It's the universal bully. It makes you wait in agonizingly slow lines, speeds up your happiest moments into fleeting blurs, and then, just for fun, it delivers the final, irrevocable punchline: death.
Take me, for example. One moment, I was Hiro Tanaka, a perfectly average salaryman, rushing through the Shibuya scramble crossing. The next, a rogue truck—driven by a guy who was probably more focused on his egg salad sandwich than the road—decided to introduce me to the pavement. My last thought wasn't profound. It was something along the lines of, "Well, this is a statistically probable way to go in Tokyo. How mundane."
But here's the new punchline, the twist in this cosmic joke: I woke up.
Not in a hospital. Not in an afterlife filled with light or fire. But in a world so aggressively rustic, it made a historical drama set look metropolitan. And I was a baby. A tiny, wrinkly, utterly helpless infant named Leo, swaddled in what felt like burlap.
That was sixteen years ago.
Usually, time plays with people. But after I was reborn, I became the one who plays with time. Simply put, I became undefeatable.
My second shot at life began in the sleepy, mud-splattered village of Oakhaven. My new parents were kind, simple folk who smelled of earth and fresh bread. My father, a lumberjack with biceps the size of my infant head, and my mother, a weaver with a voice as soft as wool, named me Leo. A strong name, they said. A lion's name.
Ironic, given my intended life strategy was to be the most unassuming mouse in the field.
As a baby, my first conscious act wasn't to cry for milk. It was to stop the world. Literally.
I was lying in my crib, bored out of my tiny mind, staring at a dust mote dancing in a sunbeam. It was the most interesting thing in my universe. I reached a chubby fist towards it, frustrated that I couldn't grasp it. In that moment of infantile pique, I felt something click inside me. It wasn't a sound, but a sensation, like a metaphysical switch being flipped.
The dust mote froze. The gentle hum of the village outside vanished. The sunbeam stopped shimmering. The world had become a perfect, silent painting. My mother was paused mid-stitch by the fireplace, her needle hovering in the air. My father was frozen in the doorway, a single drop of sweat suspended on his temple.
I, however, could still think. I could still move my eyes. The power was as natural as breathing. With another mental click, the world rushed back to life. The dust mote continued its dance, my mother's needle completed its arc, and my father wiped the sweat from his brow.
That's when I knew. My isekai cheat wasn't a flashy sword or infinite mana. It was the authority over the fourth dimension itself. Time was my toy.
Over the years, I practiced in secret. A snapped finger to rewind a spilled milk jug. A flick of my wrist to pause a falling plate. A subtle thought to fast-forward through one of Old Man Hemlock's endlessly boring stories about the "great war" he probably slept through. I became a master of minor, undetectable corrections. The village saw me as a little clumsy, a bit slow to react, but ultimately a harmless, quiet boy.
Perfect.
"Leo! Stop daydreaming and get the water!" my mother's voice cut through my musings.
I was sixteen now, leaning against the fence post, watching the village children try to kick a leather ball. They were moving in what they perceived as real-time. To me, it looked like a comically slow ballet of flailing limbs and misplaced hope.
"Sure thing, Mom," I said, my voice a study in practiced nonchalance.
I grabbed the wooden buckets and ambled towards the well at the center of the village. This was the sum of my exciting life: fetch water, chop some firewood (a task I secretly completed in a fraction of a second by stopping time and stacking the logs neatly), and avoid drawing attention.
As I approached the well, I saw the day's source of drama unfolding. Kael, the miller's son and the self-appointed village tough guy, had cornered Elara, the herbalist's daughter. Elara was pretty, smart, and had the misfortune of being kind to everyone, including a quiet boy like me. This, for some reason, Kael saw as a personal challenge.
"—just saying, a girl like you shouldn't be gathering herbs alone in the Whispering Woods," Kael was saying, puffing out his chest. He was big for his age, all brute strength and zero finesse. "You need protection. My protection."
"I can protect myself just fine, Kael," Elara replied, her voice tight. She was holding her wicker basket like a shield.
"Come on, don't be like that," he said, stepping closer, his shadow falling over her.
A part of me, the old Hiro part, sighed. Bullies. They were a universal constant, like entropy or bad traffic. In my previous life, I would have looked away, minding my own business. But Elara had once given me a honey cake when I looked particularly down. It was a small kindness, but in this slow-paced rural life, small kindnesses were currency.
I couldn't reveal my power. That was the cardinal rule. But I couldn't just stand by either. Time, after all, was on my side.
I set my buckets down with a soft thud. Both Kael and Elara turned to look at me.
"What do you want, Leo?" Kael sneered. "Run along. The adults are talking."
I gave him my best vacant smile. "Just getting water. You're blocking the well."
He took a menacing step towards me. "The well is closed for now. Get lost."
This was the tricky part. I had to be precise. I needed a performance.
I raised my hands in a placating gesture. "Alright, alright. No need for trouble."
As I spoke, I clicked.
The world froze. The sound died. Kael was stuck in a half-snarl, his fist clenched. Elara's face was a mask of fear and frustration. A chicken mid-peck at a grain of corn was now a feathered statue.
I walked into the frozen scene. It was eerily beautiful, like living inside a photograph. I studied Kael's stupid, aggressive posture. This needed to be humiliating, but plausibly so.
First, I untied the leather lace on his trousers. Not all the way, just enough to be precarious. Then, I carefully positioned his other foot on a loose, round stone near the well's edge. Finally, I plucked the small, silver locket he always wore—a gift from his mother that he pretended was a war trophy—and dangled it from the well's winch mechanism.
I walked back to my original spot, resumed my placating stance, and clicked.
"—trouble," I finished saying.
The world lurched back into motion. Kael, fueled by his own momentum, took another step towards me. His foot hit the stone, which rolled. His balance shifted, and as he flailed, the loose lace on his trousers gave way. His pants slid down to his knees just as he stumbled forward, his face heading straight for the mud puddle near the well.
Splat.
A perfect, face-first landing.
He lay there for a second, stunned and humiliated, his bare backside exposed to the village square. A snicker came from somewhere, then another, quickly erupting into full-blown laughter.
As he sputtered and struggled to pull up his trousers, he saw his precious locket dangling from the well. His face, already red with mud, turned purple with confusion and rage. How...?
He looked at me, his eyes blazing. I just stood there, my expression a perfect blend of innocence and mild concern.
"You... you did this!" he stammered, pointing a muddy finger at me.
I blinked slowly. "Did what, Kael? You tripped."
The logic was unassailable. He had tripped. Everyone saw it. There was no way a "weakling" like me could have orchestrated such a complex, embarrassing chain of events. The universe, it seemed, had simply decided it was Kael's day to be the village joke.
He scrambled to his feet, snatched his locket, and fled the scene, the sound of laughter chasing him all the way home.
Elara looked from his retreating form to me, her eyes wide. "Leo... are you okay?"
I shrugged, picking up my buckets. "I'm fine. He's the one who wrestled the mud and lost."
She let out a relieved laugh. "Thank you. He's such a boar."
"Don't mention it," I said, finally starting to draw the water. "It was no trouble at all."
And for me, it truly wasn't. It had taken less than a second of real time. A mere snap of my fingers in the silent space between heartbeats.
As I hoisted the full buckets, I allowed myself a small, private smile. This peaceful, rural life was my cover, my comfortable disguise. I was Leo of Oakhaven, the quiet, unassuming boy who was just trying to keep his head down.
But beneath the surface, I was the master of time itself, pulling the strings of reality for my own amusement. And this little incident was just a preview. Soon, the wider world would come knocking, with its magic academies and its powerful mages. They would all see a weak, country boy.
They would have no idea that the most powerful being in their world was walking among them, and he had all the time in the world to play his game.
But for now, the water wasn't going to fetch itself. Or was it?
I glanced at the full buckets. With a thought, I reversed the five minutes of walking and drawing. The world rewound in a blur of color and motion until I was back at my doorstep, the buckets already full at my feet.
Much better.
My mother opened the door. "That was quick!"
I gave her my best lazy grin. "I'm full of surprises."