Light filled my vision, blinding and unbearable. I squinted, wincing as the brightness slowly faded.
When my eyes finally adjusted, I saw a young woman with golden hair gazing at me.
She wasn't just pretty—no, she was beautiful.
(Who is she…?)
Beside her stood a young man with chestnut hair, smiling stiffly. He looked strong—overbearing even—with a body of rippling muscles. Normally, someone like that would set off alarm bells in my head, the kind of guy I'd instinctively hate. But strangely, I felt no disgust. Perhaps because that natural shade of brown didn't look like some tacky dye job—it was actually… nice.
"──××──××××."
The woman smiled and spoke.
I couldn't understand a single word.
Not Japanese.
The man answered with an easy grin. His words were just as incomprehensible.
"──××──×××──"
A third voice echoed from somewhere nearby, though I couldn't see who it belonged to.
I tried to lift myself up, to demand answers. Where was I? Who were these people?
Sure, I'd been a shut-in, but I wasn't incapable of communication. Something like this shouldn't be hard.
"Ah—uuuh—"
Or so I thought. What actually came out of my mouth was nothing more than a baby's whimper.
I tried to move, but my body refused to obey. I could feel my fingers twitching, my arms shifting, but I couldn't even sit up.
"──××××──×××──"
The man scooped me up in his arms, effortlessly.
Wait… what? Did he just lift a guy over a hundred kilos like nothing?!
No, maybe I'd lost weight after lying in bed so long. That accident… my body had to be broken, maybe even missing parts.
(This is worse than death…)
That was the only thought echoing in my head.
---
A month passed.
By then, I finally realized the truth.
I'd been reborn.
Not as a man—
but as a baby.
Whenever someone held me, carefully supporting my head, I could see my tiny body for myself.
Reincarnated, yet with all my memories intact. Every shut-in has fantasized about something like this, but I never expected it to actually happen.
The young couple I'd first seen… they were my parents. Barely in their twenties. To my thirty-four-year-old eyes, they looked like kids themselves.
Having a child at that age? Honestly, I was jealous.
And it was clear this wasn't Japan. Their language was different, their features foreign, their clothes more like ethnic costumes than anything modern. There were no household appliances. The maid who cleaned the house used a rag, not a vacuum. Furniture and utensils were all carved from rough wood. Lighting came from candles and lanterns.
Not electricity. Not civilization.
At first, I thought perhaps they were just poor, unable to pay for utilities. But with a maid around, maybe not? Or maybe she was just a relative helping out.
Either way, this wasn't the developed world.
---
Half a year later.
After eavesdropping on my parents for months, I began to understand their language. My memory felt sharper than ever, perhaps thanks to this young body.
By then, I could crawl. And oh, the joy of movement! I'd never been so grateful to be able to use my body.
"Take your eyes off him for a second and he's gone."
"He's just healthy, isn't he? When he was born, he barely even cried, you know."
"He still doesn't cry much."
They spoke fondly as I scurried across the floor. I wasn't just some hungry infant wailing for milk anymore. I could move, explore, learn.
And learn I did.
This house was no poor shack. It was a large two-story wooden home, with five or more rooms, and yes—an actual maid. Outside, fields of golden wheat stretched across the countryside, dotted with a handful of scattered homes. A rural village, then. No power lines, no streetlights.
Too remote, perhaps. For a man of my generation, raised on the conveniences of modern life, it was… lonely. I found myself longing for a computer, even after reincarnation.
That is, until one afternoon.
I climbed onto a chair, gazing out the window as usual, when I froze.
My father was in the yard.
Swinging a sword.
(Wait… what?)
Was he seriously the type to play with weapons at his age? A wannabe samurai? A middle-aged man with a chuunibyou complex?
Startled, I lost my balance and toppled from the chair.
"Yaaah!"
My mother shrieked as I hit the floor, landing hard on the back of my head.
"Rudy! Are you all right?!"
She rushed to scoop me up, her face pale with fear. My head throbbed. I tried to reassure myself—if she wasn't panicking too much, maybe it wasn't serious. No blood, no cracks, probably just a bump.
Still, she looked as if the sky were falling. Then, gently, she placed a hand over my head.
"Just in case… O divine power, source of life, grant your healing light—Healing!"
My jaw nearly dropped.
What was this, some childish "kiss it better" routine?
But then… her hand glowed faintly.
And the pain vanished.
(…What?)
"All better now," she said proudly. "Don't underestimate your mom—she used to be a famous adventurer."
Adventurer. Sword. Healing. Chant.
My thoughts spun.
What had just happened?