When I opened my eyes, everything was blurry. I couldn't make out any shapes in front of me, and the sounds around me were jumbled and incomprehensible. I felt a small slap on my butt, and then different textures brushed against my skin. Was I being carried by several people?
For a few moments, everything was a disorienting blur—screams echoed around me, shadows passed by, and I felt the wind biting against my skin. I guessed we were outside because of the chill in the air, and I could feel myself shivering slightly.
I drifted in and out of sleep, waking occasionally as someone carefully poured liquid into my mouth. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, we arrived somewhere. I couldn't tell where exactly, but it was indoors. I knew this because the cold was gone.
The person carrying me handed me over to someone else. I could tell the difference immediately—while the first person's hands were cold, rough, and stiff, the second person's hands were soft and warm. They held me close, and wrapped in that warmth, I slept peacefully for the first time.
By the time I reached around three months of life, my vision had improved enough that I could finally see clearly. That's when the reality sank in—I was a baby. I had been reincarnated.
At first, I panicked. But after playing so many games and reading countless novels about reincarnation, I accepted the situation with surprising ease. Honestly, I wasn't even sad about dying. My previous life didn't have much left to offer me anyway.
My new life, however, seemed much more comfortable. I was almost always in the arms of a woman who, by all accounts, was my mother. She had blue eyes and silver hair that shimmered like moonlight. I know beauty is subjective, but to me, she looked like a fairy. Wherever she went, I was sure she'd attract the attention of everyone—men and women alike.
Her features were unique, even among the servants in the mansion where we lived. Though some of them had blue eyes and a variety of hair colors, not one of them had silver hair like hers.
My supposed father also had a striking appearance. His black hair was ordinary enough, but his scarlet-red eyes gave him an intimidating presence. And for some reason... those eyes bothered me. They stirred something inside me—something irritating. Whenever I tried to think too hard about it, a dull ache spread through my head, like my mind wasn't ready to dig that deep yet. Maybe my cognitive abilities were still too underdeveloped to handle complicated thoughts.
The woman—my supposed mother—treated me with remarkable affection. No matter how many servants surrounded us, she insisted on caring for me herself. She always fed me with a bottle, never breastfeeding me, which struck me as odd.
I know there are cases where mothers don't breastfeed, but with the amount of love she showed me, I doubted she would refuse to if she could. The events of that strange day when I was born still lingered in my mind. All of it—the way I was carried, the cold wind outside, and now this... It led me to one conclusion:
She wasn't my biological mother.
If she were, she'd likely be able to nurse me. But she couldn't—because she wasn't my real mother.
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"%%%### &%&?"
Once again, my mother tries to talk to me, but I still have no idea what she's saying. It's a completely different language from anything I know. Now that my hearing is improving, I can pick up on the intonation, but the words are incomprehensible.
"%%%###&%& ###%%%$$$ ¨%$#%¨%$%?"
My father entered the room, said something to my mother, and then picked me up. He stared at me for a few moments before handing me back to her. His hands, by the way, are as pleasant to touch as a sandpaper handshake. Seriously, does this guy exfoliate with bricks? And for some reason, the way he looked at me irritated me more than I could explain.
Apparently, I was six months old now. I figured this out because my mother kept talking to me while holding up six fingers. At least they use numbers the same way here—thank goodness. Considering the complexity of the mansion and the carriages I'd seen outside, it made sense.
This world also seemed to have some degree of technology. There were a few cars that resembled ones from the 1920s, though they were rare. Most of what I saw from my mother's lap when I looked out the window were horse-drawn carriages.
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When I was turning one year old and could already understand some of the sentences people were saying around me, I realized my mother was worried about something.
"When can the doctor examine him again?"
"The doctor was here last week, Miss Mylene. He'll be back next week."
"So long..."
Apparently, my mother's name is Mylene. She continues to hold me and care for me every day. It's... a strange feeling—something I never experienced in my previous life. Being cared for with this much affection is weirdly comfortable. I could get used to this.
"Where is Rubens?"
"Mr. Rubens returns today from his trip to the front lines."
"I understand."
So, my adoptive father's name is Rubens. His rigid hands suddenly make sense—he's apparently a military commander. No wonder touching him feels like shaking hands with a brick wall.
But that name... Rubens. Why does it sound so familiar?
"Alexio... would there be something wrong with you?"
My mother holds me tightly, staring into my eyes with a worried expression.
Ah, right. My name is Alexio. Funny thing, though—every time I hear it, I get this sharp headache, like my brain's trying to drag something up from the depths of memory. Not that I want to know. I shut that thought down immediately and just hug her back.
Lately, my memories of my previous life have been growing fainter and fainter. Honestly? Maybe that's for the best. There's nothing in that old life I want to cling to. This life is much more comfortable. Even though she isn't my biological mother, and I have no idea who my real parents are, I feel safe here. That's enough for me.
But... my mother is still worried about something. I don't know what, exactly, but I want to make her feel better.
Hmmm... I've heard that word a few times when she pointed to herself. I think the word is...
"Ma...ma?"
"Hm?!"
The moment the word leaves my mouth, the whole room falls silent. Everyone stops moving. And then—
My mother suddenly starts sobbing, tears streaming down her face. The servants burst into tears too, hugging each other like they've just witnessed a miracle.
"Alexio! I was so worried! You never cried, not even once! You didn't make a single sound in your whole first year!"
She pulls me close, hugging me so tightly it's like she's afraid I'll disappear if she lets go.
Huh... so that's why she was worried. Now that I think about it, I don't remember crying either—not even when someone slapped me on the butt right after I was born.
Well... I guess I gave her quite a scare, huh?
Feeling a little guilty, I reach out with my tiny arms and hug her back.