Being reincarnated as a baby, retaining all my memories, is not epic at all. There is no fanfare, no grand destiny awaiting you at birth. Just embarrassment. A lot of embarrassment.
For starters, you can't control your own body. Not even your bowels. And, as if that weren't enough, you have to endure watching your parents show affection for each other without any shame in front of you. But the worst part isn't that: it's being treated like a baby.
Every time my father made those ridiculous faces to make me smile, I had a strong urge to slap him. No offense, of course, but at those moments he looked like a complete idiot.
He must have been about eighteen or twenty, quite young to be a father, although I suppose that's normal these days.
A time that, by the way, seemed medieval. And no, I didn't find it funny at all to think that a dragon could appear out of nowhere and destroy everything. If I had been given the choice, I would have preferred to be reincarnated in a modern world, with clear laws, electricity, and a minimum of order.
I come from a modern era, after all. Adapting to a world without electricity—or worse, without books—was going to be hell. Books had been an essential part of my past life.
Sure, anyone would say I was living every otaku's wet dream and that complaining about the lack of electricity was being too picky.
But... what if the real problem was that being a baby was hellishly boring? I couldn't wait for the day when I could finally do things for myself. Even something as simple as wiping my own butt with my own hands.
________________________________________
One year later
At two years old, I could already walk, go to the bathroom by myself—a major personal achievement—and, best of all, I had my own room. That meant no more accidentally witnessing my parents' intimate encounters.
Being able to move around on my own was wonderful.
My mother, however, was constantly worried. If she lost sight of me for even a few seconds, she thought I was going to hurt myself.
When I was finally able to see myself clearly in the mirror, I felt a strange mixture of familiarity and confusion. I looked slightly feminine. Over time, I understood why: my father was a semi-human of the nekomata race.
I found this out because my mother tried to explain certain things to me, believing that I didn't understand them. For her, it was part of my education and proper development.
I didn't complain. It was an advantage that I appreciated from the bottom of my heart.
Four years later
As time went by, I discovered interesting details about my new home.
We lived in a small village belonging to a minor nobleman: Lord Suares Queen.
That's how I understood why I didn't have a last name. In this world, only nobles had one. My name was simply Flow.
The village was entirely agricultural. All of its inhabitants—my parents, neighbors, and practically everyone I knew—were farmers. There couldn't have been more than twenty families in total.
Among them was Esnou, my mother's best friend. She wasn't human, but a woman of the canine race, with an elongated neck and immaculate white fur. She had striking curves that would make any degenerate drool, although they only made me feel slightly uncomfortable.
Esnou was the one who looked after me while my parents worked in the fields.
One day, she accidentally confessed to me that she envied my mother and secretly loved my father. That was the reason why, despite having many suitors, she had not yet married.
Even so, she never tried to get close to him inappropriately. In fact, she felt sincere affection for my mother. The kind of affection that only a true friend can have.
Every harvest season, a festival called Harvest Day was celebrated. The landowner would show up to give a speech so long and boring that it made you question the meaning of life.
That man gave me the creeps, especially when he watched the children... or when he looked at me. His gaze reminded me too much of a certain guard from my past life. And that was never a good sign.
The village was surrounded by huge fields. Wooden and straw houses, lit only by oil lamps. Rural, simple, and dangerously backward.
One day, on my way home, I saw a pig-like child fall from a tree and twist his hand. His cries were so heart-wrenching that I ran to tell my parents.
The village doctor turned out to be a green wizard.
Before my eyes, a green light descended on the child's body and his wound began to heal slowly.
From that day on, I was fascinated.
I tried to get the wizard to accept me as his disciple. I pursued him, insisted, and practically harassed him... until he finally agreed to evaluate me.
The result was devastating: I had no affinity for magic.
I was depressed, of course. But not for long. At least he allowed me to read his collection of books, which was already an invaluable treasure to me.
"Your son is exceptionally intelligent," the green wizard told my parents. "He may not be able to use magic, but he will go far as a scholar."
To my surprise, the wizard asked for permission to educate me without involving the lord. That request was my idea.
My parents accepted without hesitation.
And that only confirmed one thing: that wizard knew too much about his lord.