Title: I am the Protagonist, right?

Suru Village.

A remote fishing village nestled in the heart of the Reca continent, one of the five major continents of the world. The village hugged the banks of a lively river, its waters serving as both the lifeline and livelihood for the locals.

Today, Suru was unrecognizable. The annual fair had transformed this usually sleepy hamlet into a bustling carnival of sights, sounds, and smells. It was the highlight of the year, a time eagerly anticipated by the villagers. Merchants from far-off lands arrived, their carts brimming with both essential goods and luxury items that made the villagers’ eyes light up like fireflies in the night.

The festive air was contagious. Children darted around in bright, mismatched clothes, their faces painted with wide grins as they ogled toy stalls and mouthwatering food stands. For them, the fair was a wonderland. Adults, on the other hand, indulged in more adult versions of fun—some a little less wholesome.

One group huddled around a makeshift gambling corner, where dreams were shattered with the roll of a dice. A particularly unlucky fisherman was seen slamming his head into the ground after losing his entire year’s savings to a cackling merchant. Meanwhile, a cluster of men guzzled cheap liquor, their drunken brawls doubling as accidental vomit fights.

In the midst of this chaos, love was in the air—or at least something resembling it. Young couples shyly flirted under the shade of the fair tents, exchanging nervous glances and whispered promises. Older couples, unbothered by shame or decency, clung to each other in full public displays of affection. On occasion, one might spot an older man getting smacked over the head with a fish for his wandering eyes. And, of course, no village fair was complete without that one pervert suspiciously offering candies to kids who wisely stayed at arm's length.

Yet, amidst all the commotion, one corner of the fair was attracting more attention than any stall or stage. A cluster of children had gathered, their excited chatter building like a swarm of bees.

At the center of the crowd stood a little girl—except “ordinary” didn’t quite apply to her. She looked like a tiny princess, her outfit so fancy and out of place it was as though she’d been plucked straight out of a royal ball and dropped among a flock of scruffy chickens.

Some of the boys in the group were clearly smitten. Armed with their newest toys, they clumsily tried to impress her.

“Hey, look at this!” one boy said, waving a wooden top with so much force it flew out of his hand and bonked another child on the head.

The girl, however, didn’t seem to notice their efforts. Instead, she stood motionless, her wide eyes scanning her surroundings like she’d woken up in a foreign land.

Suddenly, she bolted toward a mirror stall, grabbed a small mirror with trembling hands, and stared at her reflection. The next moment, she let out a scream so piercing it silenced the entire group of kids.

“What’s wrong?” the boys chorused, rushing to her side.

One particularly bold boy—who had the swagger of a rooster and the brainpower of a particularly dim rock and is the village bully—took charge. “Hmph! You losers, back off! This beauty will be my girlfriend!” he declared, puffing out his chest like a warrior claiming a kingdom.

He strode up to the girl, chest puffed out further than his sense of reality. “Hey, little beauty, don’t cry! Come with me, and I’ll buy you so many toys your tiny head will spin. My father’s the head of this village, you know!” He grinned like a king bestowing charity upon his loyal subjects.

The girl didn’t even glance at him. She was still too busy shrieking like she’d seen a ghost. The crowd of kids exploded into laughter, their jeering cutting deeper than the cold wind.

Embarrassed but undeterred, the bully grabbed the girl’s hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you. From now on, you’ll be my little girlfriend.”

At his touch, the girl stopped screaming. Her wide eyes blinked as if snapping back to reality.

“Girlfriend?” she repeated, her voice weak, confused.

“Yes,” the boy said smugly. “Now no one will dare to mess with you!” He shot a triumphant glare at the other boys, who shrank back like scolded puppies.

Before he could bask in his imaginary victory, the girl’s grip on his hand tightened—no, crushed—it.

“Girlfriend?” she hissed, her expression darkening like a thundercloud. “What do you mean, girlfriend? I’M A BOY, YOU IDIOT!”

The air froze. The next moment, the supposed “girl” launched a punch squarely at the bully’s face, sending him sprawling onto the dirt. Gasps and screams erupted as the boy flailed under a relentless barrage of kicks and punches.

“Help! Somebody help me!” the bully cried, his voice cracking as his dreams of romance shattered alongside his pride. “Why is this little beauty so strong? What did I do to deserve this?!”

It was only after relentless begging—and several teary cries of “Grandaddy, please forgive me!”—that the beating finally stopped.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The “girl” gave one last kick for good measure. “Don’t ever call me a girl again. Got it?”

“Yes, Grandaddy!” the boy wailed, bolting away like a scared rabbit. As he ran, he muttered to himself, “I thought I found a beauty for a girlfriend… Turns out she’s a mountain gorilla in disguise!”

Meanwhile, the “girl” stood still, her chest heaving as she tried to calm herself. After a moment, her hands moved nervously toward her crotch. Her face tensed as she checked—and then relaxed.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she muttered. “I’ve still got my balls.” Then, with sudden relief, she shouted for the world to hear, “I’VE GOT BALLS! I’VE GOT BALLS!”

The surrounding villagers froze, their heads swiveling toward the peculiar little “girl.” A collective wave of pity swept over them.

“Poor thing,” one old woman whispered to her husband. “She’s so cute, but she clearly doesn’t have all her marbles.”

“Alas,” another sighed, shaking his head. “God is too cruel sometimes.”

But right now, the “girl” was far too ecstatic to care about the judgmental stares of the villagers. In fact, he—yes, he—was overjoyed to be a man again.

“I remember dying after defeating the Evil Emperor,” he thought, a triumphant grin forming on his face. “And just before dying, I activated my one-time skill, Second Life. After that, everything went blank.” His expression grew contemplative.

“Did I take over this boy’s body?” He paused, inspecting his reflection in a nearby puddle. “No... this face looks exactly like mine when I was a child, even though I’m dressed like a cursed princess. I didn’t possess anyone—I am this kid!”

He paced aimlessly through the fair, piecing together the puzzle. “If I had to guess, I reincarnated using my skill. My memories must’ve been locked away because this young body couldn’t handle all my greatness at once.” He smirked at his own brilliance, his confidence swelling.

“Still… why can’t I remember anything from my current life? Maybe my brain’s just taking time to sync my past and present memories?” He nodded, feeling quite pleased with his deduction.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the “princess” you’re looking at is none other than Titus, the legendary hero reborn!

As he wandered through the bustling fair, lost in thought, he stumbled into a particularly lively area. Merchants were shouting their sales pitches, customers haggling loudly, and children tugging at their parents for sweets. But amidst the noise and chaos, one peculiar figure caught his attention.

The man looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties, though it was hard to tell because his hair was such a chaotic mess it could be mistaken for a black pumpkin. He was average in height and appearance, yet something about him screamed bizarre. He wore a bright yellow cape, sunglasses that covered half his face, and sat perched atop a massive brown box that was roughly his own size.

The whole ensemble—the hair, the cape, the shades, and the box—was so outlandish that he looked less like a man and more like a traveling circus act gone rogue.

As soon as Titus’s eyes landed on this man, a sharp pain shot through his head. His knees buckled slightly, and memories began to flood back into his mind.

Meanwhile, the peculiar man was busy trying to recruit a young girl, no older than ten, who stood before him with wide, suspicious eyes.

“Hey, young lady!” the man began, his voice dripping with self-assured mystique. “You have the perfect bone structure to become the future hero! You just need the right training. But don’t worry—under my guidance, The Great Grand Master’s training, nothing is impossible! What do you say? Care to join me as my student?”

The girl took a cautious step back, her mother’s warnings echoing in her head. “But my mom told me not to follow strange people,” she replied, narrowing her eyes.

“Strange? Me?!” The man pointed to himself in exaggerated disbelief. “I am not strange! Look at this!” He whipped out a piece of candy from seemingly nowhere and dangled it in front of her face. “See? I’m perfectly trustworthy. I even have candy!”

The combination of his grin, his wild getup, and the suspiciously conjured candy sent the girl bolting in the opposite direction.

“Ayah! Another failed attempt,” he muttered, slumping back onto his box. “Maybe I just need more candies…”

Just as he was about to chase after the girl, his eyes landed on another target: a bruised and battered “bully” boy limping toward him.

“Ah!” The strange man’s face lit up like he’d struck gold. “Young man! What injustice has been done to you? How could someone as strong and valiant as you suffer such a cruel defeat?” He placed a sympathetic hand on the boy’s shoulder.

At first, the bully flinched, startled by the man’s ridiculous appearance. But when he saw the genuine concern in his eyes, he sniffled and nodded.

“Fear not!” the man declared, leaping off his box dramatically. “I can see the sleeping tiger within you! With the proper training, you’ll become so strong that no underhanded tactics could ever defeat you again. Join me, and I shall make you unstoppable!”

The boy’s eyes sparkled with hope, his bruises momentarily forgotten. “Master! I want to be your student! Please, tell me your honorable name!”

The strange man’s face split into a victorious grin. “At last!” he thought to himself. “I finally hooked a fish—I mean, found a student!” He chuckled maniacally, his laugh so theatrical it made nearby passersby pause in confusion.

Noticing the boy’s wary expression, the man quickly cleared his throat and struck a pose. “Ahem. I am the Great Grand Master! The world knows me by the name of Grand Master Pumpkin.”

He placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Come, my young apprentice! Let me introduce you to your senior student.” He pointed toward Titus—still dressed in a princess gown—who was clutching his head and groaning as fragmented memories pieced themselves together.

“Ah, there she is! Your senior sister, Potat!” Pumpkin declared with gusto. “She’s as beautiful as a pumpkin pie. Feel free to woo her, if you think you’re capable. Consider it a welcome gift from your master!”

Titus—or rather, Potat—froze mid-groan. His eyes widened in horror as his mind finally connected all the dots.

“I remember! I finally remember everything!” he shouted, relief surging through him. But when he turned and saw Pumpkin’s grinning face inches from his own, that relief turned to despair.

“Wait… no. NO! I wish I didn’t remember!” he wailed.

Pumpkin blinked, tilting his head. “Did this kid hit his head or something? He better not ruin my brilliant plans,” he thought.

“Hmph! Where are your manners, Potat?” Pumpkin scolded, wagging his finger like a disappointed teacher. “Is that how you greet your master? Honestly, I expected better from you.”

Titus’s eye twitched. “Don’t call me Potat!” he snapped.

Pumpkin ignored him entirely. “Anyway,” he said, turning to the bully boy, “this is your senior sister, Potat. Isn’t she lovely? From now on, you’ll train together. What a wonderful start to your heroic journey!”

Titus clutched his head and wailed again. “No! It can’t be! How did I, the legendary hero, end up as the student of this fraud? And why does it feel like I’m just a side character in his story?”

“Hey, Potat,” Pumpkin said, his voice full of mock concern. “Did you eat something weird again? Let me check your belly.”

“Stay away from me, you crazy bastard!” Titus yelled, jumping back. “And don’t ever call me Potat!”

And so, the strange journey of the Great Grand Master Pumpkin and the reincarnated hero Titus—begrudgingly known as Potat—began.