If there was one thing my past life hadn't prepared me for, it was learning to walk again.
I knew how legs were supposed to work. Balance, momentum, muscle control—I had all that figured out in my head. Unfortunately, my body seemed to follow a completely different set of instructions.
I took one step.
Then another.
Then I fell flat on my face.
"Oof."
Before I could feel embarrassed, I was already in the air.
"There we go," my mother said cheerfully, lifting me up. "You're trying too hard."
I frowned. "Legs don't listen."
She laughed. "They'll learn."
I hoped so. Falling wasn't nearly as fun the fifth time around.
By the time I was two, it was clear that I was… ahead.
Not at genius levels, but enough for my parents to notice.
I talked early. I asked a lot of questions. I remembered things a little too well.
"Why does fire move like that?" I asked one evening, staring into the hearth.
My father blinked. "Like what?"
"Like it's alive."
He scratched his head. "Uh… because it eats wood?"
"…Okay," I said, satisfied enough.
Later, I overheard them whispering.
"He's sharp," my father said.
"Do you think that's a problem?" my mother asked.
"I think it just means we'll have our hands full."
I grinned to myself. Hands full sounded manageable.
Mana wasn't dramatic.
At least, not for me.
The first time I really noticed it, I was lying in the grass outside our house, watching clouds drift by. The air felt thick. Like something was brushing against my skin.
When I focused on it, the sensation sharpened.
[Manasensitivity– rank C]
"Oh," I muttered. "So that's a thing."
It didn't explode. It didn't surge.
It just responded.
I tried moving it.
Nothing happened.
I stopped trying.
That's when it worked.
Mana flowed faintly, like a slow breath.
"…Huh. Figures."
Once I could walk properly—most of the time—my father started taking me with him when he worked.
"Stay close," he warned. "And don't touch anything sharp."
"I won't," I said solemnly.
Five minutes later, I was holding a hammer twice the size of my hand.
He noticed immediately. "Put that down."
"Okay," I said, setting it down gently.
He sighed. "You're going to be trouble."
Probably.
Helping mostly meant carrying light tools, stacking small pieces of wood, or just sitting nearby watching him work.
He moved efficiently. No wasted motion.
I copied him whenever I could.
That was when I noticed it.
[MinorEndurance - rank D]
It kicked in whenever I pushed myself too long. Subtle, but useful.
Not bad for a skill I hadn't chosen.
I didn't have a strict routine.
I ran around with other kids. Climbed fences. Threw rocks at things I probably shouldn't have.
Normal stuff.
The difference was that I paid attention.
I stopped before I was exhausted. I rested when my breathing got uneven. I let mana settle naturally afterward.
Skills didn't feel like switches you flipped.
They felt more like habits you built.
That realization alone made everything easier.
One night, I pretended to sleep while my parents talked quietly.
"He's stronger than he looks," my mother said.
"And smarter," my father added. "Sometimes I feel like he's watching everything."
I almost laughed.
I was.
But mostly because everything was interesting.
One afternoon, I sat near the fields with my eyes closed, copying the slow breathing I'd grown used to.
Mana gathered faintly.
Not enough to impress anyone.
But enough for me to feel it clearly.
I opened one eye.
"…Nice."
No fireworks.
Just control.
That night, my mother tucked me in and brushed my hair back.
"You'll grow up fine," she said softly.
I yawned. "I know."
She smiled. "Confident, aren't you?"
"Just a little."
As I drifted off to sleep, I decided I liked this life.
Learning was fun.