Growing up for a third time was annoying. It wasn't like when he was an arcobaleno, he wasn't aging by forty years in two years.
It seemed to take forever for him to hold his head up, for him to start walking, for him to start talking.
Granted, he knew that he couldn't show just how smart he was, he got a vibe that told him his mother wouldn't appreciate it.
That was something else that was new.
Having parents.
When he had been Renato, his parent's had been killed when he was seven and he was a hitman by the age of eleven and became an arcobaleno at the age of forty two, mainly because of the past arcobaleno still being alive.
He hadn't really known his parents enough to really care for them. They had been a very small famiglia that had been quickly wiped out by bigger ones. He'd mainly been raised by nannies before everyone was killed.
But his mother and father in this life were kind. They didn't brush him off when he struggled getting something, they didn't yell at him for talking or, to his chagrin, when he stumbled and knocked things over.
Even when his little brother, Sam, was born, he wasn't ignored.
It was nice.