Chapter Two: The Sea Cannot Be Constrained
He was confused. He had died, but he didn't quite know how. All he knew was that he was going to sleep, and then there were banging sounds, and a knife between his ribs. He doesn't remember his final moments; his memory cuts off there, and he is almost grateful for that. He doesn't want to remember the pain, because even without his memories, he can feel the phantom pain of something lodged between his ribs. It was not recommended.
But he woke up. How he woke up, he doesn't know. He was dead just a few minutes ago, and something told him he had died. But his brain was too fuzzy, and he couldn't hear much else besides gurgling sounds that were almost like mumbling, so maybe these were people. Were they trying to reach him in his muddled state? Did they save him and pull him from death, or is this the afterlife?
He wants to sleep, sleep and never wake up. He dreams of a little boy laughing before it cuts into the same boy on the floor with a bullet through the brain. He screams, cries, and thrashes, feeling bad for anyone having to hear him like this. But at least he understands what's happened now: reincarnation.
He looks up into the eyes of his new mother. It's blurry, but he knows she's smiling. This new mother of his is doting, much like his previous one, and it makes everything worse. At least they look nothing alike. His mother is a ginger with startling blue eyes and freckles all over her face. Her hair is soft like silk, and he hopes he'll inherit that trait. Yes, he's a guy, and yes, he cares about his hair. So what? The amount of teasing and bullying he's gotten simply because he takes care of his hair and skin is astounding to him.
He remembers his friend taking it all with stoicism, unbothered by it all, and wishes he had as tough skin as him. Now that he knows why the boy was like that, he feels pity for him. His friend never liked people looking at him with pity, but he couldn't help it. This amazing guy who stood up for anyone being bullied, just because he was raised by such...
He couldn't say a swear word, even now. His mother's disappointed face keeps appearing every time, he couldn't even be rude half the time. He misses his parents. He'd just started actually getting into adulthood before he was murdered by a man he didn't even know.
He misses his friends. He had two friends who were very close to him, but there were still the others. They may not have been as close, but they were friends nonetheless, and he feels as if not thinking about them was like abandoning them.
He never took losing a friend well. Maybe it was because of how he hadn't lost any in childhood. His most dear ones were still with him, even through high school. They'd drifted apart, sure, but they'd still been friends.
He wants to sleep. Not unusual in this new body. He's a baby, after all, and that's all he can do, really, unless you count eating and crying. And well... the other things babies do. But that isn't something he can do right now, not until he gains more bodily autonomy. And with how his parents are, he doubts that he will be getting close to anything anytime soon.
He misses his brother. The guy was annoying, but that guy was also his brother, his blood, and a genius on top. His brother had the artistic skill of a professional, which was a surprise to everyone when he showed off his realistic paintings and even more cartoonish styles. His brother had such an amazing grasp on so many different styles that he would sometimes, in the privacy of his mind, think that his brother must be some person who remembers his past life or lives. Because four-year-olds aren't generally that good with their hands. Usually, it's more shaky and non-coordinated. He can't say he's as good with arts and crafts as his brother, but he's definitely above average.
The fact that his mother was an artist probably helped with that. And by the few paintings he's managed to catch, at least one of his parents could paint. It seems more like a hobby than a job. Their job was running a bakery. He thinks it's a family business, given how many cousins, uncles, and aunts he's been introduced to.
Apparently, this world spoke Japanese, a foreign language that he had taken up studying when he was around twelve to thirteen. It was fun for him and allowed him to consume more of the Japanese-style media he had found. He had only found it due to one friend, a girl of Japanese descent who was proud of her lineage. It made him a bit sad when people tried to get her down by pointing out the numerous flaws in the country. People could be as-meanies who felt better when emasculating others. It was sad.
He felt pity for those who thought they needed that. They would probably do better if they got a bit of therapy, but it's not like they'd listen to him. He's pretty sure they'd just start trying to insult him as well, a nuisance if nothing else. He hoped those people live a better life or maybe even reborn with better cards in their hands. After all, he was reborn; why shouldn't others be able to?
But this rebirth was a bit... odd. He couldn't hear the sound of cars in the distance. At first, he thought it was because they lived away from the city, but as time passed and he grew older, he noticed the lack of technology. There were no phones, and the TVs were old. There was an air conditioner, though, so that's something. Honestly, the appliances and technology here are... backwards. He's certain he can find one thing invented after the phone, but he'd probably need the internet to be sure, and unfortunately, he did not have access to the internet here.
As his eyesight improved, he started to notice more things, like his altered, female body. Yeah, he's not dealing with that right now. He lived in a small village compared to cities and would've definitely been considered rural in his past life. But what was even more daunting were the four heads carved into a mountain, four awfully familiar heads from a fictional world – Naruto.
He found himself in an anime with child soldiers and horrendous odds of survival. He wasn't a fighter, but could he still be a civilian? There wasn't any reason for him to become a soldier. But, ninja stuff... no, he wasn't a child, and he wouldn't get enamored by things like magic, especially not if it required killing to attain.
Maybe he could be a doctor? That would work, right? Yeah, that'll be his goal: to become a doctor and help everyone. He lay down, but suddenly remembered his lack of... male genitalia. Fudge cake... He sighed quietly, his eyes trailing down to his... her crotch? He didn't feel like a girl; he never has. But... he doesn't think transgender people even exist here. They didn't go through it in the manga or anime. But this is the real world now, which means that details not in the anime or manga were likely to be filled in.
So, how do you bring up that you want to be a guy without making it seem weird, in case transgender people don't exist here? Also, does he want to go the innocent child route like he's been doing all his new life or...?
He could honestly just start showing his intelligence and maybe stop reacting when anyone refers to him with a feminine word. It would give his mother a hint, at the very least. She is incredibly good at catching those details. He could also start using masculine terms to talk; maybe that'd also help, at least a bit?
There was a knock on the doorframe; he doesn't like closing his door when he sleeps. And in came his mother. "Kaito, it's time to go now." He gripped the sheets; he didn't want to go. He knows that his parents are worried and just want him to have friends, but hanging around four-year-olds as another four-year-old is exhausting. He honestly doesn't even know how he did it as an adult without wanting to punch someone. But he was mentally an adult, so he opened his eyes and slid out of bed, getting ready to be surrounded by the rambunctious children. Maybe he'll find a canon character? That'd be interesting if nothing else.
His mother left the room, and he looked around, debating whether he wanted to bring a plushie. It was socially acceptable as a child to lug those around, but he decided not to, fearing it might get sand on one of them. But he could just give it to his mom for safekeeping. Tilting his head, he nodded silently and picked up the purple stuffed animal, a remembrance for FNAF – the only remotely gory thing he got to witness as a child, all thanks to his socially awkward best friend. Honestly, he'd been so jealous of the boy. He didn't have parents who wouldn't even let him go to the park alone. Now he knows why...
As he skipped downstairs with the rabbit he privately called William in hand, he wondered if he should stop responding to any feminine terms or try something more gradual... probably gradual to lessen the shock and all that. He nodded silently and promised to add more masculine phrases to his vocabulary.
They ate breakfast and went to the park to see people milling around, with kids of various ages playing.
There was an obvious divide between the smaller and bigger kids. Without much thought, he started walking towards the smaller ones.
He made the mistake of trying to join the older kids once and was mocked for it. He almost expected his old friend to come around the corner and retaliate with his own words, which always had a bigger impact than any of the insults thrown at them.
He smiled and looked up; one of the kids met his gaze and waved him over. The boy had platinum blonde hair, much like his but darker.
His was almost white after all. In fact, all of his features were light and soft due to genetics and albinism, something he shared in both lives. But in this one, most of the bad effects had been dialed down to the point that he didn't even notice it.
It's nice to be able to see without glasses, though he did look very stylish with them on. Light blonde, almost white hair, and baby blue eyes really complemented the round glasses he wore.
He even had one of those glasses with chains on them and a design on two hanging parts. He even got a custom design, since one of his friends had been a jeweler.
Said friend did have a bunch of scars, though, from said profession, especially since he started young. All that experience did make him an amazing jeweler, so that's a plus.
He waved back to the blonde girl who was making a sandcastle. He closed in and sat down softly, as to not disrupt any sand, just in case. You can never be too cautious.
Well, technically, you can. That's paranoia, or more like clinical paranoia. There's another word for it, but he doesn't quite remember, and without Google or the internet, there's no way to actually know what it is. Unless dictionaries exist; then he could find something like that in one. Or maybe look at mental health books? He could also just ask his parents, but that would be kind of weird, weirder than he already must be to them. But kids are strange creatures.
"I'm Akira, you?" The sudden voice snapped him out of his thoughts. "Ka—Kaito," he felt relief at the fact that both his names started with Ka; the girl probably wouldn't question it either way, but others may.
"What are you making?" I asked her back, just to hopefully start some small talk or something. It's been too long since he's been a child; he seriously needs more practice.
"A sand castle, right now, though I'm making the mo-moat," he nodded along. "Can I help?" He asked, and the girl started making tracks in the sand. She didn't seem one for conversation, so he stopped trying and just focused on the moat. Once it was finished, he almost instinctively tried to... do something.
He doesn't quite understand it, but there's always something pushing him to just go a bit more, push a bit harder. Another part of him feared what would happen. A friend always came up with the most ridiculous things. That fear is what's led him to not try it and always catch himself before he does it without thinking. There's a sinking feeling in his stomach; he ignores it in favor of listening to the kids around them.
They're being ignored for the time being and likely will be for a long time, unless the girl had close friends. When he looks back towards the girl, she's walked away talking to others, likely friends of hers. He's glad she has friends but he misses friends himself and was hoping she'd be his new friend, but it's done.
Four-year-olds are exhausting anyways; he's backed up by the loud screaming to his left. He stands, not wanting to deal with any of that. He looks around and sees if there is anyone playing something he wouldn't mind joining before grabbing the plush from his mom and taking it with him on the slide like any normal little child would do.
He'd laugh to himself whenever he remembered who William actually was and how ironic it is that he took him to a park for children. At this point, he might just get a bunch of other plush dolls to represent the other Aftons, maybe even the Emilys too.
He is not explaining that story to his parents, ever. Then again what even is the story at this point?