image [https://i.postimg.cc/LRKh46gx/charlotte-RR.jpg]
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One day, I recalled memories from my previous life—well, some memories. I don’t know a whole lot about myself. My previous self and my current self. Everything is vague. But I do know one thing.
The world sure looked big. The reason for that being…? I’ve become a toddler. And based on my somewhat clear thoughts. I was at a decent age to recall stuff. Perhaps it’s because I can think clearly, that I’m able to recall these memories?
Well… not that there’s much to recall. After all, I don’t even remember anything about myself. Perhaps I’m just a brilliant kid? No… That’s not it.
—I’m… Leon?
That’s my name. At least that’s what Mother and Father call me. Oh? Would you look at that? I do recall some things about my current self.
I’m Leon Shellheart. My parents are Lillia Shellheart and Oliver Shellheart. And we also have caretakers? Hmm… Like? Maids and Butlers? Is that normal around here? And as I kept pondering. Mother looked at me. She tilted her head, confused-looking.
“Leon? What’s wrong, honey? Do you still want Mama to feed you?” she asked, looking concerned.
Father, seated across from Mother, looked my way as well. It appears that the caretakers aren’t eating with us… But that’s normal? Right?
—yet it feels strange having people watch as you eat.
My parents would probably freak out if I spoke the way I thought. And so, to play it safe, I shook my head, saying, “No.” …but why do I want to hide this fact? It feels strange. I don’t understand it myself. But I don’t remember being talkative, and perhaps that’s a good thing.
“Ha-hahaha, look at him! He’s being stubborn!” Father said while laughing.
If…I remember correctly. I asked not to be fed by Mother a few days back? Is this what that is about? It was because she read me a picture book. The child in the book was growing up and being independent. I’m sure that was my reason. Hmm…that sure is a silly reason. But at the time, I was being very serious about it, which feels strange now. And yet. I still insist. While I do think differently, my feelings remain the same.
“I cwan’t haw Mama do tis for me,” I stubbornly said while holding my utensils. I feel weak, and it’s hard to cut… But I guess that wasn’t the strange part. My pronunciation is a little strange too. I suppose that’s how it goes.
But…I don’t mind. I’m young and haven’t developed. And I appear to trust my knowledge; I don’t know where it was recalled from. But it’s not so bad. I don’t even question that this is my second life. I wonder. Did I lead a good life?
Perhaps I did, perhaps I didn’t. I don’t recall after all. Maybe that’s a good thing? I don’t know. But as I thought that. I felt my lip curl upwards, probably into a soft-looking smile.
“Look, Dear! Leon cut it up and ate it by himself!” Mother excitedly exclaimed.
“Hahaha,” Father laughed. “He may perhaps be a genius!?” he said.
A genius? Isn’t that a stretch? I just ate by myself. That’s all.
—do I perhaps have doting parents?
— :::: —
A few days later, I’ve come to learn that the previous me had died due to a heart attack. Shocking, right? I don’t even think I was that old when I died. I knew I also lived a healthy lifestyle and didn’t have any symptoms. But I guess I just had bad luck.
Then, someone called out to me. “Master Leon, is there anything interesting out in the garden?” she asked.
Her name is Rose, and she’s my nanny. She’s pretty young, around the age of 20. I… think she’s older than the old me that died.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
I shook my head and said, “No.”
“Is that so…?” she questioned, peering deep into my eyes.
—is she suspicious of me?
I don’t say much or don’t do much, though—I don’t know what kids do or how they behave. I’ve come to learn that I was three years old. And since I recalled some stuff about my current self and past self. I’ve been in a daze.
Father works in his office while Mother helps him with whatever they do. I’m just here in a daze all day long. Eat, sleep, and repeat. It’s been like this for a while. But I really don’t know what I’m supposed to do.
Days became weeks, and weeks became months. I was mostly in a daze and observing everyone. They seem to enjoy their work and are good people. Mother and Father are always busy. But they make sure to have a meal with me.
…I’m somewhat lonely. While there always are people watching over me, whether it’s Rose or Mark. Oh, by the way, Mark is my bodyguard. He’s always with me, and I don’t understand how he gets any sleep—as he keeps guard even when I sleep. And compared to my previous life, which I vaguely remember. My family is wealthy. We’re what you’d call well-off.
Anyhow, currently, Mother is reading a bedtime story for me. Father was also inside the room, reading some paper. Rose and Mark were on standby. I…don’t know how they feel about me. I’d say I’m an easy kid to care for. I don’t say much, and I don’t do much. Heck, I don’t even talk to them.
“—and that’s how the hero Adriel slayed the evil dragon!” Mother excitedly said.
“…he hurt the dragon? Why?” I asked. But when I did. Mother would always look Father’s way for help.
“The dragon was mad and hurt others. That’s why,” Father bluntly said.
“…does that mean that the hero had to hurt the dragon?” I inquired. Father looked at me. He was probably not expecting me to ask, but…
“That’s right,” he said.
“I see. If someone hurt me, then I can hurt them back?” And when I said that, everyone in the room eyed me with widened eyes.
“…it’s a bit more complicated than that. You’ll understand someday,” Father replied. “Anyhow, it’s bedtime,” he later said.
My parents hugged me and patted me on the head before returning to their room. Left alone in the room with Mark, I had to wonder. Was that a story or a myth? Do dragons exist?
I didn’t question it before. I didn’t have a lot of my memories. But recently, something felt slightly off each time I heard a story. There were different beasts and such told in the bedtime stories. I, of course, asked Mark and Rose. They told me that those things did indeed exist.
I thought that they were but white lies spoken to a child… And now I have my doubts. If I were to be wrong. Then I’d find the teachings in the bedtime stories a little strange.
— :::: —
One day, when we had dinner per usual, Father asked, “Leon, do you want to learn how to read and write?”
It took me by surprise, and I tilted my head. “Yes?” I answered.
“I see…then, I’ll hire a tutor for you. But…are you sure? You won’t be able to play around as much.”
I shook my head. “I’m fine with that,” I replied.
Honestly, I think I’m getting rather bored as well. I know that I can’t be like other kids with how I’m on the inside. I have memories of two people. They’re not overpowering the other, which makes it strange. As…it doesn’t feel like I’m either of them.
—perhaps I’m both?
Who knows? But what I do know is that I lack knowledge about my surroundings.
“…don’t you think Leon is a bit young, Dear?” Mother asked.
Father shook his head to her inquiry, stating, “Darling, he’s our precious son, and he’s not acting like children his age. He always seems bored and is very observant. I think he might actually be a genius!”
”is…that so?” Mother reluctantly replied.
I know, I know. I always have a bored look on my face, but I can’t help it. As I don’t actually know what I’m supposed to do.
Father smiled. “That’s right! When I was his age, I was out collecting and eating bugs in the garden! Look at him. Our little Leon looks like he’s contemplating life!”
—that is because I am…
“That’s...Dear, please don’t say that at the dinner table,” Mother said.
I can’t say I don’t feel appalled hearing Father say that. But... “Should I be out playing and eating bugs? Papa?”
—my pronunciation’s gotten better.
When I asked, he instantly shook his head, saying, “Please don’t.” And then, as if he’d realised something, he said, “But you can go out and play normally, though!”
…how does one play? I don’t even remember what the previous me did as a kid. Now what?
“Then, Papa, Mama. How does one play?” I bluntly asked. At that moment, both of them dropped their utensils, and the servants gasped.
“…Leon, sweety…could it be that you don’t know how to play?” Mother seemed to reluctantly ask.
In response, I shook my head and said, “No.”
Father heaved a long sigh, uttering, “I now think I know where the problem lies...” And looking around. The others seem to agree with him.
…did I do anything wrong?