Felix's lungs burned, each breath coming in a ragged, desperate "huff-huff" that seemed too loud in the quiet air. "This damned body," he spat internally, cursing the feeble stamina that had turned a brisk jog into a gruelling marathon. He was barely out of sight of his home, yet his legs felt like lead.
Slowly, the Village Square opened up before him. To avoid drawing the gaze of the small clusters of villagers gossiping in the morning sun, Felix forced his trembling legs into a slow walk.
At the heart of the square stood a weather-beaten stone soldier, a monument to some forgotten knight who had supposedly perished defending the province. The inscription at the base was choked with moss and withered by time, its heroic details blurring into the grey rock. Felix didn't care for ghosts or ancient glory; he spared the monument nothing more than a dismissive glance before orienting himself.
The square acted as the village's compass, four dirt paths bleeding out like veins. To the north lay his home and the heavy timber of the main gate, the only true exit to the outside world. But Nellie had spoken of a barren stretch of earth to the south—the old playground of the village children. Wiping the sweat from his brow, Felix turned his back on the gate and began the trek toward the southern outskirts.
The walk was a sensory overload of pastoral normalcy. He passed modest storefronts where the smell of baked bread mingled with the hum of gossip. On one corner, two patrolling knights leaned against a stone wall, their spears held loosely as they traded lazy jokes. Felix felt a sudden, sharp pang of unfamiliarity. To these people, peace was as natural as breathing, yet to him, it felt like a fragile mask.
Increasing his speed, Felix navigated several turns and avoided the shadows of narrow alleys until the sound of shrill, youthful voices reached him. He followed the noise to a clearing of packed earth, sparsely decorated with patches of weeds and grass. A makeshift wooden fence, barely two feet tall and looking ready to crumble, served as a symbolic boundary for the space.
The gaze drifted across the lot. On one side, a few girls—roughly the same age or a bit older—were huddled together, occupied with dolls and quiet chatter. On the other, the boys were engaged in something far more primal. It wasn't a game easily recognized; it appeared to be a chaotic cycle of physical testing. One boy would lunge into the fray, haul a peer out of the bunch with a strike, and cast him aside, only to be grabbed by his own collar and struck even harder by the next. There was no technique, just a raw exchange of force. An endurance game? Felix wondered, his brow furrowing.
Bolstered by a surge of misplaced confidence, he stepped over the threshold. "Brats, let me join in!" he barked.
The shout acted like a physical barrier, killing the noise instantly. Felix stood tall, momentarily forgetting two vital facts: he was currently a "brat" himself, and several of these boys were nearly twice his size.
"What's with this toddler?" A larger boy broke the silence, lumbering toward him. He was a ten-year-old compared to Felix, possessing a daunting advantage in both height and mass. The group closed in, a silent circle of judging eyes. "Say something," the boy sneered, his heavy hand shoving Felix's shoulder and nearly sending him sprawling.
The reality of his fragile, out-of-breath body crashed down on him. Up close, the boy was genuinely intimidating. What should be said? Felix thought, his mind racing. Before an answer could be found, a sharp chuckle erupted from the crowd.
"Did he piss himself?" another boy jeered. The playground exploded into mocking laughter. Under normal circumstances, Felix wouldn't let a child's taunt get under his skin, but being mocked by those who hadn't lived a fraction of his true age ignited a cold fire in his chest. So, these brats really want to go?
"I just came to play with you all—" Felix began, his voice low.
He never finished. The larger boy reached out and struck him across the side of the head, a mocking grin plastered on his face. The impact tilted Felix's head to the side, and in that moment, the imaginary line of adult restraint simply vanished.
There was no hesitation. As his neck snapped back into place, Felix launched a swift, low kick between boy's both legs. As the bully's air left him in a silent gasp, Felix followed through with a sharp punch to the boy's cheek.
The bully's eyes widened in shock. Without a single scream, he folded, collapsing into the dirt. The rest of the kids stood frozen, paralyzed by the sudden, clinical nature of the retaliation. Felix didn't wait for the shock to wear off. He turned on his heel and marched out of the dirt lot, his footsteps heavy with lingering adrenaline. Behind him, the silence finally shattered into a chorus of panicked shouts and startled gasps as they scrambled toward the fallen boy.
A new, more suffocating exhaustion settled over Felix, heavier than the fatigue of his morning jog. His knuckles throbbed, painted a raw, angry red from the impact of the punch. As his pulse hammered against his temples, a faint blurriness tugged at the edges of his vision. So much for maturity, he mocked himself, his mind a whirlwind of conflict.
He retraced his steps, the familiar path leading him back toward the village square. The knights who had been loitering earlier were gone, and the morning crowd had thinned to a few stragglers. The sudden emptiness of the street felt like a sanctuary. He tried to rationalize the scuffle—it was a defensive measure, a momentary lapse that most would forget by sunset—yet a persistent weight of guilt settled in his chest. In his previous life, he had been a stranger to violence; now, he had just laid out a child half his mental age.
Feeling his legs begin to give way, he leaned his weight against a cool, stone wall, closing his eyes to regulate his ragged breathing. He began rubbing his stinging knuckles, trying to massage away the heat of the blow.
"Is there something you want, child?"
The voice was thin and weathered. Felix's head snapped toward the sound. He realized too late that he wasn't leaning against a mere wall, but the storefront of a small shop. An elderly woman stood in the threshold, her face etched with a kind, observant smile.
Startled, Felix straightened his back instantly, tucking his reddened hand behind his waist. "N-no," he stammered, already pivoting to retreat.
"Wait," she said softly.
Felix paused, looking back over his shoulder. The woman reached out, her palm up-turned to reveal a small hoard of brightly wrapped candies. He instinctively shook his head to refuse the charity, but she stepped forward without a word. She gently took hold of his bruised hand, drawing it from behind his back, and pressed the sweets into his palm.
With a final, knowing smile, she disappeared back into the shadows of her shop. Felix stood frozen for a moment, the cool sugar-pearls resting against his raw skin. He unwrapped one, the sweetness blooming on his tongue as he began the final walk toward home. The guilt didn't vanish, but as his lips curled into a faint, involuntary smile, the heavy air in his chest finally began to clear.
The silence of the house was a soothing balm after the chaotic ringing in his ears. Felix stepped through the threshold, the familiar scent of home easing the tight knot of anxiety in his chest. He aimed for the stairs, hoping to vanish into the sanctuary of his room, but a sudden movement caught him off guard.
Nellie appeared from the upper floor, bracing a heavy wicker basket overflowing with laundry against her hip. She paused, her eyes scanning his dishevelled appearance. "Back so soon? Did you not find the other children?" she asked, her tone light and curious.
Felix stiffened, his mind racing to find a version of the truth that didn't involve assault. "Um... no. It's just... their games were a bit too barbaric for me," he replied, his voice small.
Nellie let out a warm, melodic chuckle. "I suppose that makes sense. You've never really played with a group before, so it must seem a bit wild to you." She raised a finger, ticking off a mental point of motherly advice. "But you should really try to make some friends, Felix. It's good for you."
She began to move toward the washroom, but then she skidded to a halt and doubled back. "Ah, I almost forgot to tell you! You have your school entrance test tomorrow. You're finally at the age to start, you know." With a distracted nod, she went back to her chores, leaving the news hanging in the air like a heavy curtain.
Felix stood rooted to the spot, absolutely dumbfounded. ...Wow. School. Already?
A flood of his previous life's academic memories rushed back—flashing images of cramped desks, monotonous lectures, and the social minefields he had never enjoyed. Then, the image of the dirt lot flashed in his mind. He looked down at his still-reddened knuckles and felt a cold shiver of unease crawl up his spine.
Please, he prayed silently, closing his eyes in a moment of desperate hope, just don't let me run into the kid whose lineage I nearly ended today.
The next day arrived in a blur. Felix felt no real trepidation about the entrance test; he didn't particularly care for the school, and failure wouldn't cost him anything. His parents, however, were a different story. Since dawn, Bastro and Nellie had been wound tight with nerves, sitting stiffly on a bench in the school's waiting room. The building itself was a lacklustre, rundown institute, with furniture that had seen better decades and an air of peeling paint.
Felix glanced around at the other children huddled with their parents, the atmosphere thick with a meaningless tension. He closed his eyes to shut out the heavy air, but they snapped open a second later at the sound of a booming voice.
"Felix! No need to worry! You'll crush this!" Bastro declared, his voice far too loud for the small room as he shot his son a strained thumbs-up.
"He's right," Nellie chimed in immediately, mirroring the gesture. "You already know your letters and numbers. There's nothing to be afraid of."
They're acting as if I'm marching onto a battlefield, Felix thought, sinking back into his seat. He endured a relentless barrage of motivation and encouragement from both sides, nodding along simply because he couldn't exactly announce he possessed the seasoned brain of an adult.
Eventually, a woman—presumably a teacher—entered and ushered the group of children into a classroom filled with cramped desks. The "test" was a trivial affair. They grilled the kids with basic questions on morality and simple logic, which Felix navigated with bored ease. For the final task, they handed out pens and paper, asking the students to read a short passage aloud and write a brief introduction of themselves.
Well, what more could they possibly expect from a toddler? he mused. He humoured the instructor, finishing the tasks with clinical efficiency before being dismissed back to his waiting, anxious parents.
Around him, the atmosphere in the hall began to sour. Several children emerged from the testing room with streaked faces and trembling lips, overwhelmed by their inability to decipher the script or hold a quill. A few minutes later, the instructor reappeared, but instead of a general announcement, she singled out Felix and his parents, requesting they follow her to the Headmaster's office.
A heavy silence fell over the waiting room. Every eye in the hall tracked them; no other family had received a private summons. Bastro and Nellie exchanged a look of pure, fretful anxiety, their shoulders hitching with tension. Felix, however, remained singularly nonchalant, merely gesturing for his parents to lead the way.
Bastro pushed open the heavy office door with a hesitant hand. "Good morning, Bastro," a voice called out. The office was cramped, dominated by an unusually massive desk buried under the morning's test papers. Behind it sat a man in a sharp grey-and-brown suit, his spectacles glinting in the low light. He appeared to be roughly Bastro's age, possessing the tired, observant air of a career academic.
"Is something wrong? Did he fail?" Bastro blurted out, his voice thick with unfounded worry.
Felix felt a surge of silent irritation at his father's lack of faith. This man was just giving me a thumbs-up outside, and now he thinks I've already blown it? he thought, shooting a sharp look at Bastro's back.
"Firstly, Sir Bastro, we do not 'fail' students here," the Headmaster corrected calmly. "This assessment simply gauges a child's aptitude so we can place them in the appropriate tier. Secondly..." he paused, tapping a finger on a perfectly written sheet of parchment, "...your son's performance was flawless. In fact, it was so precise that we are having difficulty deciding which level of instruction would even challenge him."
The Headmaster leaned forward, his gaze shifting to the small boy lingering in the back. He beckoned him with a slow, intrigued gesture. "That is why we need to ask Felix a few more... specialized questions."
Felix stepped forward, masking his growing impatience as he approached the massive desk. "Good morning, Felix. My name is Defone," the man said, his voice smooth and welcoming, as if sensing the boy's internal friction. "Since your literacy is so advanced, could you describe the local flora and fauna found near our village boundaries?" He slid a fresh sheet of parchment and a quill across the wood.
Felix took the pen without hesitation. For years, trapped in this tiny body with nothing to do, he had functioned like a sponge, obsessively memorizing every plant and creature he saw or heard described. After a few minutes of rhythmic scribbling, he slid the paper back. Defone scanned the lines, his eyebrows climbing toward his hairline, while Bastro began to beam, nearly vibrating with a father's boastful pride.
"You are remarkably observant, Felix," Defone noted, his curiosity now fully piqued. "Would you mind entertaining a few more questions?"
"No problem," Felix replied, forcing a polite smile despite the creeping boredom.
"Tell me then—what do you know of our continents and the surrounding kingdoms?" Defone pushed another page forward. Again, the quill danced. When Felix finished, the Headmaster stared at the results in stunned silence.
"Haha... Felix, do your parents withhold dinner if you don't study?" Defone let out a strained, awkward laugh, clearly baffled by the child before him. "Your general knowledge is impeccable. Perhaps we should test your aptitude for mathematics?" He began to reach for a third sheet, his expression suggesting he already expected another miracle.
Wait... I'm useless at math, Felix thought, panic flaring. He was about to decline when Nellie stepped in, her voice a calm, protective shield. "I'm sorry, Sir, but Felix hasn't been introduced to complex calculations at his age." Felix felt a surge of genuine adoration for his mother—she truly was an angel.
Defone started to retract the paper, nodding in agreement. "Of course, that is perfectly understand—"
"No worries! I'm sure he'll manage it somehow! Hahaha!" Bastro's voice boomed, shattering the moment of safety.
You absolute traitor! Felix cursed his father internally.
Defone, encouraged by Bastro's outburst, quickly jotted down a few problems and handed the sheet over. Felix braced himself for advanced calculus or algebraic nightmares, but as his eyes hit the page, he froze. It was simple addition and subtraction.
The realization hit him like a lightning bolt: he was in the body of a five-year-old. While these were daunting hurdles for a toddler, for an adult mind, they were trivial. For the first time since his reincarnation, Felix felt a wave of genuine gratitude for his young body—it made him look like a genius for doing the bare minimum.
The testing session dragged into several more rounds of questioning. Each time a fresh sheet of parchment appeared, Felix's quill danced across it with the bored precision of someone filling out a grocery list. To an adult mind, these were trivialities; to the faculty of a village school, they were witnessing a miracle trapped in a five-year-old's body.
"Sir... we have nothing left to teach your son. Please... I hope you understand," Defone finally sighed. The Headmaster sank into his high-backed chair, his voice a weary cocktail of confusion and professional defeat.
"Uh, thank you for your time!" Bastro managed to stammer. The three of them beat a hasty retreat, emerging into the cool, amber glow of the setting sun.
As soon as they crossed their own threshold, Bastro collapsed onto the sofa, a wide grin splitting his face before erupting into a boisterous roar of laughter. "That was worth every second! Seeing the most learned man in the village sink into his chair like a melting candle!"
Nellie sat beside him, though her expression was more contemplative. "But Felix," she asked, her gaze searching his, "where did you learn to calculate like that? And those history topics... when did you study them?"
Felix froze, his fingers fumbling together as he scrambled for a plausible lie. Before he could speak, Bastro cut in, his voice still thick with mirth. "Does it even matter now? You saw his face! 'We have nothing to teach your son!'" He mimicked Defone's wide-eyed, spectacled shock so perfectly that Nellie had to swat the back of his head to quiet him down.
In the brief silence that followed, Felix found his opening. "I... I learned it from Dad's account book," he whispered. It was a risky gamble—that book contained the sensitive financial records of the forge's sales.
The room went deathly still. Bastro's smile vanished as he leaned forward, his shadow looming large in the firelight. "If you wanted to learn numbers," he began in a low, grim rumble, "you should have just said so." Then, his face broke into another grin. "Besides, that book is a mess anyway. Consider it yours!"
The tension evaporated into a fresh wave of laughter. Suddenly, Bastro stood up, puffing out his chest with the theatrical gravity of a monarch. "Now, Felix Bardeen! You have achieved a great victory today. Name your reward. Ask for whatever your heart desires!"
Nellie chuckled at the performance and settled back to watch. Felix played along, dropping to one knee with mock-solemnity. He searched his mind; he had no use for toys, and the computer games of his past life were beyond even magic's reach. He didn't want candy or fine clothes.
"I ask for only one thing," Felix declared, matching his father's dramatic tone. "Grant me permission to observe your work in the forge. I wish to watch you create."
Bastro went silent, the flickering hearth-light dancing in his eyes. He stood still for a long moment before nodding slowly. "Your wish is heard," he proclaimed. Using his walking stick like a ceremonial sword, he tapped Felix lightly on each shoulder, knighted by the very man whose craft he intended to study.