I opened my eyes and was immediately blinded by a mystical, glaring light.

  Am I in heaven? I questioned.

  In a fleeting moment, the glare vanished and my vision cleared.

  I noticed a man with a hard-boiled expression and black hair styled in chonmage with a long, thin grizzled goatee squinting at me, inspecting me like I was a piece of merchandise.

  Who is this man and how am I still alive?? I questioned, astonished.

  He had broad shoulders and a muscular frame and radiated a prideful demeanor. He must be someone of authority.

  I felt my body resting on something warm and solid in an awkward position. This must be a newly invented hospital bed that promotes recovery through nontraditional methods.

  Suddenly, I was effortlessly moved closer to this warm source.

  I became aware that the warm source was a beautiful black-haired woman. She smiled warmly as we made eye contact.

  Not long after, I came to the realization that she was cradling me.

  I couldn’t comprehend how she possessed the monstrous strength of carrying me like I’m an infant. Yes, I’m frail and thin, but there’s no way she could hold me like this! Have I shrunk? Did saving my life come at the cost of shredding down over eighty percent of my weight?

  I wanted to free myself from the grasp of this stranger and locate my parents to let them know I’m fine and apologize for the suffering I’ve caused them. However, despite being able to feel my body, I couldn’t move it like I intended to. Perhaps, that is the side effect of my horrific injury.

  Well, at least I can use my words.

  “Wahhhhhhhh!”

  Eerily, my mouth erupted with obnoxious cries. Maybe, this is the side effect of some prescribed drug I’m taking for recovery.

  My cries caused a rather foul reaction from the man.

  “He’s already showing signs of a weakling,” he grumbled, distasteful, walking away and exiting the room via a fusuma painted with emblems of a black chrysanthemum.

  I may have understood every word he said because he spoke Japanese but didn’t understand his contempt.

  On the other hand, the women gently comforted me.

  “It’s okay, my sweet baby boy,” she said, kissing me on my forehead.

  Sweet boy!? A kiss on my forehead?! Am I dreaming or did I somehow manage to get a girlfriend while in a coma? Seeing a lady obsess over me is surreal…

  Somehow, I gained the necessary strength to slightly tilt my head and noticed the floor was covered in tatami mats. Tatami mats, and a fusuma, huh? This is no hospital. If it were, then the owner must have refused to adapt to modernity and renovate.

  From the various samurai books I read, these household features were common during the Sengoku and Edo period. Whoever runs this spot must be fascinated with Japanese history like me.

  Fast forward a year, and I pieced together my puzzling reality: I am a baby, reborn into this body with my memories of my original life still intact. I have the motor skills of a child, but the cognitive skills of an adult. In other words, I'm in hell.

  What I’ve learned is that the area I live in is underdeveloped and lacks modern technology. The furniture was primarily made out of wood, and nothing ran on electricity.

  Candles are primarily used for lighting, and laundry was done by hand washing clothes and hanging them out to dry instead of using a washer and dryer.

  The bulk of the housework was done by a female servant named Hisa. She's a short older lady with a weather face, a distinctive hunchback, and short gray hair. Given that we have a maid, my parents must be quite rich.

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  The man who disappointedly scowled at me during my birth is my father, Yūkichi Takahashi. He stuck around for a week, barely interacting with me before vanishing.

  My mother, Iku Takahashi, is the dichotomy of my father—she’s exceedingly affectionate and clingy, a bit like my original mother. Man, do I miss her….

  Once I learned to crawl, I never looked back. I utilized the indispensable power of movement to improve my knowledge of my surroundings.

  Wandering around the house drew compliments from my mother, and Hisa but they learned to tolerate it after recognizing I was unyielding in my desire to explore.

  Because of this habit, my mother nicknamed me “curious boy” and invariably followed me around the home, ensuring I didn’t wound up in danger.

  Although, there’s an enclosed room that my mother always thwarts me from entering. I’ve crawled near it several times, and I slightly gesture my intentions of getting in, but my mother always picked me up and responded with, “Sorry, curious boy, but you aren’t old enough to be in there yet.”

  After uttering that phrase, on cue, her mood always shifted and sorrow crept in her eyes. Naturally, this aroused my curiosity, brimming me with determination to get inside.

  Other than that room, I’ve inspected every room in my home, including my father's room, which was bland and devoid of objects—-all I saw was a regular katana in sheath and a carved wooden katana.

  One day, I managed to slip past my attentive mother’s gaze while she was distracted speaking to Hisa, and luckily, the fusuma was narrowly crept open, allowing me with my insignificant strength and thin fingers to pry it open just enough to fit my mini body.

  Straight away, on the ground I noticed a stand holder wielding a katana covered by a matte black sheath. Inexplicably, I sensed an imposing presence from the katana, as if it were laced with formidable power.

  It was placed directly in the presence of a hung-up painting of man welding a katana in a battle pose, dressed in a red hakama and kimono that had the distinctive emblems of a black chrysanthemum scattered throughout.

  Near the painting were four lit candles that illuminated the painting.

  On the right side, on a wooden stand was a small painted wooden statue of Hachiman, the Buddhist God of war. Oddly, a wooden Christian cross necklace was hung around it, and above, were three katanas hung on wall mounts.

  After scanning the room, I redirected my attention to the painting, wondering who that man was.

  My mind raced with questions, wondering if that man is some God worshiped by my family, or a hero remembered for his efforts.

  Then, my gaze settled in on the black chrysanthemums in the painting. It seems to harbor some significance for my family since this isn’t the first time I’ve seen that emblem.

  Shhk—-the fusuma slide open.

  “What are you doing here!” a voice roared.

  It was my father. The sternness and intensity of his tone nearly made me jump out of my skin.

  His face scrunched in anger as he further exploded on me.

  “You stupid kid! You better have not touched anything!”

  His immense anger and rash reaction made it seem like he caught me stealing his life allowance. I was both stunned and perplexed but concealed it behind the facade of a toddler’s ignorance.

  He snatched me in a non-gentle manner, and I mustered a slight playful chuckle in hopes of dimming his rage.

  “If you weren’t so fragile, I would’ve whooped you,” he grumbled under his breath, his jaw tightening.

  Thank God for my infancy. Seems like I dodged a bullet.

  There must be something of significance hidden in that room. Nothing stood to me, but strangely, my parents are adamant on keeping me away. For now, I’ll go along with their wishes, but I hope in the near future they’ll inform me of the underlying truth behind the room.

  My father brought me back to my mother who had been frantically searching for me. Instantly, he bubbled with rage, hurling insults at her and blaming her for allowing me into the room.

  If I possessed the ability to speak coherently, I would’ve passionately spoken up in her defense, but sadly in my state all I could do was watch my innocent mother get berated as she remained silent and anxious.

  This situation really is bad luck. Remember when I mentioned my father was nowhere to be seen? Well, he just so happened to come back from his extensive hiatus on the day that I finally managed to enter the room he’s bizarrely set off limits.

  After a couple weeks, I attained further clarity on my peculiar new life.

  From my surroundings and observations, I soaked in knowledge like a sponge, listening in on conversations my mother had with the house servant, eventually realizing the shocking truth: given the clothing of my parents, absence of technology, the culture, layout of home, and regions names, I’ve deduced that I’ve been reborn in feudal Japan with my memories from my previous life intact. Whether this is a parallel world, or the past, is beyond my knowledge. It seems my wish before my death somehow came true…

  So far, I’ve received a glimpse of the arduous upbringing that awaits me, and man it’s going to be a ride… This is what I yearned for; to be forged and sharpened with discipline and necessary values that’ll prepare me for the obstacles of life. With this second chance, I truly believe I can be someone. I can have a purpose and be loved and respected by everyone. This is the chance for a coward to transform into a hero.

  These enticing thoughts emblazoned my soul, leaving me eagerly anticipating the future.