to keep a straight face.
Mary, still struggling in his arms, pointed a accusatory finger at the maid. "She dropped Jack! She almost killed him!"
Karl glanced at me. I was still lying there, wide-eyed, contemplating the ceiling, utterly uninjured and unbothered. He then looked back at the sobbing maid, who was now openly weeping.
"She… she merely jostled him, Mary. Look, Jack is perfectly fine."
Mary, however, was not convinced. "She deserves to be punished! Severely! I shall personally flay her skin and use it as a doormat!"
Karl nearly choked. "Mary! That is enough! Apologize to the maid immediately!"
It took a good ten minutes for Karl to calm Mary down, and even then, she shot the poor maid a look of such venomous contempt that the woman resigned the next day. I, meanwhile, had been observing the entire spectacle with a detached fascination, filing away this new data point: my sister had a terrifyingly strong protective instinct, bordering on homicidal.
This is fine, I told myself, as Jane eventually scooped me up and cooed over my supposed bravery. Just act normal. Be the good, innocuous little brother. Avoid all attention.
And so, I perfected the art of being "Jack Mikus." I giggled at appropriate moments, played with wooden toys, occasionally threw tantrums (mild ones, carefully calibrated to seem authentic but not overly dramatic). I learned to walk, to talk, to read the local script, all while pretending to be just another unremarkable child. My internal thoughts, meanwhile, remained a whirlwind of cynical observation and desperate attempts to maintain my anonymity.
My ultimate goal was a peaceful, quiet existence. No blood, no violence, no world-ending prophecies. Just a simple life, perhaps with a nice, uncomplicated hobby like… basket weaving. Or perhaps competitive napping. Anything that didn't involve grand adventures or the awakening of terrifying, world-shaking powers.
I was Jack Mikus, five years old, an unassuming noble child in the land of Oregon. And I intended to keep it that way. No matter how much my sister tried to turn me into a catalyst for chaos. The universe had already played its joke on me by reincarnating me. I would not let it play another by forcing me into a role I despised.
Just a normal child, I repeated to myself, as Mary dragged me off to witness her latest attempt to "master the soaring spell," which usually ended with a terrified chicken flapping indignantly through the manor's dining hall. Just a normal child.
I just hoped the universe was listening. And more importantly, that Mary wouldn't accidentally set me on fire.
Hi, it's me again, hope you like it.