[Claude POV]
As the water ball hit my head, it felt like glass shattering inside my mind. Not pain, but a fracturing of something I never knew was whole. The memory of my previous life—or was it lives?—came flooding back to me. Was it the memory of my previous life or someone else's memory? I don't know. What is this? As the memories started to fill my head, I grunted and clutched my temples, the cool morning air suddenly stifling around me.
That bustard Somar... Why'd he suddenly invite us to bully the half-elf girl? Damn him. Now my parents are going to yell at me, and the disappointment in their eyes will sting worse than any slap.
"Three people gathering together to bully one. You're the worst!" Rudeus said, while pointing his tiny staff at us. Despite his small stature, there was a gravity to him that seemed impossible for a child. Something ancient behind those eyes.
"So, you're that kid from the knight's place!" yelled Somar, his voice cracking slightly with fear disguised as anger. "Get out of our way!"
He once again threw the water ball toward us while Somar and Mike continued to throw mudballs toward Rudeus. The wet earth smelled of minerals and decay, a scent that triggered yet another cascade of disjointed memories.
It's so nostalgic and brand new to see the real-life animation of my previous life in front of me, like seeing a live-action fantasy genre of my past life. The colors here are more vibrant, the sounds clearer, the sensations more real than anything I could have imagined. But why... why is it more familiar in real life than in animation...
What the hell? What's an animation? Is this for real, man? The word came to me naturally, but trying to grasp its meaning was like catching smoke between my fingers.
The memories in my head were all jumbled, fragments colliding against each other. Concrete buildings touching thatched roofs. Steel machines next to horse-drawn carts. I don't know which one is mine and which is the other's. But I know this isn't a memory of a single person. I wonder, why does all this feel nostalgic in the first place?
Is it really something that I never experienced? Why, how, what makes this situation feel so... so sad...
Without me realizing it, my chest tightened and I suddenly bawled. The tears came unbidden, hot streams down my cheeks that tasted of salt and confusion.
Tears dropped from my eyes as the kids stopped their play and looked at me in confusion. Their faces blurred through my tears, but I could feel their stares prickling my skin. As I cried my tears out, the scene of the animation named 'Mushoku Tensei' that had previously become quite popular in the other world played from start to finish in my mind's eye. Not as a story, but as something I'd lived through personally—watching it, discussing it, loving these characters who now stood before me in flesh and blood.
The only scene I had after this bullying incident is being declared dead as one of the many. A casualty statistic. A footnote in a disaster that hasn't happened yet.
I can't help but be this clear even if I know the future where many Buena villagers will die in around 7-8 years. The knowledge sits in my stomach like a cold stone, immovable and terrible. How do you live normally when you can see the ticking clock above everyone's heads?
That memory did nothing for me, and I just stared at the space dazedly after crying. Looking at the surroundings and discerning the received memories. The village of Buena—alive, bustling, and doomed.
As the kids stopped to see me, I sat beside Sylphiette, her emerald hair catching the sunlight in ways that made me catch my breath. I held my chin, feeling the smooth skin of childhood beneath my fingers—another strange sensation. Looking at me oddly, Somar suddenly threw another mud at Rudeus.
Rudeus continued to throw the water ball and stepped forward. Somar got scared and stepped back. The dance of predator and prey, though neither truly understood which was which.
They continued to do so repeatedly, until Somar was scared by the spell. His eyes widened with the ancient human fear of the unknown, of power beyond his control.
I won't lie to you, seeing a water ball appear before you—conjured from nothing but mana and will—it's cool, but scary at the same time. No one knows when Rudeus will go crazy and change the attribute from water to fire or make it a pointy thing instead of a ball. The power to reshape reality with a thought, in the hands of a child. Terrifying, when you think about it.
"How boring. Let's head back," Somar said, acting tough. I know you got scared when you realized the danger. I could see the tremble in his hands, hear the slight catch in his voice.
Man, you're just 6 years old, after all. It's nothing weird to be afraid of a water saint. I mean a prodigy who achieves the water saint class at the age of 5. We're all children here, playing with forces beyond our comprehension. Some of us just hide it better than others.
"What are you doing there, Claude? Let's head back!" His voice held a command, a lifeline back to normalcy that I desperately needed.
He said so, and I unknowingly heeded him after patting my butt, brushing away the dirt from the grassy ground. The earthy smell clung to my clothes, grounding me in this reality.
"See ya later, Sylph," I waved at her, then chased after Somar and Mike. Her eyes followed me—gentle, curious eyes. I wondered if somehow, she sensed the strangeness in me. The fractured souls trying to knit themselves together within one small body.
When we returned, we met with Somar's mom, who had her eyes glint with something predatory and smacked Somar in the face, then brought him to Rudy's house. The sharp sound of palm against cheek made me flinch, the echo of it rattling around my skull and triggering yet another cascade of disjointed memories.
Oh well, that woman sure is nasty... The kind of nasty that comes from desperation, from wanting what you can't have and resenting those who remind you of it.
I kind of expected it already since it's screened in the anime where she brought Somar and complained to Paul about Rudy's behavior as an excuse to talk with Paul. Then Paul and Rudy had a fight because of it, only to have both father and son's bond deepened. Knowing the script before it plays out—it's a strange power that sits uncomfortably on my small shoulders.
I can't agree with her actions to injure her son, though. I know Somar's father, and he's not that bad. A quiet man with calloused hands and kind eyes, who bows his head to nobles but never loses his dignity.
You can't compare a commoner with a noble's child since they are raised and grown differently. One learns to serve, the other to command. A divide as old as civilization itself.
In comparison, between their wives, Somar's mom looks like a dung beetle, while Zenith is a butterfly. One scraping and pushing through dirt, the other floating effortlessly above it all. It's not just about beauty—it's about grace, about how they carry themselves through this world.
Based on one of my memories, she just yearned for something she didn't have. Thus, having a strong and manly officer like Paul might be one way to satisfy her vanity. I understood this with a clarity that should have been impossible for a child my age, and that understanding itself disturbed me.
I can say that Paul is decent, but Somar's dad is definitely better than Paul. Paul is immature and will only learn his job and responsibility after he lost his family in the metastasis. The weight of that future knowledge pressed down on me like a physical burden. How do you look at a man and see both who he is and who he will become?
Actually, Somar's father is a kind and loyal man. I can see that, as a man, Somar's father is better. Well, women always love those handsome men, after all. The superficial charm that hides deeper flaws.
I can't deny that Paul is the second most handsome guy in the village. His features chiseled as if by an artist's hand, his movements fluid with the confidence of someone who has never questioned their place in the world.
Not to mention his sword-fighting capability and his dreamy 'adventurer' title. Titles and reputations—another currency in this medieval world that holds more value than gold sometimes.
I'm the most handsome man in the village, by the way. Or I will be, once I grow into my features. The face in the water barrel reflection doesn't match the future I glimpse in my fragmented memories.
Anyway, as soon as I got home, I greeted my parents and told them what had happened. The warmth of our small cottage wrapped around me like a blanket, the scent of my mother's cooking—a stew of root vegetables and herbs—filling the air.
My parents got mad at me because I was bullying Law's child. While doing so, I also complained that they acted like Somar's mom. My father's disappointment was a tangible thing, hanging in the air between us.
I put a bit of spice into what I say, and my parents are so smart that they actually know that Somar's mom is making an excuse to meet with Paul. The village politics—so petty and yet so important when this small community is your entire world.
The day after, the gossip about how Somar's mom is in love with Paul is well known in the village. While Somar is pitied and given a treat here and there, he actually spends more time with his father after that day. A small butterfly effect from my actions. A ripple that might grow into a wave.
I can only chuckle at the sight of Somar's happy face, spending his time with his father. Sometimes chaos leads to unexpected good.
Mike is actually someone more well-off than me. His clothes are always a bit cleaner, his hands a bit softer than the other village boys.
Since the trouble Mike caused with Somar became well-known, he's sent to the town to work as an apprentice merchant, leaving me alone to loiter in the village. Another piece moved on the board, though I'm still not sure what game I'm playing.
I meet with Paul, who's working as a guard patrolling the village. His long sword glints in the sunlight, reflecting fragments of light that dance across the dusty street.
"Hey, Paul! Is it a pleasure to meet you?" I questioned myself, because I really don't know whether meeting him is a fortune or a misfortune. The man who would lose everything, standing before me in the prime of his ignorance.
"Oh... hey kid, who are you again?" Paul looks at me with a puzzled expression, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tries to place me.
"Whoa, what an adult... to not even remember the victim of your son..." I said, mocking him, while pretending to get hurt and smirking at him. The words come easily, a confidence beyond my years flowing through me.
"What a rude brat," Paul said, while getting a little embarrassed and trying to remember who I was. His hand absently scratched at his stubbled chin.
"You're not Somar, and I heard that Mike was taken to another place. So, you should be Claude." Paul guessed, snapping his fingers with the satisfaction of remembering.
"Right! So you have some deduction skills, huh?" I teased him, enjoying the way his eyebrow twitched at my impertinence.
"So, what is it, kid?" He questioned me with a puzzled expression, shifting his weight as if preparing to continue his patrol.
"Can you teach me swords?" I told him directly about my interest because going roundabout won't help me. The weight of future knowledge pressed down on me—I needed skills, needed strength if I was going to do anything about what was coming.
"Why?" He was surprised by my sudden request, genuinely taken aback by the determination in my voice.
"Because I know I will need to know them since I can't do anything for your son that day." I said so, trying to convince him. I needed a teacher, and despite his flaws, Paul Greyrat was one of the best swordsmen around.
Paul looked at me with judgment in his eye, and said, "You want to take revenge? Towards my son?" His hand instinctively drifted toward his sword hilt, the protective father emerging.
I don't know what kind of thinking he used to question me, a 6-year-old kid, like that. So, I just teased him by answering, "Yep, can you help me do it?" The absurdity of my small frame threatening his prodigy son hung between us.
He looks dumbfounded... His mouth actually hanging open slightly.
Hey, I never said that I wanted to take revenge. You're the one that made those conclusions without concrete evidence, and I just went along with you! Don't stare at me like I'm a weirdo. I struggled to keep my expression innocent, hiding the knowledge of futures that hadn't happened yet.
He then laughed out loud while pounding my back. D*mn, that hurt... His strength was no joke, even in what he probably thought was a playful gesture.
"Sure, I'll teach you till you can beat Rudy! I don't expect you to do it, though! Since my son is a genius," Paul said, smugly. The pride in his voice was genuine—whatever his flaws, he truly loved his son.
"Geez, look at you brag about your son. After all, you're the one who is doubting and punishing your genius son." The words slipped out before I could stop them, a reference to events I shouldn't have known about.
I don't know who spread the news about Paul bullying his son, but I already heard about it in the village. A convenient excuse for my foreknowledge.
It's the second hottest topic after a certain lady's pursuit of love gossip. The way gossip flowed through Buena like water—perhaps the true magic of this world.
Thus, I succeeded in getting myself a swordsmanship teacher for free. The first step in a journey I didn't fully understand yet, but knew I had to take.
…
..
.
[(N)Narration POV]
A Miko was born.
Not in the traditional sense of a shrine maiden or priestess, but in the ancient, forgotten meaning—a vessel of memory, a bridge between worlds and times. A seer of things unseen.
At this simple moment, a simple ball of water, the most fundamental spell awakened the power of the miko within Claude. The dormant ability that had slumbered in his bloodline for generations, triggered by the convergence of mana and moment.
Others look at him with oddity, thinking he became crazy after being taught by the village officer. The strange mutterings, the distant stare, the knowledge that no child should possess—all signs that something had changed. His parents feel sad that he suddenly grumbled at night and had nightmares. They can only pat his head as he sleeps and continue to sit beside his bedside as his groan and pain-filled face relaxed. They whisper prayers to the gods they know, unaware that their son now carries memories of gods long forgotten.
As a child, Claude can't really understand what kind of information he received. The burden of knowledge too vast for his developing mind to process coherently. Talking gibberish while imagining things he doesn't understand is the best he can do. Fragments of future and past colliding in a mind too small to contain them.
By no means is this child a reincarnator.
He is something else. Something older. Something both more and less than a soul reborn.
As a normal human, all he can achieve is nothing. But as a Miko, as the vessel of convergent memories? That story is yet to be written.
Walking around the village, Claude sightsees things he never realized before. The weave of fate visible in the patterns of daily life, the threads of causality that bind all things together.
"This greenery is way better than those gray, concrete jungles I see in the memories…" Claude mumbled as he compares the sight in his memory and the one before him. His small hand reached out to touch a leaf, marveling at the texture that felt both new and familiar.
One scene shows him how desolate this place becomes after the metastasis, the village reduced to empty houses and windblown debris. Another shows him the village filled with people and talking with a blue-haired woman while tending the garden, her laughter like bells in the summer breeze.
Then, he can see the woman being soaked in blood. He can feel the warmth that slowly grew colder in his grasp, and the tremble he felt that day. The memory so vivid that his small body shook with phantom grief for a loss he had not yet experienced.
Those feelings made his stomach churn, as if something wanted to come out of his throat. The weight of foreknowledge a physical burden on his small frame.
Reminiscing is all he had at this point, comparing his memories and his surroundings to create a better understanding of what he knew. Claude, the 6-year-old boy, tried his best to understand his situation. The convergence of souls, the merging of timelines, the burden of being a nexus point in the flow of fate.
From the memories, he can see 3 different types of himself. The animation viewer who knew this world as fiction. The future self who had lived through the calamity. And the present child, trying to reconcile these disparate existences into a cohesive whole.
"Which one is the real me, huh?" he said, as he treads the path to Paul's home for his daily training. His small feet kicking up dust that caught the afternoon sunlight like gold.
This feeling of despair slowly became the start of his nightmare… And perhaps, if he could master the chaos of his fractured memories, the beginning of hope for a village doomed to destruction.