The flashbacks weren't the emotional shock Bill had anticipated.
He didn't feel like his mind was going to explode, or that two personalities were battling inside him. Quite the opposite… It was like opening an old door, behind which lay a room full of things he knew all too well.
The memories of his past life hadn't swallowed up his new childhood, hadn't erased it.
Instead, they sat in the background, like a silent teacher, observing and comparing.
In the days that followed, Bill observed himself as if he were someone else.
He observed his way of thinking, his speed of comprehension, his reactions. He realized a very important truth:
Although he possessed the mind of a grown man,
his body was…that of a child.
And that meant only one thing.
Any mistake, any haste, could destroy him before he even began.
"Don't rush."
This was Rita's first real lesson.
She didn't appear to him in a photograph, she didn't take on a physical form.
Only her voice, clear in his mind when he focused. "Power in this world isn't seized, it's built."
Bill sat in the small house's storeroom, holding a piece of wood, trying to shape it with a blunt knife.
Slow, deliberate movements, not careless.
"I know the world of Danmachi… I know what awaits me."
He said this to himself.
"Knowing doesn't mean being ready."
Rita replied calmly.
"Especially when you're sealed."
Bill stopped moving.
"The seal… do you know what it is?"
There was a short silence.
"I know it exists, not who it belongs to."
"It's a clever seal, one that doesn't restrain you with force, but with rhythm."
Bill understood immediately.
The seal doesn't stop him from growing… it stops him from leaping.
From that moment on, Bill made a rule for himself:
I won't be special now.
In the village, he acted like any other child.
Sometimes he played, sometimes he laughed, sometimes he made mistakes.
But behind it all, there was something else.
With every movement, he analyzed.
With every story he heard, he compared.
And every day, he learned something new.
He began training without it seeming to be training.
When he went with his father to the forest, he didn't carry the heaviest, but the lightest.
He learned balance.
How to stand correctly.
How to distribute his weight.
And when his mother helped him with housework, he learned patience.
Precision.
Repeating small movements without getting bored.
"The foundation is the body."
Rita always repeated this.
"The body is the first weapon."
At night, Bill would lie on his bed, practicing simple breathing exercises.
No energy, no mana, just body awareness.
And he felt…
that something was responding.
Not strength, but readiness.
One day, while playing with the village children near the edge of the forest, he heard a strange sound.
A movement among the bushes.
An unnatural scraping sound.
The children stopped, some of them stepping back.
A small creature emerged, resembling a rabbit, but with red eyes and fangs longer than normal.
A weak monster.
A monster from the edges of the dungeon… lost.
The children froze.
But Bill… remained motionless.
"Don't move."
Rita said immediately.
But the monster noticed them.
It charged.
Bill didn't scream.
He didn't run right away.
He picked up a stone from the ground and threw it with calculated force at its eye.
It didn't kill the monster, but it startled it.
Then he grabbed a wooden stick and shouted at the top of his lungs.
Not to the monster…
To the children.
"Run!"
They moved immediately.
The monster charged at him, its claws scratching the air.
Bill felt pain when it scratched his arm, but he didn't stop.
One more blow with the stick, to the head.
Then he backed away.
The villagers arrived moments later and easily killed the monster. Bill sat on the ground, breathing heavily, his arm bleeding.
He wasn't afraid.
He just felt… checked.
"Good decision."
Rita said.
"You didn't try to be a hero."
That night, the first window appeared.
It wasn't bright, it wasn't huge.
Just a simple frame in his mind.
[System – Partially Activated]
No numbers appeared.
No tasks appeared.
Just one sentence:
[First Survival Experience Recorded]
Bill smiled faintly.
"So… things are moving."
"Slowly."
Rita replied.
"As they should."
The years passed.
Five years of silent learning.
Five years of building unnoticed.
Five years that made the village boy… different, but not exposed.
And when Bill turned ten,
he knew only one thing:
The village wasn't enough anymore.
And the world… was calling him.