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I died once.
Before I died, I was not a good person.
An unemployed man past thirty.
A shut-in who lived locked away in his room.
I lived off my parents, yet never faced them properly. My siblings hated me, yet I blamed everyone but myself until the very end.
My room was filled with a computer, garbage, and an old, stale smell.
That was my world.
Inside it, I could be anything.
In games, I could pretend to be strong. On the internet, I could pretend to know everything.
I could look at things others had made and mock them. I could see people who had failed and think that, at least, I was not as bad as they were.
Even though I had done nothing myself.
There were things I had tried to start.
Drawing, writing, games, things that resembled studying.
But I always quit after a while.
Whenever I saw someone better than me, I lost my motivation.
I thought there was no point unless I was good from the beginning.
Yet I loved judging others.
Looking back, it was not even funny.
No, it was funny.
Because it was so pathetic.
In the end, I was thrown out of my home.
I had not even acted like a proper son when my parents died, so I had no right to complain about it.
At the time, I thought it was unfair.
I wondered why I alone had to end up like this, how people who called themselves family could abandon me.
But I knew the truth.
I deserved to be abandoned.
I walked through the streets in the rain.
I had no money, nowhere to go, and no idea how to find work.
Only then did I realize that my life had truly ended.
That was when I saw several students arguing by the roadside.
I did not want to get involved.
The thought of me helping anyone was ridiculous.
A man who could not even bear the weight of his own life saving someone else's? It was absurd.
Then I saw the truck.
It was barreling down the rain-slick road at a strange speed.
The students had not noticed it yet.
I wanted to run away.
But I also knew that if I left them alone, they would die.
And if I saw that and did nothing, I felt I would regret it until my final moment.
I do not know if it was kindness.
It was not anything worthy of being called a sense of justice.
Perhaps I simply did not want to end my life as someone who had done nothing to the very end.
I ran.
A body that had not moved properly in over ten years would not obey me.
I could not breathe.
My legs were heavy.
A pain bloomed in my side.
Still, I ran.
I grabbed one of them and pulled.
He was thrown clear of the truck's path.
Good.
The instant I thought that, the truck was before me.
My body flew through the air.
I struck a wall.
I thought, This hurts.
I do not know whether I thought, Save me.
But in my final moment, strangely enough, I felt a little relieved.
At least I had done one thing.
There had been at least one thing in my life that I had done right.
I think that was what I thought.
And then I died.
When I opened my eyes next, I was a baby.
At first, I did not understand.
My vision was blurry, my body would not move, and all that came from my mouth was crying instead of words.
A young blonde woman looked down at me.
A brown-haired man stood beside her, smiling awkwardly.
Somewhere nearby, I could hear another woman's voice.
I could not understand their words.
It was not Japanese.
It was not English, either.
It was unlike any language I knew.
At first, I thought it was an aftereffect of the accident.
I had been hit by a truck, so perhaps I was in a hospital somewhere.
Perhaps I could not understand the words because it was a foreign hospital.
Perhaps my body would not move because of my injuries.
But I soon understood.
My body was small.
Far too small.
My hands, feet, and neck—everything belonged to a newborn.
I had been reborn.
With memories of my previous life intact.
Reincarnation with memories.
Back when I had locked myself away in my room, I had entertained fantasies like that.
If I were reborn, I could do better.
If I had the knowledge of my previous life, I could get ahead of everyone else.
This time, I would not fail.
Such childish fantasies.
Yet that fantasy had become reality.
I was a baby.
I could do nothing.
I was a creature capable only of eating, sleeping, crying, and soiling myself.
But I had my memories.
I remembered how I had ruined my life.
What I had turned away from.
Where I had run away.
I remembered it all.
So I thought this.
This time, I would live properly.
I was not saying I would suddenly become a saint.
The filth from my previous life still remained in me.
My pathetic nature, my cowardice, my desires, my self-justifications—they had not disappeared.
I knew I was not a clean or virtuous person.
I was in no position to lecture anyone about life, nor did I have the right to teach anyone.
Still, I decided I would not run away this time.
I would do what I could.
If I could learn, I would learn. If I could move, I would move. If someone held out a hand, I would not push it away.
If I had parents, I would treat them as parents. If I had family, I would treat them as family.
I would try to do what I had failed to do in my previous life.
That was what I thought.
Then it happened.
Another cry sounded beside me.
At the same height as me.
At the same distance.
A life born at the same moment as me.
I turned my blurry gaze.
There was another baby there.
We were twins.
At first, that was all I thought.
A sibling born on the same day.
Another child born into this house with me.
But before long, I realized it.
That boy was no ordinary baby.
No, I was hardly in a position to say that.
I was not an ordinary baby, either.
But he was different even from me.
The way he looked at me was different.
They were not the eyes of an ordinary infant.
For just a moment, his eyes opened between cries, and there was unmistakably something in them like what I possessed.
He was startled.
Because of that, he tried to understand.
He tried to judge.
Those were things a newborn should not have been capable of.
I knew instinctively.
He had memories, too.
At first, I felt a little relieved.
I was not alone.
In this strange world, there was someone besides me who remembered a previous life.
And he was my twin brother, born on the same day, in the same house, to the same parents.
How reassuring that was.
Or so I thought, for a moment.
He was looking at me.
With eyes almost devoid of emotion.
There was no curiosity, relief, or sense of kinship.
If I had to name it, it was observation.
He looked at me as though examining the functions of a newly acquired object.
In that moment, I felt an anxiety I could not explain.
I wanted to live again.
Because I had been ugly and pathetic, I wanted to somehow do things right this time.
But he was different.
Those were not the eyes of someone who wished to begin again.
They were the eyes of someone who did not wish to begin anything at all.
That was my first meeting with Eugene.
Of course, I did not know his name yet.
I learned later that my name was Rudeus Greyrat.
My father was Paul Greyrat.
My mother was Zenith Greyrat.
And my twin brother's name was Eugene Greyrat.
Rudeus and Eugene.
The two sons of the Greyrat family.
My father seemed immensely proud of that fact.
"Two sons! And both at once! Hahaha!"
At first, I could not understand his words.
But I understood how he felt.
My father was happy.
His voice was loud, his laughter was loud, and even his steps were light.
He was a young father.
A man who still had something boyish about him.
He had a sturdy body, a fairly handsome face, and when he laughed, he looked as though he had not a thought in his head.
I learned later that, in this fantasy-like world, he was also quite skilled with a sword.
A swordsman trained in the Sword God Style, Water God Style, and North God Style.
In this village, he was a rather dependable knight.
But the Paul who first entered my sight was not some remarkable man. He was simply a young father excited to have gained two sons.
My mother, Zenith, was beautiful.
Bright blonde hair.
Gentle eyes.
A warm air about her when she smiled.
Even the hands with which she held a baby were careful.
Whether she held me or Eugene, she handled us as delicately as though we might break.
Her touch was warm.
That warmth moved me a little.
In my previous life, I had almost no memory of being held by anyone like that.
Perhaps it had happened, but I could not remember it.
Maybe that was why my heart loosened a little whenever I rested in my mother's arms.
Perhaps it was also the influence of my infant body.
I grew sleepy, hungry, and whenever I was warm, my consciousness quickly drifted away.
This body was inconvenient.
When I tried to speak, only babbling came out.
When I tried to move my hands, they would not do as I wished.
I could not even hold up my head properly.
My vision was blurry, and the sounds entering my ears were often muffled.
Retaining the memories of my previous life was an advantage, but a newborn's body was truly frustrating.
Yet Eugene hardly showed that frustration at all.
He rarely cried.
Even when hungry, he did not fuss much.
Even when his diaper was wet, his expression barely changed.
When Mother held him, when Father lifted him up, when the maid bathed him, his reactions were faint.
At first, I thought he was simply a quiet child.
But as days and weeks passed, I realized something was strange.
He was not quiet.
He was indifferent.
When Father leaned in close and tried to make him laugh, Eugene did not smile.
When Mother sang him lullabies, Eugene only stared blankly.
Even when I deliberately burst into tears beside him, Eugene would glance at me briefly before closing his eyes again.
He was a truly irritating baby.
Though I had no room to talk.
I was a baby with memories of a previous life as well.
Drinking milk, having my diapers changed, and being held by my parents while retaining an adult's memories was not normal, either.
But at least I was trying to adapt to this life.
When Mother held me, I showed that I liked it. When Father tried to amuse me, I at least pretended to laugh. When Lilia cared for me, I felt grateful.
Lilia.
That was the maid's name.
At first, I thought she was simply a woman of few words.
Her posture was always straight, and there was no wasted movement in anything she did.
Her hands were practiced when she cared for us.
If Mother was gentle, then Lilia was precise.
Every action—bathing me, changing my clothes, laying me in bed—was swift and quiet.
She cared for Eugene and me equally.
But as time passed, Lilia began to look at Eugene a little differently, too.
Mother was the same.
It was one night.
I was pretending to sleep.
More precisely, I had been trying to sleep when I heard Mother and Lilia speaking quietly nearby.
By then, I had begun to understand a few words.
Not perfectly, but I could distinguish repeated names and expressions of emotion.
"Rudy eats well."
It was Mother's voice.
Rudy.
That was my nickname.
When I first heard it, it felt a little strange.
Even Rudeus was still unfamiliar to me, and now I was Rudy.
But when Mother called me that, it somehow did not feel bad.
"Yes. He is healthy," Lilia replied.
"Eugene..."
Mother's voice lowered a little.
I kept my eyes shut and listened.
"He is too quiet."
"There appears to be nothing wrong with his health."
"I know. But... he hardly cries. He does not fuss much, either. Even when I hold him, even when I meet his eyes..."
Mother could not finish her sentence.
I looked to the side.
Eugene was awake.
His eyes were open as he stared at the ceiling.
Even in the darkness, those eyes seemed strangely clear.
They were eyes too quiet for a baby.
He was listening to Mother's words.
He was definitely listening.
But he did not react.
For the first time, I felt a little angry.
React, damn it.
Mother is worried about you.
That was what I thought, but naturally I could not say it aloud.
I moved my body as much as I could.
"Ahh."
A small, pathetic sound came out.
Mother looked at me.
"Rudy? Are you awake?"
I made the sound again.
"Aahh."
Mother lifted me into her arms.
I felt the warmth of her embrace.
As Mother's attention shifted to me, the air in the room softened a little.
At that moment, Eugene looked at me.
I felt his gaze.
It was not mockery.
It was not gratitude.
It was simply the gaze of someone who could not understand why I would act that way.
I sighed inwardly.
This boy was going to be a real problem.
From around then on, I gradually began to understand the nature of this house.
A small village.
A house that smelled of wood.
Fields and roads visible beyond the window.
Birdsong every morning.
The voices of people drifting from far away.
This was not a city.
And it was not the world where I had lived.
There was no electricity, no cars, no television, no internet.
Instead, it was a world with swords and magic.
I first realized that when I saw Father wield a sword.
It was in the yard.
Father held a wooden sword and slowly settled into his stance.
Then, in the next instant, the sword vanished.
No, it only looked as though it had vanished.
The wind split apart, and dust rose from the ground.
From my crib, I watched the sight with wide eyes.
A sword.
Real swordsmanship.
It was not a movement I had seen in old videos or games in my previous life.
The fact that a human body could truly produce that kind of speed and power astonished me.
I was excited.
Was there magic, too?
If swordsmanship was like this, then there had to be magic as well.
I had seen Father use his sword, and Mother use what looked like healing magic a few times.
This world was fantasy.
That realization thrilled me.
This life might really be different.
That was what I thought.
Then I looked beside me.
Eugene was watching the same scene.
But his eyes were different from mine.
I was astonished.
Eugene was quiet.
He did not marvel at Father's sword.
He was not afraid, either.
He merely watched.
As if confirming something he already knew.
That night, Eugene showed a slightly different movement for the first time.
It was after everyone had gone to sleep.
I woke up.
Perhaps because I was a baby, my sleep was not deep.
I did not know if hunger had woken me, or if it had been a sound.
But the crib beside mine was empty.
Eugene was gone.
I froze.
He had disappeared from his crib?
That was impossible.
We could not even crawl properly yet.
We had only barely reached the stage where we could roll our bodies over.
Yet Eugene had vanished from his crib.
I rolled my eyes around.
The room was dark.
But Eugene was near the window.
He was sitting on the floor.
No, even calling it sitting felt strange.
With an infant's body, he held his back upright with almost no sway.
One tiny hand was raised toward empty space.
At its fingertips, a very small, faint light had gathered.
I stopped breathing.
Magic?
No, I could not know whether it was magic or something else.
But it was clearly no ordinary phenomenon.
The light trembled briefly, then vanished.
Eugene looked down at his hand.
There was no expression on his face.
He did not look happy at succeeding or disappointed at failing.
He merely looked as though he had confirmed something.
Then he looked at me.
Our eyes met.
I could not move.
Honestly, I was afraid.
That boy was a reincarnated person like me.
I could accept that much.
But this was something different.
I was only a baby with memories of a previous life.
I had knowledge, but my body was that of a baby, and I knew nothing of this world's powers.
But Eugene was different.
He already had something.
From the moment he had been born.
Eugene watched me for a moment, then closed his eyes again.
In the next instant, his figure blurred.
I almost screamed.
But no sound came out.
Eugene had not disappeared.
He was still there.
Yet my gaze somehow slipped away from him.
When I tried to look, I could see him. But the moment my focus relaxed, it felt as though there was nothing there at all.
A chill ran down my spine.
What was that?
Magic?
Stealth?
An illusion?
With a baby's body?
After a while, Eugene's form became clear again.
As though nothing had happened, he returned toward the crib.
He did not crawl.
His body floated up slightly, then settled down inside the crib.
I watched the whole thing.
After lying down, Eugene closed his eyes.
I could not tell whether he was pretending to sleep or truly asleep.
That night, I barely slept at all.
The next morning, Mother knew nothing.
Father knew nothing, either.
Lilia did not seem to have noticed.
Only I had seen it.
Eugene, in the body of a baby barely born, creating light, blurring his form, and floating through the air.
After that, I paid closer attention to Eugene.
On the surface, Eugene was still a quiet child.
But I knew.
He was not quiet because he could do nothing.
He could do these things, but chose not to.
That was more frightening.
Time passed.
A baby's sense of time is strange.
A day is long, and a month is short.
You eat, sleep, cry, get bathed, sleep again, and before you know it, the season has changed.
I learned the language quickly.
Was it thanks to the memories of my previous life?
At first, the words reaching a baby's ears were mere noise, but as they repeated, patterns emerged.
Father.
Mother.
Rudy.
Eugene.
Food.
Sleep.
Good.
No.
One by one, words like those began to acquire meaning.
I came to know for certain that my name was Rudeus.
And that Eugene was Eugene.
And that we were sons of the Greyrat family.
When I first said something close to "Papa," Father nearly cried.
"Did you hear that? Zenith, you heard it, right? Rudy called me!"
Father lifted me high into the air.
Inside, I felt a little guilty.
I had not actually called for Father.
I had merely been practicing pronunciation.
But Father was so happy that there was no need to correct him.
Mother smiled, too.
"Rudy is so quick to learn."
Praise felt good.
In my previous life, even when people praised me, it annoyed me.
It felt like a lie, it was burdensome, and expectations always followed.
But in this life, it strangely made me happy.
Perhaps it was because I had a baby's body.
Or perhaps it was because I truly wanted to live again.
As I thought that, I looked at Eugene.
Eugene did not speak.
It was not that he could not.
I knew it.
He already understood.
What Father was saying.
What Mother worried about.
When Lilia chose to remain silent.
He understood all of it.
But he did not speak.
One day, Mother held Eugene in her arms and carefully said, "Eugene. I'm Mama. Mama."
Eugene looked at Mother.
Mother smiled.
"Mama. Would you like to try saying it?"
Eugene did not answer.
Mother's smile grew a little awkward.
"It's all right. You can take your time."
I watched the scene from beside them.
My chest felt tight.
Just say something.
You only have to say one word.
But Eugene said nothing in the end.
That night, I glared at Eugene from my crib.
Of course, glaring with a baby's eyes could not have seemed very threatening.
But Eugene appeared to sense my gaze.
He looked at me.
I moved my mouth.
"Uh... uh."
It did not form words.
Still, I put meaning into it.
What is wrong with you?
Why will you not say anything?
Eugene watched me for a moment.
Then he opened his mouth ever so slightly.
It was the first time I had heard his voice.
It was low, quiet, almost like a breath.
"Too much trouble."
I froze.
He spoke.
This boy had just spoken.
His pronunciation was perfect.
It was inevitably faint because it was a baby's voice, but he had definitely said it.
Too much trouble.
I was dumbfounded.
That was your first word?
Mother has been waiting so desperately, and your first word is "too much trouble"?
I was angry.
At the same time, I felt a little relieved.
As I thought, he could speak.
But Eugene shut his mouth again after that.
The next day, he did not say a word in front of Mother.
I became increasingly certain.
Eugene had no intention of adapting to this house.
He did not intend to accept this family as family.
To him, Father was not a father, Mother was not a mother, and I was not so much his brother as another reincarnated person born under the same circumstances.
For some reason, I disliked that.
At first, it had reassured me to know someone like me existed.
But as time passed, I realized Eugene was not someone like me.
I was a failure.
That was why I wanted to live again.
Eugene was different.
From the beginning, he wore the expression of someone who did not want this life.
Mother did not give up on Eugene.
In the mornings, she stroked his hair. At mealtimes, she picked him up first. Before bed, she sang him lullabies just as she did for me.
Each time, Eugene remained quiet.
He did not reject her.
But neither did he accept her.
Mother must have sensed that.
Even so, she continued.
Mothers really are remarkable.
I had not known that in my previous life.
No, I probably had not wanted to know.
Around then, I learned to crawl.
For a baby, it was tremendous progress.
You put your hands and knees on the floor and push your body forward.
At first, I fell flat on my face and cried.
I fell over again and again.
But once I could do it, the world became broader.
From inside the room to beneath the bed.
From beneath the bed to the doorway.
From the doorway to the hall.
I felt like an adventurer.
And Eugene was already walking.
To be exact, he could walk whenever he wanted to.
I was the first to see it.
Lilia had laid Eugene in his crib and stepped out briefly to fetch something.
In that time, Eugene raised himself.
He stood without holding on to anything.
Then he climbed down onto the floor.
It was balance that should have been impossible for a baby's legs.
He took two or three steps.
They were small, quiet footsteps.
Then, hearing Lilia approaching outside the door, he returned to his crib.
I saw it.
Lilia did not.
Eugene looked at me.
I opened my mouth.
What the hell are you?
Eugene did not answer.
Instead, he closed his eyes.
Then I knew for certain.
Eugene was not developing.
He was hiding it.
Father did not know that.
No, he could not know.
If Father had seen Eugene's true nature, he might have laughed loudly and said, "My son is a genius!"
At first.
But if he kept watching, he would not have been able to laugh.
Eugene's strangeness was difficult to explain with the word genius.
Father was delighted that Rudy spoke early, was perceptive, and reacted well.
As for Eugene, he said this:
"Eugene is quiet. He'll grow into a great man one day. With that face, young noble ladies will be lining up for him already!"
Father laughed.
Mother tried to laugh, too.
But worry remained in her eyes.
Eugene was certainly a beautiful child.
Even I had to admit it.
We were twins born to the same parents, but it was almost unfair that only he looked like that.
I did not think I was ugly, either.
At least I was far better-looking than I had been in my previous life.
But Eugene was different.
Pale hair almost golden in color.
Fine, fair skin.
Long eyelashes.
A face so balanced it was strange, even though he was still a child.
Even knowing he was a boy, he was beautiful.
When Mother held Eugene, he sometimes looked like a child cradled in a holy painting.
But when you were near him, he was strangely difficult to approach.
Beautiful.
Unquestionably beautiful.
Yet it was not the kind of beauty that put people at ease.
There was a cold veil over that beauty.
Father did not understand it well.
Maybe it was because he was a man.
No, perhaps Father was simply dense.
Lilia understood.
Every time Lilia dealt with Eugene, she grew just a little more careful.
It was not the caution one used with a sick child.
It was closer to the caution of wrapping a dangerous blade in cloth before carrying it.
Days like that continued.
They were peaceful days.
At least, on the surface.
Father worked in the village.
Mother cared for the house.
Lilia cared for us.
I diligently learned to speak, moved my body, and tried to adapt to this world.
And Eugene remained quiet.
Far too quiet.
As though he lived in this house without belonging to it.
It was one afternoon.
Sunlight streamed through the window.
Mother was sewing, and Lilia was moving about in the kitchen.
Father was outside swinging his sword.
I sat on the floor, fiddling with a piece of wood.
It was a baby's toy.
By the standards of my previous life, it was a dull object, but with a baby's body, it was fairly interesting.
It was also good for learning the feel of my fingers.
Eugene sat by the window.
He was bathed in sunlight.
His pale hair caught the light and looked nearly white.
There was no expression on his small face.
Mother happened to notice him.
For a while, she said nothing.
I looked at Mother's face.
Her expression was complicated.
Affection.
Worry.
Fear.
And a very small sadness.
Mother quietly approached Eugene.
"Eugene."
Eugene turned his head.
Mother reached out.
It seemed she meant to stroke his hair.
Eugene did not move away.
But just before Mother's hand touched his head, his body stiffened ever so slightly.
It was a truly tiny change.
Most people would not have noticed.
But Mother seemed to feel it.
Her hand paused for a moment.
Still, Mother eventually stroked Eugene's hair.
"It's all right," she said.
"You can take your time."
At the time, I did not know what she meant he could take his time with.
Speaking.
Smiling.
Or perhaps accepting us as his family.
Eugene did not answer.
He simply looked at Mother.
Mother smiled.
It was a smile that looked painful.
Watching that scene, I thought this.
Eugene was probably strong.
Probably far stronger than I could imagine.
He possessed power I did not understand.
He used something like magic with a baby's body, moved on his own, and understood everything.
Perhaps he would become an extraordinary being even in this world.
But in that moment, Eugene was a child who could not even properly accept one touch of his mother's hand.
That made me strangely sad.
And a little afraid.
That night, I spoke to Eugene.
I still could not form proper sentences.
But short words were possible.
"Eu... gene."
My pronunciation was terrible.
Eugene looked at me.
I stammered out, "Ma... ma."
Eugene said nothing.
I moved my hand, trying to point in the direction where Mother was.
It did not work very well.
"Mama... good."
When I said that, Eugene stared at me for a long time.
Then he said, "Why?"
His voice was still quiet.
I could not answer right away.
Why?
Because she was Mother.
Because she was warm.
Because she fed us.
Because she held us.
Because she smiled at us.
Because she worried for us.
Many reasons came to mind, but I could not say them with a baby's mouth.
So I said only the shortest thing.
"Good."
Eugene looked as though he did not understand.
No, he probably understood the meaning of the word.
But he did not understand the feeling behind it.
He was silent for a while, then closed his eyes.
"Pointless."
I became angry.
I tried to move toward Eugene, lost my balance, and toppled sideways.
My head struck the floor.
It hurt.
"Waaah!"
In the end, I cried.
Mother and Lilia rushed in at once.
"Rudy!"
Mother lifted me into her arms.
Even as I cried, I glared at Eugene.
Eugene was watching me.
His face was expressionless.
But for an instant, there was a faint change in his eyes.
Surprise.
No, something even smaller and weaker than that.
He seemed unable to understand why I had become so angry.
Crying in Mother's arms, I thought this.
Someday, I would have to teach him.
Why Mother was good.
Why family was not pointless.
I did not know whether I was the sort of person who had any right to say such things.
In my previous life, I had only hurt my family.
I had not been a proper son, brother, or friend.
But perhaps that was why I wanted to understand this time.
What family truly was.
And if possible, I wanted Eugene to understand it too.
At the time, I did not know.
How strong Eugene was.
What kind of "thing" remained within him.
Or that his power was something that could not even be explained by this world's common sense.
But I knew one thing.
Eugene was my brother, born on the same day as me.
Whether he thought of me as a brother or not.
Whether he accepted this house as his family or not.
I decided that was what he would be.
Just as I had decided to live again as Rudeus Greyrat.
I wanted to make Eugene live someday as Eugene Greyrat.
At the time, I still did not know how difficult that would be.
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