My first birthday.

The day started like any other—me, a helpless one-year-old, trying to figure out why time still wasn't reversing and I wasn't waking up in my twenty-something body. But no, I was still stuck in this tiny form. Today, however, came with a bit of an event.

Lilia, bless her hardworking soul, had outdone herself. The house was decorated with garlands made from dried flowers, some colourful ribbons that I swear she must have traded her soul for, and a string of wooden ornaments hung along the beams. For a medieval-era aesthetic, it was… nice. Honestly, Lilia could make a barn look like a ballroom if she wanted to.

And the cake? Oh, the cake. Lilia had baked what I can only describe as a masterpiece for someone with limited tools. It was simple—two tiers of fluffy bread-like layers with a glossy glaze of honey and berries—but it was delicious. I didn't know where she learned her culinary skills, but damn, that woman knew her way around an oven.

Then there were the gifts.

Lilia, ever the thoughtful one, had sewn a pair of socks for me. Socks. Practical, handmade, and surprisingly comfortable for someone who probably didn't have access to synthetic thread. She even embroidered a tiny R on them for Rudeus. I'd never been so touched by footwear before.

Zenith? Oh, Zenith. My dear mother with her boundless energy and equally boundless determination to spoil me rotten. She added to my ever-growing collection of toys. Wooden blocks, carved animals, and even a new stuffed doll that looked suspiciously like a chibi version of herself.

Sigh. I had enough toys to start a medieval toy shop by now.

Then there was Paul. I knew he'd try to be flashy. He lived for theatrics. But what I didn't expect was the monstrosity he presented with a proud grin: a wooden sword, shaped like something straight out of a children's fantasy book.

No, wait. Was that… a staff? A wooden staff? With a crooked top? And… a beard etched into the base?

"Paul," I thought, staring at the thing. "Is that supposed to be Dumbledore? But, like… tiny?"

Oh, shit. My soul trembled. Was this his attempt to groom me into some kind of mini-warrior-sorcerer hybrid? Or worse, was he unknowingly echoing the cosmic chaos I was trying to escape?

And then I saw it. Or rather, him.

Under the table, just out of everyone's sight but not out of mine. A shadowy silver figure crouched there, its head barely concealed by the drooping tablecloth.

Being X.

My blood ran cold. Was this a joke? A cosmic punchline? Was this celestial parasite seriously crashing my birthday party?

While Zenith was cooing over me and Paul was demonstrating how to "properly" swing the toy staff, I couldn't help but keep stealing glances under the table. Every time I looked, Being X was just… there. Unmoving. Watching.

What the hell did it want? Did it find joy in this farce of a life I was now living? Was it here to remind me of my insignificance, or did it just like cake?

"Rudy, sweetie, blow out the candle!" Zenith chirped, her voice full of excitement.

Paul leaned in, grinning. "Make a wish, son!"

Oh, I had a wish all right. I wanted Being X to take its shadowy ass and vanish from my life forever.

But, of course, I couldn't say that. I couldn't say anything. So, with all the dramatic flair I could muster as a baby, I puffed out my tiny cheeks and blew out the single candle. Everyone cheered.

Except me.

Being X was still under the table. And somehow, I knew my wish wouldn't be granted anytime soon.

Ī~Ī

I could crawl.

Yes! Finally! Sweet, sweet freedom!

For the past year, I had been a prisoner in my own useless body, utterly reliant on the whims of Lilia, Zenith, and Paul to ferry me around like a sack of potatoes. Now? Now I was mobile.

Okay, maybe "mobile" was a bit of an exaggeration. My crawling was less of a graceful glide and more of a clumsy shuffle. My arms wobbled like jelly, and my legs had about as much coordination as a drunken squirrel. But still, progress was progress.

And it felt amazing.

For the first time since my reincarnation, I had a small semblance of control. I wasn't just some crying, pooping, cooing blob. I was a crying, pooping, crawling blob.

I started testing my newfound skill immediately. The first stop? Under the dining table. I'd always seen the legs of chairs and tablecloth from my highchair throne, but now I could explore.

Crawling under there felt like I was on a secret mission. I was Solid Snake, infiltrating enemy territory. Of course, "enemy territory" in this case was just a bit dusty, but still.

Lilia noticed my absence almost immediately. "Young Master?" Her voice rang out, her ever-vigilant eyes scanning the room.

I froze, holding my breath. Would she find me?

"There you are," she said, crouching to peer under the table. Her stern face softened, and she smiled. "Playing hide-and-seek already?"

"Wah!" I replied, the universal baby language for leave me alone, I'm busy.

"Oh, you're so energetic!" she said, scooping me up before I could escape. Dang it, my mission was compromised.

I quickly learned that crawling was both a blessing and a curse. Sure, I could move around, but my tiny, underdeveloped muscles meant I couldn't crawl far before collapsing in a heap.

Not to mention the interceptions. Zenith and Paul would swoop in the moment they saw me crawling, like vultures spotting a dying animal.

One day, I tried to crawl my way to the door. I had almost made it when Zenith appeared out of nowhere, her eyes sparkling like she'd just discovered a new species.

"Look at you, Rudy! Such a strong boy!" she gushed, plucking me off the floor like a particularly adorable potato.

"Waaah! Wawa!" I yelled in protest.

"Oh, you're trying to tell me something, aren't you? Is it 'Mommy, I love you?'"

No, Zenith. It's not. It's "put me down, woman!"

But of course, all she heard was baby babble, which she interpreted as "cute noises from my precious son."

Paul wasn't any better. One evening, I was crawling toward the fireplace—don't judge me, I wanted to see the flames up close—when Paul intercepted me with his big, sweaty hands.

"Whoa, little guy! Dangerous territory!" he said, scooping me up.

"Waa! Waaah!" Translation: Dangerous? You're the dangerous one, Paul!

Paul just laughed and threw me into the air like I was a circus act. "You're gonna be tough, Rudy. Just like your old man!"

"Put me down, you oversized ape!"

But no. Instead, he cradled me in one arm and started "teaching" me how to punch. With my tiny fists, no less. He'd hold up his hand and encourage me to "hit harder, son!"

It was humiliating.

Still, my crawling adventures weren't all bad. They gave me more opportunities to observe the household. I got to see Lilia polishing furniture, Zenith humming as she worked on embroidery, and Paul... doing push-ups shirtless in the yard.

Gross.

And then, there was the silver lining of being able to reach things I hadn't before. Toys scattered across the floor were now within my grasp. A shiny spoon in the kitchen? Mine. That suspiciously fluffy pillow on the couch? Also mine.

The world was opening up, one crawl at a time.

But the best part of all? The look of pride on Lilia's face every time she saw me crawling around.

"Young Master is growing so fast," she'd say, her voice tinged with genuine affection.

And for a brief moment, I felt… okay. Like maybe this new life wasn't so bad after all.

But then Paul would try to "teach" me how to wrestle again, and I'd remember why I hated it here.

Ī~Ī

Paul and Zenith's late-night "activities" didn't decrease one bit, even after I turned one year old. If anything, they became more energetic.

"Knock it off!" I'd try to say, waving my tiny fists from the crib. Of course, it came out as baby babble: "Wawa wah!"

What I meant was, "I don't want to be a big brother yet! So for the love of sanity, use protection!"

But no. They were too busy to notice their one-year-old audience glaring daggers at them.

It didn't help that our house wasn't exactly soundproof. Every gasp, moan, and giggle echoed in the small bedroom. Paul's voice was especially loud.

"Yes, I know you're a stamina monster, Dad, but please, for the love of all that's holy, stop it."

And yet, they carried on, utterly oblivious to my plight.

I sighed and rolled over in the crib, trying to block it all out. This was my life now—a front-row seat to my parents' late-night romance.

Sigh.

Morning wasn't much better. My daily routine was as predictable as clockwork: wake up, poop, pee, get cleaned up by Lilia, eat, and then… playtime.

Lilia handled most of my care. She'd change my diapers with a speed and precision that could rival a pit crew at a Formula 1 race. Then, she'd give me my morning bath. I had to admit, she was good at her job—efficient, gentle, and always humming a soft tune that was oddly calming.

Once I was clean and fed, Zenith would swoop in for playtime. She was relentless in her attempts to entertain me.

"Look, Rudy! Mama's making a bird!" she'd say, conjuring a small glowing bird out of thin air.

Okay, I'll admit, the magic was cool. Watching her weave glowing threads of mana into shapes and figures was a nice distraction from my otherwise monotonous existence. But sometimes, I just wanted to be left alone.

"Spare me, woman!" I'd try to protest. "I've seen enough glowing birds for one lifetime!"

But all she'd hear was my garbled baby talk: "Wawa ou wawa!"

"Oh, you're so cute!" she'd coo, picking me up and cuddling me.

Great. Just great.

Afternoons were slightly better. I'd crawl around the house, exploring every nook and cranny. I'd occasionally spot Being X lurking in the shadows, its silver silhouette watching me.

"Don't think I've forgotten about you," I'd mutter under my breath—or at least, I'd try to. It came out more like, "Waaah bwaa!"

Being X, as always, stayed silent, mocking me with its mere presence.

The evenings were the worst, though. That's when Paul came home from his training sessions, sweaty and shirtless. He'd scoop me up in his muscular arms and start his "manly bonding" sessions.

"Alright, Rudy! Time for some father-son training!" he'd say, holding up a spoon. "Try to bend it!"

"Are you serious right now?" I'd glare at him. "I'm a baby, you moron!"

"Waaa!" was all he heard.

"Look at that spirit!" Paul would laugh, ruffling my hair. "You're gonna be just like me when you grow up!"

God, I hope not.

And then, night would fall, and the cycle would repeat. Paul and Zenith's "motivated late-night sessions" would kick off, and I'd be forced to endure it all over again.

Still… as much as I complained, I had to admit, my life wasn't all bad. Lilia was kind and attentive, Zenith's magic was genuinely fascinating, and even Paul—sweaty and annoying as he was—seemed to care in his own strange way.

Could it have been worse? Oh, definitely.

But every now and then, as I lay in my crib listening to the muffled sounds of my parents' passionate evenings, I couldn't help but think: Is this really my life now?

Sigh.

Ī~Ī

From the very beginning, I knew my first words had to be legendary. Not just a simple "Mama" or "Papa" like any ordinary baby. No, my debut in the world of speech had to cement me as someone extraordinary. Something that would make these adults finally stop treating me like a helpless little bundle.

Zenith and Paul often joked about who I'd call first, "Mama" or "Papa." Frankly, neither of those options appealed to me. If I was going to say anything, it had to blow their minds.

In secret, I practiced. I'd test my vocal cords when no one was looking, trying to form syllables without drooling all over myself. If Lilia or Zenith walked into the room, I'd quickly revert to babbling nonsense or playing with a random toy. I refused to give them any satisfaction until I was ready.

Oh, they tried. Paul would hold me up like some kind of doll and say, "C'mon, Rudy, say 'Papa.' You can do it!"

I'd glare at him and remain silent. He wasn't getting that moment from me. Not yet.

Zenith wasn't any better. She'd stroke my cheek and coo, "Say 'Mama,' Rudy! Mama loves you!"

Cute, but no.

I spent weeks perfecting my first sentence. Not a single word—'a whole freaking sentence.' Something that would ensure I was remembered as a prodigy, even if I was stuck in this ridiculous baby body. I practiced day and night, mouthing the words until I was sure I had them down.

Finally, the day came. It was dinnertime, and I was nestled in Zenith's arms after a round of breastfeeding. The three of them—Zenith, Paul, and Lilia—were seated around the dining table, enjoying their meal. Paul was halfway through a plate of roasted meat, Zenith was nibbling on bread, and Lilia was busy cleaning dishes at the sink.

The moment felt right.

I took a deep breath, my tiny lungs filling with determination. This was it. Showtime.

"I oueel become the eero."

The words left my mouth, a bit garbled but undeniably coherent.

Silence.

The entire room froze. Paul's fork slipped from his hand and clattered onto his plate. Lilia, ever the composed maid, dropped the plate she was cleaning, and it shattered on the floor. Zenith stopped mid-chew, her eyes wide with shock as she stared down at me.

I blinked innocently, as if I hadn't just dropped the equivalent of a nuclear bomb on their peaceful little dinner.

"Did… did he just talk?" Zenith finally whispered, her voice trembling.

Paul's mouth hung open. "Did he just… say a whole sentence?!"

Lilia's hand flew to her mouth. "Young Master… he spoke."

They all turned to each other, each seeking confirmation that they hadn't collectively imagined it.

"He said, 'I'll become the hero,'" Zenith repeated, her voice filled with disbelief.

"Yeah, yeah, I heard it too!" Paul exclaimed, standing up so fast he nearly knocked over his chair. "Rudy just said he'd become the hero!"

Lilia nodded, her face pale. "I… I didn't think babies could talk this early."

Zenith hugged me tighter, her expression a mixture of pride and fear. "Rudy… my baby's a genius!"

Paul was grinning now, his earlier shock replaced by excitement. "A genius, huh? That's my son! He's gonna be a swordsman, a legend!"

"Or a sorcerer," Zenith added quickly, her competitive streak showing.

I sighed internally. Of course, they were already turning my moment of triumph into another argument.

But at least they finally stopped treating me like an ordinary baby. Mission accomplished.

For now.

…or so I thought.

I should've known better. My parents, Paul and Zenith, had a very specific way of celebrating things. Their idea of honoring my first words wasn't to buy me a shiny toy, throw a modest family party, or even toast to my supposed brilliance. No. For reasons beyond my understanding, they decided the best way to commemorate this momentous occasion was to… pound each other like hormonal rabbits for three. Whole. Hours.

It started innocently enough.

Paul stood, smirking like he'd just won some sort of competition. "We have a prodigy in the house! My son is going to be a legend!"

Zenith looked up at him, her cheeks flushed with pride. "Our son, Paul. Mine too, remember?"

"Of course, babe." He grinned, leaning over to kiss her cheek. "I couldn't have done it without you."

I watched with growing dread as the atmosphere shifted. Zenith blushed harder, giggling like a schoolgirl, and Paul's hand somehow ended up on her thigh.

No.

No, no, no.

I'm right here. In the crib. Wide awake. Fully conscious.

"Lilia," Paul called over his shoulder, already starting to unbutton his shirt. "Take the rest of the evening off. Zenith and I have some… celebrating to do."

Lilia, ever the loyal maid, gave a polite bow. "As you wish, Master Paul. Mistress Zenith."

And then she was gone, leaving me alone with these two overenthusiastic lovebirds.

Paul scooped Zenith up in his arms, and she let out a delighted squeal. "Paul! Rudy's still awake!"

"He's a baby," Paul said dismissively, carrying her toward their bed. "He won't remember any of this."

Oh, the irony.

I wanted to shout. To remind them that I wasn't just some clueless infant. That I had the full consciousness of a grown man trapped in this tiny body. But all that came out was a garbled, "Waaah!"

"See?" Paul said, grinning as he set Zenith down. "He's cheering us on."

Cheering you on?! I was trying to tell you to 'knock it off!'

But they weren't listening. Paul climbed into bed, and Zenith followed, giggling as she began tugging at his clothes. The sounds that followed were… horrific.

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to block out the noises, but it was impossible. Moans, gasps, giggles, and the rhythmic creaking of the bed filled the room.

"Paul… slower!"

"Can't… too excited!"

"Ahhh!"

Make it stop.

For three hours, I was trapped in this nightmare. My tiny fists clutched the sides of the crib as I silently cursed the heavens. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't cry. I couldn't even roll out of the crib to escape.

This was my life now.

When it was finally over, Paul rolled onto his back, panting like he'd just run a marathon. Zenith cuddled up next to him, her face glowing with satisfaction.

"That was… amazing," she whispered, tracing circles on his chest.

"Yeah," Paul agreed, grinning like a fool. "We should celebrate more often."

I let out a quiet groan, too exhausted to even glare at them.

They eventually drifted off to sleep, leaving me in the crib to stew in my misery.

This wasn't just embarrassing. It was soul-crushing. My parents were maniacs, and I was stuck with them for the foreseeable future.

Life in this world?

It sucked..

Ī~Ī

Author Note:

Thanks for reading this chapter. The next chapter will be released depending on your responses.

Drop your thoughts in the review section. Your words motivate me to write better, larger and with more depth.

Till next time!