A few days passed.
By now, I'd stopped crying every five minutes — progress, if I do say so myself.In that time, I did what any respectable former god trapped in a baby's body would do: gather information.
Observation became my new divine hobby.My crib — if that's what mortals call this tiny wooden cage — gave me a perfect view of the world around me.The house wasn't large, but it was warm. The walls were carved wood, the scent of fresh herbs always drifting through the air. A faint hum of mana pulsed beneath the floor — subtle, but there. So this world still breathes with magic, I thought.
My new mother — her name, I learned, was Elara. She was gentle, graceful, and had this habit of humming softly whenever she cooked or held me. Her magic aura shimmered like sunlight — pure and soothing.If she weren't my mother, I might've recruited her as a high priestess back in my divine days.
My father, on the other hand — Leonhart. A man of steel muscles, wild hair, and a laugh that could shake rafters. Apparently, he was once a knight… or maybe still is. Hard to tell when all I see him do is trip over furniture while trying to feed me.
Together, they were an odd pair — beauty and brawn — and somehow, I was their masterpiece.
From their conversations, I pieced together even more:We lived in a peaceful village surrounded by forests and mountains. The villagers often visited, bringing food and gifts "for the newborn." Every time, they'd coo at me, and I'd stare back blankly, thinking, Yes, yes, admire your new deity in disguise.
But of course, I couldn't say that.All I could do was gurgle.And drool.
Still, as days went on, I found myself enjoying it. The laughter, the warmth, the quiet.No endless responsibilities, no divine politics, no cosmic disasters.Just… family.
And for the first time in all my existence,I didn't mind being small.
One day, during one of my secret "research missions," I began my noble crawl across the room.My objective: knowledge.My target: the bookshelf.
There it stood — tall, majestic, mysterious — filled with the wisdom of mortals.Surely, among those dusty pages lay secrets of this world… or at least the answer to why baby food tastes like despair.
I made my move.Crawling silently, with all the stealth an eight-month-old body could muster (which, frankly, wasn't much). My tiny hands slapped the floor with every "sneaky" advance. Pat, pat, pat.
Finally, I reached the base of the shelf.Victory was near.I looked up… and instantly despaired.
It was huge.Like a tower scraping the heavens.Even the lowest shelf was out of reach.
I stretched my tiny arms.Nope.I stood on my knees.Still nope.I even tried bouncing.Absolutely not.
I glared at the shelf like it had personally offended me."I am the God of Creation," I thought furiously, "and I'm being defeated by furniture."
For a moment, I considered giving up. But then again — I made stars once. Surely, I could outsmart a bookshelf.
I sat there, thinking hard.Maybe I could push a stool? Too heavy.Maybe I could call my mother? No, that would blow my cover — I'm supposed to be a normal baby.Hmm…
Wait.What if I used just a little bit of divine energy?Not enough to attract attention — just a tiny bit.
My eyes narrowed. I raised one pudgy hand dramatically.The air shimmered faintly. The nearest book trembled…
And then—
"Aww, are you trying to grab the books, sweetheart?"My mother's voice startled me.The divine glow vanished instantly.
She picked me up and laughed. "You'll be able to read when you're older, silly."Older? Hah. If only she knew.
Still, as she carried me away, I couldn't help but stare longingly at the shelf.Someday, bookshelf.Someday, you and I will meet again…
The next day, I returned to the battlefield.My sworn nemesis: the bookshelf.My weapon: divine energy.My disadvantage: the universe's tiniest, weakest body.
I took a deep breath — or whatever counted as deep in these baby lungs — and focused.This time, I would not fail.I gathered what little divinity still lingered in my soul, letting it pool inside me like the old days.
Focus, I told myself. Visualize the book moving… see it… believe it—
And then—Pffft.
…
I froze.The smell hit a moment later.
Oh no.Not again.
I looked down in despair.My divine concentration had… shifted.Instead of channeling cosmic energy, I had apparently activated the Diaper of Doom.
It was official.I, the God of Creation, had been defeated once more—by my own body.
And, right on cue—
"Oh, sweetie… again?"Her voice. My mother, Elara.Like an angel descending from the heavens — armed, as always, with infinite patience and a clean cloth.
She swooped in, smiling warmly as if this was a perfectly normal daily ritual.Meanwhile, I stared at her, mortified.If I could speak, I'd have said, "Mother, please! I'm conducting sacred experiments!"But all I managed was a pitiful coo.
She laughed softly, cleaned me up, and kissed my forehead."There, all better."
As she carried me back to my crib, I looked toward the bookshelf again, glaring like a defeated general.My grand experiment had failed.But this wasn't the end.
I just needed time… and maybe a stronger bladder.
Every damn time I tried to use my divine power…I soiled my diaper.
Every. Single. Time.
It was becoming a cosmic curse at this point.I used to split mountains with a thought.I used to weave galaxies from dust.Now? I can't even wiggle my fingers dramatically without triggering disaster.
It's humiliating.
There I was — sitting in the middle of the room, staring at the bookshelf like an arch-nemesis. My face was locked in serious concentration, eyes glowing faintly with what little divine spark I could summon. I was this close to floating a book—
Then fate struck again.Pffft.
A second later… the familiar warmth of betrayal.And the worst part? The smell came too fast to deny.
I didn't even need to call for help.Like an angel answering my shame, Mother appeared.
She sighed softly — a sound both sweet and deadly."Oh, not again, my little explorer," she cooed, lifting me up like she'd done this a hundred times (which she probably had).
I, the God of Creation, could only stare blankly while she handled the situation with divine efficiency.Internally, I screamed to the heavens:"Oh great cosmos, this is not how divine energy is supposed to manifest!"
Once the ordeal ended, she smiled, kissed my nose, and placed me back in the crib."There we go. All clean again."
I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, contemplating my fallen status.Every time I tried to reach for godhood… my dignity paid the price.
At this point, I started to fear a terrible truth:Perhaps, in this world… my power was directly connected to my diaper.
A horrifying thought indeed.
I tried.Day after day, I tried.
Morning, noon, night — didn't matter.Each time I summoned even the tiniest spark of divine energy…disaster.
The moment I focused too hard — pffft.If I strained my will — pffft.If I even thought about glowing with celestial light—…you guessed it.
The smell of failure.
At first, I thought it was just a fluke.A coincidence.But by the seventh attempt, I realized the awful truth:this body simply couldn't handle my divine power.
Every time I reached inward for that old, limitless strength —the strength that once forged mountains and stars —my mortal shell reminded me exactly what I had become:a baby with absolutely no bladder control.
I'd had enough.Enough humiliation. Enough false hope.
One morning, as I sat glaring at my chubby reflection in a polished bowl of water, I whispered (or rather, gurgled with great intensity),"Fine. You win."
I gave up on divine power.
Maybe… maybe this was what fate wanted.A god stripped of everything, forced to start from the bottom —not as a creator, but as one of his creations.
The thought stung a little, but…there was a strange peace in it too.
No cosmic duties.No divine throne.Just a warm home, a smiling mother, and a father who laughed too loud.
So, I decided.Until I understood this world, this life, I'd set aside my godhood.For now, I'd learn to crawl, to speak, to live —as a human.
…But one day, I promised myself,when I can finally control this tiny body…the world will remember the God of Creation once more.