The next three months of my life can be summarized in a way that is both painfully simple and deeply humiliating: I spent about ninety percent of my time sleeping, the remaining ten percent split between drinking milk and mentally reliving the absolute disaster that was my previous life's final decision.
And every single time that memory surfaced, it brought with it the same question what the hell was I thinking?
Jumping out of a plane was already insane, but doing it with a life vest while confidently believing it was a parachute?
That wasn't just stupidity, that was a level of overconfidence that should honestly be studied. At this point, I've made it a rule to immediately shut down any thought related to that incident because the second I start replaying it, the embarrassment hits hard enough to make me want to disappear. If shame alone could kill, I'd be dead twice over by now.
That said, there is one small mercy in all of this. My death if I can even call it that didn't hurt. There was no lingering pain, no drawn-out suffering, no dramatic final moments. One instant I was falling, the next I was… here. Reborn. It was so abrupt that it almost felt like skipping a scene in a video. For that, at least, I'm grateful. If I had to go out in such a stupid way, at least I didn't have to feel it. Still doesn't make it any less embarrassing, but I'll take what I can get.
Unfortunately, whatever cosmic force decided to give me a second chance also decided to balance things out by introducing a new form of suffering one that is arguably worse than death itself. Being a baby. More specifically, the complete and utter lack of control that comes with it. I can't move properly, I can't communicate, and most importantly, I can't take care of even the most basic bodily functions.
Which leads me to the single most horrifying aspect of my current existence: the toilet situation. I am entirely dependent on someone else to clean me, change my clothes, and handle everything I would rather pretend doesn't happen.
There is a caretaker a nanny, I assume who does all of this without a second thought, treating it as part of her routine. Meanwhile, I lie there internally screaming, my dignity crumbling with every passing second. There are moments where I genuinely consider ending it all out of sheer embarrassment, but that thought dies immediately when I remember that I can barely move my arms, let alone perform something as dramatic as seppuku. The worst part is that this humiliation only intensifies as my vision improves, because now I can actually see what's happening in clear detail instead of merciful blur.
Speaking of vision, that's one of the few areas where things have noticeably improved. In the beginning, everything looked like a badly rendered image, as if the world itself hadn't fully loaded yet. Shapes were indistinct, colors blended together, and trying to focus on anything was completely pointless. But over the course of these three months, that haze gradually lifted. What started as vague outlines slowly sharpened into recognizable forms, and now I can finally see the world with something close to normal clarity. It's honestly one of the most satisfying developments so far, because being able to properly observe my surroundings means I can start understanding where I actually am.
And after carefully observing everything around me, I've managed to piece together some important information.
First and foremost, I'm in an orphanage. There was no emotional reunion, no loving mother holding me close, no gentle voice welcoming me into this new life. Just a room full of crying babies and a group of caretakers doing their jobs. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what that implies whoever gave birth to me is no longer in the picture. Whether she had her reasons or simply didn't want me, I have no way of knowing, and honestly, there's not much point dwelling on it. It is what it is.
The second thing I've realized is that I don't understand the language spoken here. I hear conversations all the time voices overlapping, words flowing naturally between people but none of it makes sense to me. Great now I have to learn a language form the scratch. However, there is one exception. A single word that repeats often enough for me to recognize it.
Izuna.
That's what they call me. My name in this new life. It still feels a bit strange, but I can't say I dislike it. If anything, it sounds kind of cool. So, for now, Izuna it is.
The third development is physical. While I'm still very much stuck in a weak, underdeveloped body, there has been some progress. I can roll over on my own now, which might not sound impressive, but given where I started, it feels like a major achievement. With a bit of support, I can even sit upright for short periods. It's a small step, sure, but it's still progress and right now, I'll take any victory I can get.
And finally, the most important discovery of all the thing that completely changes how I see this world. This is not a normal world. It's a world of magic. At first, I thought I was imagining things, as most things were blurry.
But no. I've seen it too many times even after my vision improved. Caretakers casually use water magic to clean dishes and floors, manipulating liquid as if it were an extension of their hands. When it rains and clothes refuse to dry, they use wind or even fire magic to take care of it effortlessly. There's no sense of awe or surprise from anyone around them, which means this is completely normal here. Just another part of everyday life.
That realization hit me harder than anything else so far.
Because in my previous world, none of this existed. No magic, no mystical abilities, no fantasy elements just a normal, boring reality with good graphics and absolutely no special features.
If I had to rate it now, I'd probably give it two stars. Just for good graphics. Functional, but disappointing.
This world, on the other hand, is something else entirely. A place where magic is real, where the impossible is simply routine.
And for the first time since being reborn, I felt something other than regret and embarrassment.
I felt excited.
Because if magic exists here, then maybe just maybe this life won't be as useless, boring as the last one.