It was just another day in the life of a reincarnated soul in modern Japan.

The suffocating summer air clung to me, heavy with unbearable heat, like the fiery depths of hell. Behind me, the school I had just fled from loomed, and I had no intention of spending another minute in that soul-crushing place. After all, another day at elementary school had dragged on so painfully that I half-joked to myself about speeding up the process and jumping straight to my third life. To maintain whatever sanity I had left, I bolted from that cursed building as fast as I could.

For someone mentally well into their twenties, it was nothing short of a living nightmare — an endless cycle of disappointment and despair. A student who had been on the verge of completing a thesis in Computer Engineering was now stuck in a classroom where kids were learning how to read. It felt like I'd been sentenced to a class for the mentally impaired... Damn kids! They were more aggravating than anything else. These tiny, snot-nosed brats, who had no sense of personal space or common decency, seemed like demons straight out of hell — little devils let loose on earth! They ran, screamed, squealed, sneezed, and constantly invaded my precious personal bubble.

Annoying as hell!

At least today's torture was over.

"Ugh, this heat is unbearable," I muttered irritably, tugging at the sweat-soaked collar of my shirt.

Oh, and by the way, throw in my immeasurable disappointment with Japan. In my previous life, I had been a huge fan of Japanese culture, but reality turned out to be far from my expectations — just as it always does when dreams clash with harsh reality. My naive visions of cherry blossoms, delicious food, and samurai philosophy had been shattered on the scorching pavement, which, on days like today, was hot enough to cook ramen on if I'd had a pot, some water, and noodles.

Lost in thought, I ran far enough from the school and pulled a book from my bulky backpack, hoping to dispel the negativity that had built up inside me.

Usually, I barely noticed anything when I walked to or from school, distracted by the occasional wandering thought or waiting at a traffic light. The route from school to home was ingrained in my memory by now, so I could walk it blindfolded if I needed to. But today was different. Today, memories flooded back, unbidden.

My name was... Well, it doesn't really matter anymore. I wouldn't need my old name again. I had been a fourth-year university student. That fateful evening — no, night — I was nearly done writing my thesis. Like any "normal" student, I had left everything until the last couple of weeks, cramming most of the work into those final, frantic days. By that night, I hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours.

I remember the moment I realized I was out of coffee. I headed down to the 7-Eleven to grab another pack, my mind foggy from exhaustion, barely paying attention to anything around me. As a result, I didn't see the car speeding toward me — or maybe I did, and my sleep-deprived brain just didn't register it. The next thing I knew, there were headlights, then the impact... The bastard who hit me didn't even bother to brake, despite me crossing at a pedestrian walkway. Probably some rich official's spoiled brat. But none of that mattered now.

My next memory was of a cautious touch, blurry images before my eyes, and indistinct whispers echoing in my ears. As I would later learn, infants up to two or three months old don't see clearly — they only perceive vague shapes that often frighten them. At the time, I thought it was all either an incredibly long dream or the delirium of a dying man — or more precisely, the hallucinations of someone in a vegetative state, which is surely what I would have become had I survived.

That's why, when I finally opened my eyes one day and clearly saw the face of my new mother, I felt such an overwhelming wave of joy and peace that I burst into tears. Those were my first tears in this new life.

Coming to terms with being in the body of a child, in a new life, a new family, and, as it would later turn out, a new world, was shocking at first. But I adapted fairly quickly. After all, if there's one advantage to being an infant, it's the abundance of time to fully comprehend and accept your situation.

What's more, I was content with my new family, which consisted of four people: two parents, an older daughter, and a younger son — me.

My sweet, tomboyish older sister constantly clung to me as if I were her favorite birthday doll. It wasn't all that bad, really, especially considering I had been an only child in my past life. This shift in family dynamics was actually rather pleasant.

However, my mom and dad were too strange to be considered normal parents. Honestly, they felt like they came from two completely different worlds. My father was, for lack of a better word, an ordinary man — a middle-aged lawyer with a plain appearance and the rather average dream of "becoming successful."

My mother, on the other hand, was his complete opposite — an eccentric woman who did whatever she pleased, without a second thought for social norms or what others might think. This made her, at the very least, complicated, and at worst, downright terrifying. Even so, she was a decent mother — far better at parenting than my father, to be honest.

In short, they were an odd couple.

After getting acquainted with my family, I began exploring the world around me. Now, at six years old, it's 2004. It's the same Earth as in the early 2000s: the rapid rise of the internet and technology, button phones and landlines, bulky desktop computers. It's a time when playing outside was still far more interesting and "cooler" than staying indoors. For me, it could have been a wonderful time, if not for the damned little brats society calls children. And, of course, it annoyed me to no end that this world lacked so much of the manga and anime I loved, which could have at least helped me pass the time!

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"At least some familiar books made it here," I thought, spotting the cover of Stephen King's "It".

All in all, my new life was full of contradictions and contrasts. My old world already felt so distant and unreal compared to this one, with new discoveries and experiences almost every day. Eventually, I found myself fully settling into life as Houtarou Oreki — the name I had been given in this second life.

My sister was always dragging me outside to play, and I could never refuse her, even though it completely derailed my plans to quietly get through the day without interacting with the hellspawn. My parents, each in their own way, tried to raise me. While my mother was too eccentric and self-centered to be the perfect mom, she still cared about me. My father, on the other hand, was often away on business trips, too busy to notice much of what was happening at home. His presence in my life was minimal at best.

One thought led to another, and before I knew it, I was home. Quietly, I slipped through the door, trying to make as little noise as possible to avoid running into my mother. As I kicked off my shoes, I heard singing coming from the kitchen. I'm not sure why, but today I had an overwhelming urge to peek inside — something I usually wouldn't do, as it almost certainly led to getting caught and scolded.

"Sometimes it feels like my mom has eyes on the back of her head," I thought as I tiptoed toward the kitchen.

And then… my mind went blank. I froze in place, dumbfounded by the scene before me.

How would you feel if you found out that all the women in your family were witches?

Some people might be ecstatic, eager to dive into the possibility of mastering magic. Others might sink into despair, feeling like they'd never truly belong to a world that's so close yet impossibly far. As for me?

[You've uncovered the secret of the women in the Oreki family!]

[New achievement — "Witch Craft Works"]

I gawked at the semi-transparent screen that had suddenly appeared before me. My eyes then shifted back to the scene in the kitchen, which seemed too bizarre to be real. My mother and sister were singing a simple children's song, their voices harmonizing perfectly, creating a warm and cozy family atmosphere. Their hands moved as if conducting an invisible orchestra, their graceful gestures giving the whole scene the feel of a surreal dance.

But the real magic? That was something else entirely. Floating around them, as if enchanted, were all sorts of kitchen utensils. Spoons, forks, knives, and pots drifted through the air, obeying invisible commands. A bright purple flame flickered on the stove, its fire almost alive as it wrapped itself around the pots, casting a soft glow throughout the kitchen. The light created strange, mesmerizing shadows on the walls, making it seem as if the entire room had a life of its own.

At the heart of it all was my mother. Her long chestnut hair cascaded over her shoulders, and the sight of her calm, focused face from the side was captivating. Don't get the wrong idea — I only felt a son's love for her. Strictly a son's love. Nothing Freudian, okay?

Anyway, I digress. My mother's movements were confident and fluid, like she'd been doing this her whole life. Beside her was my sister, mimicking every one of Mom's gestures. Her young face was lit up with excitement, joy, satisfaction, and curiosity.

I, on the other hand, stood frozen at the kitchen doorway, unable to utter a single word. My gaze dropped to the book I'd been reading before I got home. The lines seemed almost eerily fitting for this exact moment: "Kids, fiction is the truth inside the lie, and the truth of this fiction is simple enough: magic exists." Even now, Stephen fucking King had nailed it.

Unfortunately, before I could process what was happening, my sister spotted me. Her eyes widened in shock, and her face twisted with nervousness. She opened and closed her mouth like a fish, clearly trying to say something. At that moment, probably due to her losing focus, a few of the kitchen utensils — just a small part of the total number floating around — crashed to the floor with a loud clatter.

That finally grabbed my mother's attention. Following my sister's gaze, she turned and noticed me as well.

My mother, Mikoto Oreki, was… a rather peculiar woman, to say the least. Cynical, domineering, and fiercely independent, she always gave me mixed feelings. Honestly, I still can't figure out how my father managed to get a woman like her into bed, and even more surprisingly, at least twice.

She barely glanced at me before her eyes flicked to the clock. Realizing I had once again ditched school early, she frowned irritably and fixed me with a look. The clear threat in her eyes made it obvious that I wouldn't get off so easily this time.

I'd skipped the last classes more times than I could count and usually shrugged off her complaints, justifying it with my intelligence and the fact that I was bored out of my mind in school — which, to be fair, was true, and she knew it. Despite always pretending to be thoroughly displeased, my mom never really scolded me, understanding that I was far from the average elementary school kid who ate boogers and cried over every little thing. But this time… this time felt different.

Her eyes locked onto mine with a piercing intensity, the tension thick in the air. Her usual calm, composed demeanor was gone, replaced by a silent but unmistakable anger. She didn't say a word, but her silence was more unsettling than anything she could've said. The atmosphere felt like the calm before a storm.

"Ahem," I cleared my throat awkwardly, scrambling for something to say. Failing to come up with anything remotely "appropriate," I decided to go with humor: "I hope what you're cooking here is a tasty dinner and not… a love potion?"

Mom's eyes narrowed, her brows knitting together, giving her an even more menacing look. I quickly realized my attempt to lighten the mood with a joke had backfired spectacularly. So, without waiting for a response, I took a step back, then another, moving as calmly as I could toward the staircase that led to the second floor. I wasn't exactly rushing, but I definitely wasn't lingering either. Somehow, no one stopped me…

Quietly closing my bedroom door behind me, I tossed my backpack aside and placed the book on my desk. Then I flopped onto the bed, my mind racing as I replayed the last few minutes. I nervously rubbed the bridge of my nose by my thumb and forefinger.

"What the hell just happened?" I muttered, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

Ten minutes ago, I was just an ordinary guy with an extraordinary past, dreaming of a peaceful life. But now...