CHAPTER 1 — A CRY THAT SHOULD NOT HAVE BEEN MINE
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Consciousness did not arrive all at once. It came like morning fog seeping through window cracks—slowly, silently, without warning. At first, there was only darkness. Not an empty darkness, but a darkness full of something. Warm. Damp. Comfortable. Like being inside water that was neither too hot nor too cold. Like being inside a dream that didn't want to end.
Kyoichiiro—or at least, what remained of him—could not move his arms or legs. Could not open his eyes. Could not scream. All he could do was feel. Feel a heartbeat that wasn't his, yet beating inside his chest. Feel warm blood flowing through his tiny body. Feel pressure from all sides—soft walls restricting his movements, pressing him from left and right, from above and below.
Where am I? he thought, but his mind felt slow, like walking through mud. What happened? Cellia... Cellia, where are you?
But no one answered. Only the heartbeat. Only the warmth. Only the pressure that kept repeating, like ocean waves that never stopped.
Then suddenly—change. The pressure shifted into a push. Strong, rhythmic, as if something was pushing him from within. Discomfort slowly turning into pain. Not sharp pain, but a dull, continuous ache, like muscles stretched too far.
Kyoichiiro wanted to scream, but his mouth wouldn't open. His tongue was too big for his too-small mouth. His tiny hands clenched beside his face, delicate fingers that had never grasped anything.
This... this isn't my body, he thought, and for the first time since his consciousness returned, fear began to creep into his chest. It's too small. Too weak. This... this is a baby's body.
The pushing grew stronger. The soft walls pushed him forward, squeezing him through a narrow passage that felt endless. The dull pain sharpened—in his shoulders, in his head, throughout his fragile body.
And then—light.
Light so bright it was blinding, even through tightly shut eyelids. Sounds that had only been muffled now became clear. Shouts. Hurried footsteps. A woman's voice, gasping. A man's voice, giving orders.
Kyoichiiro felt cold air touch his skin for the first time. It felt like a slap—rough, unwelcoming, and very different from the warmth he had known. He opened his mouth, and the sound that came out wasn't words, wasn't a cry for help. Only a baby's wail, loud and piercing, filling the room, echoing in his own ears.
So this is the price of a second life, he thought between cries he couldn't control. Being born again. From the very beginning.
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The room was large. Kyoichiiro couldn't see much—his vision was still blurry, like seeing the world through frosted, misty glass. But he could make out silhouettes around him. Adult figures moving quickly, speaking in voices full of relief and joy.
Woman's Voice (Midwife): (From nearby, her voice trembling slightly with exhaustion) "He's healthy. Complete. All fingers present, all toes present. The young master has been born safely."
Man's Voice (Unfamiliar): (From a distance, his voice deep but filled with restrained emotion) "My child... where is my child? Bring him here."
Kyoichiiro felt himself being lifted—two trembling hands, but careful, holding his tiny body with a gentleness he could scarcely believe. A warm cloth wrapped around him, protecting him from the room's cold air. A face he couldn't see clearly drew close, and he caught a scent—the smell of sweat, of blood, but also of milk and something warm, something familiar even though he didn't know why.
Woman's Voice (Mother): (A whisper, her voice hoarse but full of love) "My child... forgive your mother. Forgive me that you had to feel pain to come into this world. Forgive me that you had to cry."
Kyoichiiro stopped crying.
Not because he had calmed down. Not because he was no longer afraid. But because that voice—that soft, trembling voice that said "sorry" to a newborn baby—silenced him. He didn't know why. Perhaps because in his previous life, no one had ever said "sorry" to him. Not when he was born. Not when he died.
Who are you? he thought, even though he knew the answer. Mother. This is... my mother in this world.
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The hands holding him shifted. From the woman's soft, trembling hands, to a man's larger, more solid hands, but even more careful—as if afraid to squeeze too hard, afraid to hurt the tiny creature he had just received.
Man's Voice (Father): (His voice deep, but with a tremor within—a tremor he couldn't hide) "Look at him... look at his eyes. Blue. Like the sky. Like... like his mother's."
Kyoichiiro felt rough fingers gently touch his cheek. He tried to focus his vision. The man's silhouette was still blurry, but he could see the outline of a firm face—a strong jaw, a straight nose, and hair... dark blue? Or blue-black? He couldn't be sure.
Father, Kyoichiiro thought, and the word felt foreign in his head. I have a father again. A mother again. A family again.
But did he deserve it? In his previous life, he had only brought misfortune to those around him. His father had died for being close to him. His mother had died because he was born. Hiyori had died for loving him. Cellia... Cellia was probably alone now, crying over his cold body.
No, he thought, and for the first time, the guilt he had buried began to surface. I don't deserve this. I'll only bring disaster to them too.
He wanted to scream. He wanted to say "don't come near me," "don't love me," "I'll only get you killed." But what came out of his mouth was only crying again. A baby's cry, uncontrollable, not from hunger or thirst, but from too many feelings he couldn't process.
Father: (Holding him tighter, his voice a little anxious) "Why is he crying again? Is he hungry? Is he sick? Call the physician quickly—"
Mother: (Her voice weak, but calm) "No, he's not sick. He just... he just needs time. Newborns always cry. It's natural."
Father: (Still anxious) "But his cry is different. Like... like he's sad. Babies his age can't feel sadness."
Mother: (Smiling—Kyoichiiro couldn't see it, but he felt it from the vibration in her voice) "Maybe he's more sensitive than other babies. Maybe he can already feel the world around him. That's not a bad thing."
Kyoichiiro stopped crying again. He was tired. Not physically tired—this baby's body had oddly abundant energy—but emotionally drained. Too much had happened in too short a time. Death. Birth. Darkness. Light. And now, warmth from two strangers claiming to be his parents.
I'll rest first, he thought, his eyes growing heavy. I'll think about it later. Later I'll decide whether to accept them or... or to keep my distance.
He let himself drift into exhaustion. Just before his eyes fully closed, he heard his mother's whisper—a whisper so soft, so sincere, it felt like warm water flowing over his skin.
Mother: (Whispering, only for him) "You'll be alright, my child. Mother will protect you. Your father too. We won't let anything hurt you."
Kyoichiiro wanted to believe. But his previous life's experience had taught him that such promises were often broken. The world always found a way to snatch away happiness, to crush hope, to prove that nothing lasts forever.
But for now, for the first time in a long while, he let himself rest without fear. Without thinking about tomorrow. Without thinking about the agents, without thinking about Cellia, without thinking about Hiyori.
Only rest.
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THE KHANEO FAMILY
Three days later, Kyoichiiro could already distinguish the silhouettes around him more clearly. His newborn eyes were still imperfect—the world still looked blurry, like a watercolor painting caught in the rain—but he could already recognize some shapes.
His father was a tall, solid figure, with the posture of someone accustomed to commanding. His dark blue hair was like the sea at night, combed neatly back, revealing a broad forehead and a firm jawline. His eyes—Kyoichiiro still couldn't see their color clearly—appeared sharp, like an eagle watching its prey. But when he looked at Kyoichiiro, that sharpness melted. Transformed into a gentleness Kyoichiiro could hardly believe a man with such a stern face could possess.
His mother was his opposite. Her bluish-white hair—the same color as Kyoichiiro's—fell long over the pillow, occasionally moved by the breeze from the open window. Her face was soft, her eyes light blue, and her smile... her smile was the first thing Kyoichiiro saw clearly when his eyes began to focus. A tired smile, from just having given birth, but filled with such immense love it felt like morning sunlight.
Mother: (While nursing Kyoichiiro, her voice soft) "You know, your father hasn't slept for three days. He keeps staying up beside your bed, afraid you might cry and no one would hear."
Kyoichiiro turned—as best he could—toward the chair beside his bed. His father was sitting there, leaning back, eyes closed. His breathing was steady. His right hand still gripped the sword hilt at his waist—even while sleeping, he never released his weapon.
Father, Kyoichiiro thought, and this time the word didn't feel foreign. He never left. For three days, he was here.
Mother: (Smiling) "He's stubborn. Like you, I think."
Kyoichiiro didn't know whether his mother was joking or serious. But for the first time, he felt something strange in his chest. Not pain. Not fear. Not sadness. But something warmer, softer, like a blanket on a cold night.
Is this... the feeling of safety? he thought. Is this what family feels like?
He didn't know. But he wanted to find out.
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FIRST MEETING WITH CLAIRE
Day five. Kyoichiiro's eyes could now see clearly enough—though still a little blurry, he could already recognize the faces around him. His father. His mother. The servants who came and went with food and drink. And a little girl who often appeared at the bedroom door, peeking in, then leaving.
The little girl had long black hair, tied neatly with a blue ribbon at the back of her head. Her eyes—blue, like her mother's, but darker, deeper—often stared at Kyoichiiro from a distance, as if she was studying something. She was perhaps three years old. Maybe four. Kyoichiiro wasn't sure. But he knew the girl was Claire. His older sister.
Claire Khaneo, Kyoichiiro thought, remembering the name he'd heard from the servants' whispers. The first daughter of the Khaneo family. My sister in this world.
Claire never entered the room. She just stood at the threshold, holding the doorframe with both small hands, and stared. Staring at Kyoichiiro. Staring at their mother. Staring at their father. Then leaving.
Mother: (One afternoon, when Claire peeked in again) "Come in, Claire. You can see your brother up close."
Claire didn't move. She just bit her lower lip—a habit Kyoichiiro would later recognize as a sign of nervousness—and shook her head slowly.
Claire: (Her voice small, barely audible) "I'm... I'm scared."
Mother: (Smiling) "Scared of what, dear?"
Claire: (Looking down, her fingers playing with her dress hem) "He's... he's too small. I'm afraid I'll hurt him."
Kyoichiiro, lying in a wooden cradle beside his mother's bed, heard the conversation. He turned his head toward the door—as best he could, since his baby neck was still too weak to support his head fully—and looked at Claire.
She's afraid of hurting me, Kyoichiiro thought, and something in his heart felt warm again. Even though she's still so small herself. Still so fragile. But she's more afraid of hurting me than of being hurt.
He moved his hand—slowly, clumsily, uncoordinatedly—and stretched it toward Claire.
Perhaps it was just coincidence. Perhaps it was just a baby's reflexive movement, unable to control its muscles. But Claire took it as a call.
Claire: (Her eyes widening, then she looked at her mother) "Mother... he... he called me?"
Mother: (Smiling, her eyes glistening) "Yes. Your little brother wants to meet you."
Claire stepped forward. Slowly. One step, two steps, three steps. Her small hand—still trembling—reached for Kyoichiiro's hand. Her slender fingers curled around Kyoichiiro's smaller, weaker fingers.
And for the first time, Claire smiled.
Claire: (Whispering, only for Kyoichiiro) "I'll protect you. I promise."
Kyoichiiro couldn't answer. But in his heart, he whispered back, I'll protect you too, Claire. Even if I don't know how.
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THE FIRST DAYS
Life as a baby turned out to be boring. Kyoichiiro couldn't walk, couldn't speak, couldn't do anything but cry, sleep, and eat. But he learned a lot from observing.
His father—whose name was Valerius, though Kyoichiiro had never been called by that name directly—was a nobleman. Not an ordinary noble, but someone with significant power. Kyoichiiro knew this from how the servants spoke to him, from how they bowed whenever he passed, from how they called him "Lord" with respectful voices.
A noble family, Kyoichiiro thought. I was reborn into a noble family. Is this luck? Or a curse in disguise?
His mother—whose name was Celestine, a beautiful name he often heard his father call her softly—was his father's opposite. Where his father was stern and rigid, his mother was gentle and warm. Where his father rarely smiled, his mother always smiled—even when exhausted, even when in pain.
They're so different, Kyoichiiro thought. But they complement each other. Maybe that's why they can endure.
And Claire. Claire was a surprise. The three-year-old girl turned out to be unlike other children her age. She rarely cried. Rarely fussed. She was more often quiet, observing, and occasionally asking questions in a soft voice that made Kyoichiiro's heart feel strange.
Claire: (One day, when Kyoichiiro woke from his nap) "You know, you look like Mother."
Kyoichiiro stared at her. He couldn't answer, but Claire didn't seem to need an answer.
Claire: (Continuing, sitting beside Kyoichiiro's cradle) "Your hair is white like Mother's. Your eyes are blue like Mother's. But sometimes, when you're quiet, you look like Father."
She tilted her head, staring at Kyoichiiro with eyes too serious for her age.
Claire: "I wonder, will you grow up to be like Mother or like Father? Or... maybe become yourself?"
The question went unanswered. But Kyoichiiro remembered it. He stored it in his heart, among other memories he didn't want to forget.
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KYOICHIIRO'S THOUGHTS — BETWEEN TWO WORLDS
At night, when everyone was asleep, Kyoichiiro often woke up. Not from hunger. Not from thirst. But because his mind wouldn't stop.
I'm in another world, he thought, staring at the dark ceiling. I left Cellia alone. I left Hiyori, already dead. I left everything I knew.
But here... here there's a father. A mother. Claire. People who know nothing of my past. Who don't know that I'm not really an ordinary baby.
He gripped the cloth swaddling him tightly.
Should I tell them? No. Impossible. They'd think I was possessed, or mad, or—
But does that matter? In this world, perhaps there are things that can't be explained by logic. Reincarnation might be one of them. And if I told them... maybe they'd believe. Or maybe they'd be afraid.
No, he thought. I'll keep it to myself. For now, I'll be Kyoichiiro Khaneo—second child of the Khaneo family, younger brother of Claire Khaneo, son of Valerius and Celestine Khaneo. And I will learn. Learn about this world. Learn about my family. Learn about myself.
And one day, when I'm strong enough... I will find out why I'm here. Why I was given a second chance.
And whether Cellia survived. Whether she's happy. Whether she... still remembers me.
Tears rolled down his cheeks. He couldn't help it. Babies were like that—they cried for no clear reason, without being able to control themselves.
But Kyoichiiro knew the reason for his tears. He cried for Cellia. For Hiyori. For everything lost. And because he didn't know if he deserved all that was new.
Mother: (Waking at Kyoichiiro's cry, lifting him, whispering soft words in his ear) "Shh... shh... don't cry, my child. Mother is here. Mother won't leave."
Kyoichiiro held his mother—as best he could, with tiny hands that couldn't yet grip tightly. And for that night, he stopped crying.
Not because he was calm. Not because he was no longer sad. But because for the first time, he didn't feel alone.