CHAPTER 2
— THINGS THAT DO NOT ADD UP
Time moved in a strange way in his new life. It did not explode with events, but crept along slowly, seeping into his consciousness like morning mist. The first three years felt like one long, quiet breath.
During that time, Kyoichiiro was not a typical child. He rarely cried, his wants were few, and his behavior was almost never unruly. He was mostly silent, observing.
Observing the large house made of stone. Observing the servants who were always whispering and bowing. Observing the man he called father—the man with the sharp gaze that only softened momentarily when looking at him.
And then there was her.
Claire.
Since Kyoichiiro's birth, Claire, who was three at the time, had often sat near him. She wasn't noisy or chatty. She just watched, quietly, as if trying to understand something she couldn't even name yet.
Her gaze is too calm, Kyoichiiro thought once. Not like other children.
Claire often spoke to him even though she knew her little brother couldn't answer.
"Father says you're strong," she said one day, sitting cross-legged on the floor. "But you never cry."
She tilted her head, looking serious.
"Why?"
Kyoichiiro just stared at her. In his mind was a crowd of much larger questions.
Is this really happening? I… have been reborn? As a child of a noble family?
It doesn't make sense. It's completely illogical.
But… I've seen it myself. Felt it. Touched it.
This is real. Somehow.
---
FIVE YEARS LATER
A spring wind blew across the training grounds. Two small figures stood facing each other.
Claire, now eight years old, held a wooden sword with a firm grip. Her posture was upright, her eyes focused.
Before her, the five-year-old Kyoichiiro stood with an identical sword. His body was smaller, lighter. But his gaze was calm—too calm for a child his age.
Don't rush, he reminded himself. This body is still light. Still weak. But the memory of how to move… is still there.
The tall man they called father stood at the edge of the grounds, hands folded behind his back. His face showed no expression.
Their mother was not present. She never was at training sessions like this. Her absence was like a silent shadow always hanging in the air.
"Begin!" commanded the instructor.
Claire moved first. Her step was quick, her swing direct and precise.
Kyoichiiro raised his sword to parry.
Clack!
He felt a hard vibration in his hands. His body was pushed back.
My reflexes are slow, he thought, trying to regain his balance. I know what to do, but this body can't keep up.
Claire gave him no time. A sideways slash, and—
The wooden sword slipped from Kyoichiiro's grasp. He fell, his palms hitting the cold stone.
Silence.
Claire lowered her sword. She approached, then offered her hand.
"Get up," she said, her voice flat.
Kyoichiiro accepted the hand. As he stood, he looked into his sister's eyes—no mockery, no pity. Only clear observation.
Claire turned to their father. "He needs a lot of practice," she stated. "He's still too weak."
There was no condescending tone. Just fact.
Before anyone could answer, a servant's voice came from behind.
"Young Miss Claire, the Lord summons you."
Claire nodded. Before leaving, she glanced once more at her brother—an unreadable, brief look—then turned and walked away.
Kyoichiiro stood alone in the middle of the grounds. He gazed at the sky.
What kind of world is this?
The sky is bright blue, cloudless. But something fundamental is missing.
There's no moon. I've never seen a moon here.
Meaning this is not Earth. Or… this is bigger than I thought.
He clenched his small fist.
I have no magic. None at all. I've tried. No response.
My body is also still too weak.
But… the swordsmanship from my previous life… it's still there. Like shadowy memories not yet lost.
He picked up his wooden sword, then walked off the training grounds.
---
The manor's corridors felt long and silent. Kyoichiiro walked without a clear destination, his mind still full of questions.
Then he stopped in front of a particular door.
This door was different—older, heavier, with ornate iron hinges beginning to rust. He had never seen anyone open it. But something drew him to it.
With effort, he pushed the heavy door open.
The scent hit him immediately: dust, old paper, decaying wood. His eyes adjusted to the dim light.
Bookshelves. So many of them. From floor to the high ceiling. Volumes of various sizes, some looking very ancient.
A library.
Kyoichiiro stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room. Here, there might be answers. About this world. About how everything worked. About why there was no moon. About what magic truly was.
He stared at the largest bookshelf across the room, filled with thick tomes.
There, he thought. Knowledge.
But he didn't move closer. He stood still, considering.
Not now, he finally decided.
I'm still too small. Reading those books would be suspicious. And knowledge without foundation would only cause confusion.
With slow steps, he retreated. His hand pushed the door until it closed again.
As he walked along the darkening corridor, a resolve began to form within him.
If this world won't give me magic, then I'll find another way.
I will study this world. I will understand how it works—truly understand.
I will make knowledge my weapon.
He stopped in front of a window, looking out at the garden now shrouded in twilight.
And when this world tries to test me…
…I will make sure I no longer die without understanding anything.
He took a deep breath, then turned away. There was still so much to learn. So much to observe.
Claire might be talented with a sword and magic. But Kyoichiiro had something else—memories from a past life, and the determination to understand this nonsensical world.
His journey had only just begun.