Part 1 – NEW NAME
How many days has it been since I was reincarnated in this world?
Probably a year or so… give or take a few days. Honestly, I lost track somewhere between endless naps and pretending to be an ordinary baby. Time feels weird when your body is tiny, but your brain is still running at full throttle. Everything is slow, yet fast. Like I'm floating in honey, waiting for the next scene to change.
I was sitting on the floor, staring at the wooden ceiling beams, when I caught them whispering again.
"Alisa, look, how cute he is when he is thinking." My father's deep voice carried that strange tenderness he always had when looking at me. He probably thought I couldn't hear him. Or maybe he thought I wouldn't understand the meaning.
Heh. Wrong. I understand everything. Thanks to that god and his weird magic, I can hear meaning directly in my mind. The words, the tone, even the little cultural nuances just… appear. Like subtitles written directly in my head. I don't know in which language they are speaking, but it all makes sense to me instantly.
Another little gift from the divine being who threw me into this world, I guess.
The world I've been born into this time is… different. No, "different" isn't strong enough. It's a world that radiates mystery, sorcery, and the kind of wonder that can only be described with one word: magic.
And that excites me the most.
Because in my previous lives, I was denied this joy.
I remember the first time I was reborn—into a world so undeveloped that survival itself was a challenge. Food shortages, villages with barely any technology, people struggling to light fires. I clawed my way through that life with grit, but never once did I see magic or sorcery. Just hardship.
The second time, I went to the opposite extreme. A world that looked like it had walked straight out of a sci-fi comic. Flying vehicles, machines that could heal wounds instantly, holograms flickering in every corner. People with glowing bracelets that could calculate everything in less than a second. A paradise for technology. But again—no magic. No one could chant a spell and summon fire. No one could wield mana or bend reality with their imagination.
And now?
Now I'm in a world where magic is real.
I don't need anyone to tell me; I can feel it. The air carries a subtle thrum, like the atmosphere itself is alive. The books scattered around my father's study are written about spells, rituals, old legends of wizards, and monsters shaped by mana.
This time… I've decided. I will become a magician. No matter what. I will master magic and enjoy it while I still can. Even if fate plans to kill me again, even if gods get bored of me again, this time I'll make it mine.
A faint rustling made me glance sideways. Through the crack of the door, I could see them—my parents—observing me with soft eyes. My father, strong but gentle. My mother, Alisa, radiant and warm. They always do this, thinking I don't notice. Watching me like I'm some little miracle.
…Well, technically, I am a miracle. But they don't need to know that.
I still haven't spoken in front of them. Of course not. I'm only one year old right now. If I suddenly opened my mouth and started reciting Shakespeare—or whatever the equivalent is here—they'd definitely call me a monster.
So I keep my mouth shut.
I've made a rule for myself: I won't speak until I'm at least two years old. At that age, a few broken words will be considered normal. Until then, I'll just nod, smile, or cry when needed.
It's annoying, though.
Do you know how frustrating it is to know a hundred words, but only be able to "goo" and "gah" in front of your parents?
"Reikotar, my little boy's lunch is ready, let's go!"
My mother's cheerful voice snapped me out of my thoughts. She entered the room, sunlight spilling around her, and picked me up gently. Her scent was sweet, like flowers crushed under the morning dew.
When I looked at the table, my eyes narrowed. My parents were eating fried chicken, steaming soup, and soft rice. Meanwhile, I had… liquid food. Mush. A grayish-white paste, warm and boring.
Unfair. Absolutely unfair.
They noticed my gaze.
"Do you want some, my boy?" My father asked, his tone teasing but affectionate.
I hesitated, then nodded quickly.
He grinned, picked up a small piece of fried chicken, blew on it slightly, and handed it toward me.
The moment it touched my lips, I realized my mistake.
Spicy. Hot. My tongue lit up like someone had thrown fire onto it. My tiny baby mouth couldn't handle it.
And before I could stop myself, I shouted:
"I-It's hot and spicy!!"
The room froze.
Silence.
My mother's hands trembled slightly as she held me, and her eyes widened so much they looked like they would fall out. My father dropped his chopsticks. Their mouths opened in shock, completely frozen in place.
Oh crap.
I blinked, panic rushing through me.
Oops. Looks like I made a mistake. Hehehe
PART-2
One year has passed since the infamous incident. That day when I, Reikotar, a mere one-year-old baby, had spoken by mistake. I still don't know why I was so wary of my own parents. They were the ones who had given me life, fed me, held me in their arms when I cried, yet somehow, my tiny mind thought of them as… unpredictable.
True parental love is supposed to be safe, isn't it? But somehow, it feels like it could either lift you to the skies or crush you under a mountain without warning.
I remind myself constantly: true parental love has only one direction—toward the well-being of the child. It is not selfish. It does not demand repayment. It is a bond so deeply woven into the human heart that even mistakes made in upbringing are guided by good intentions. Parents may sometimes be strict, may sometimes scold, or may sometimes make choices their children cannot immediately understand, but beneath all of it lies a single truth—they wish no harm.
I glance at my mother, Alisa, humming softly as she places the dishes on the table. My father adjusts his chair, watching me curiously, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. Parents see more than just a child's actions—they see their own blood, their own life carried forward. A parent's love can never harm their child; even when they scold or seem strict, it is never born from cruelty but from care. Their love shields, nurtures, and forgives. And no matter what mistake a child makes, no parent with true love in their heart would ever think of their own child as a monster…
…even if I am a talking baby who eats fried chicken like a grown man.
"Reikotar, lunch is ready! Come, let's eat together." My mother called out, her voice like sunlight pouring into the room. I scrambled from my little reading corner, my tiny legs surprisingly quick for a one-year-old genius.
"What were you doing, Reikotar?" my father asked curiously, raising an eyebrow.
"N-Nothing, father… j-just read-ding some books," I stammered, carefully dropping my voice a notch to maintain the illusion that I couldn't yet speak properly. Last year, when I had accidentally spoken, they both nearly fainted from shock, claiming I was a prodigy, a "once-in-a-millennium child." That kind of title, I decided, was best avoided until absolutely necessary.
"Oh, can you read books?" my father asked, leaning forward.
"Y-yes… I can understand, but not fully," I replied, another carefully crafted lie.
"See, honey, I told you he was a born genius!" My mother said, hopping in joy, clapping her hands like a little child herself.
"Yeah," my father joined her, chuckling.
Sometimes I wonder: am I a child, or are they the children?
…No. I'm definitely the smarter one here.
"Anyways, let's start eating," my father finally said, clearing his throat.
"Thank you for the food," we all said together. I noticed the little sparkle in my mother's eyes as she smiled, and it made me feel… warm. Safe, even.
"Ahem, Reikotar, why don't you explain what you have understood from the books?" My mother asked, placing her hands on the table, eager, excited. My father nodded, silently urging me to answer. Looks like I had no choice.
"O-Okay, mother," I began, deliberately careful, "this world is divided into four major continents. One is ruled by humans, which is known as Eryndor. Then there is the elven forest, where the elves live. Although they had good relations with humans, our greed made that relation sour, and they have broken contact with us. Then there is the mountain range where the dwarves and other demi-humans live. That continent is known as Bronvalis. and lastly the continent ruled by the demons."
"Correct. Did you learn anything else?" my father asked, his curiosity bright, as though he were a teacher waiting for the answer from the smartest student in the world.
"Other than that," I continued, forcing myself to suppress a smirk, "there are six major governing elements—light, dark, earth, water, wind, fire—and… spatial magic. To perform magic, one must have mana inside them, which most people naturally possess. To cast a specific type of magic, a person must have an affinity for that element, or else they can't perform it."
They looked pleased. Pleased! I almost wanted to laugh.
They looked pleased. Pleased! I almost wanted to laugh.
…Little do they know I already understand far more than this. Let them enjoy this false prodigy act for now. I am playing my part perfectly.
My mother clapped her hands softly. "See, I knew he would understand it eventually. Our little Reikotar is remarkable."
My father chuckled again, shaking his head in quiet disbelief. "Yes… truly remarkable. I wonder what else he will discover before he even learns to walk properly."
I glanced around our cozy home. The sun streamed through the windows, falling across the bookshelves. Each shelf was stacked high with volumes of knowledge: histories of empires, magical theories, biographies of legendary magicians, maps of continents and realms, and scrolls filled with arcane formulas. To an ordinary one-year-old, this would be overwhelming. To me, it was a treasure trove.
…Yes, I am definitely born into the right family, even if they don't realize how dangerous a genius they have at the table
Lunch continued in a peaceful rhythm. Mother served each dish carefully, and father occasionally made comments about flavors or spices. I nibbled quietly, pretending to be tiny and ordinary. I observed them as they ate, noting the way my mother's hand trembled slightly when she passed a dish to me, and the way my father's eyes softened whenever he looked at me.
They are so careful. So loving. And yet…
I shook off the thought. Wary or not, I know now that parental love, real parental love, can never harm a child. Even when they are strict or stern, every action is rooted in care, in protection, in an unspoken desire to see me grow safely.
No parent could ever think of their own child as a monster… not these two. Not my mother, not my father.
"Ahem," my mother cleared her throat again, "Reikotar, tell us… do you understand the relationship between continents and their races? How humans interact with elves, and why dwarves and demi-humans have isolated themselves?"
I straightened my back, pretending to gather courage. "Y-yes, mother. Humans dominate Eryndor. The elves were once allies, but human greed damaged the relationship. The dwarves and demi-humans isolated themselves in Bronvalis… and I understand that their cultures value their independence highly."
"Excellent," my father said, nodding with approval. "And the elements? Do you know how mana interacts with each?"
"Yes," I replied, trying not to sound too confident. "Light and dark govern perception and essence, earth and water govern physical strength and manipulation, wind and fire govern movement and destruction… spatial magic controls… space itself, folding it or bending it for extraordinary effects."
My mother's eyes widened. "Truly… he reads far beyond his age. Amazing."
…Yes, yes it is. But it's all still just surface-level for me. Soon, very soon, I'll master it all.
I looked down at my food, the warm soup steaming in front of me. I ate slowly, carefully. Each bite reminded me that even though my brain is old and clever, my body is still just a baby's. Tiny, fragile. Dependent on the love and care of these two extraordinary people.
And yet, I was ready. One day, this knowledge, this cunning, and this magic—would all belong to me.
…But for now… I am simply Reikotar. One year old. The little boy they cherish. The little boy who knows far more than they imagine.
Lunch continued with laughter, minor scolding when I spilled a drop of soup, and my tiny protests when I wanted more fried chicken. Mother tried to teach me manners, father teased me, and I learned the subtle dance of appearing innocent while knowing more than everyone else in the room.
…Yes, this is perfect. Safe, warm, and full of possibilities.
Finally, my mother smiled at me warmly. "Reikotar, one day you will need to understand all of this fully. And when you do… I hope you use your knowledge wisely, not just to prove yourself, but to protect those you love."
…I will, mother. I promise. And I will surpass even the limits of this world, one day. But I'll do it quietly… at least until I'm ready.
And that, master, is the calm before the storm. The little genius tucked safely between the love of parents who could never think of their child as a monster… yet with the knowledge to change everything someday...