Tom followed, launching himself down steep tunnels, squealing with the others when they took a long slide. Then they burst into the hall proper. There was already a long queue there, and they joined it immediately. There was not a single adult in sight; however, everyone remained perfectly well-behaved. The golems stood sentry, and Tom’s memory reminded him how they responded to line-cutting.

Distractedly, his eyes swept the space. The way it had been divided into multiple active use areas was impressive. It had turned something that would otherwise be a sterile dining environment into a community hub. Then his explorative gaze paused for a moment as he noticed a big metal door that was out-of-place even amongst the eclectic features of the large room. It was large, bulky, and he guessed secure. However, there was something off about it. Somehow, it felt new. Tom struggled to understand that emotion. How was it new? It felt it, but didn’t look like it. The metal was no longer shiny, the woodwork on either side was the same as everywhere else.

Then why? Was there an explanation for how he was reacting? Curiously, he prodded Little Ta’s memory even as the queue they were in slowly moved forward. There was nothing there. The younger him had walked past the door hundreds of times but never consciously registered its existence.

Tom took a half step forward and then stopped himself. Something was off and he wasn’t sure this wasn’t a trap for those who had been reincarnated. Some form of illusionary trap, maybe.

“Ta, why stare at wall?” Pa asked.

“What?” Tom almost jumped guiltily. “I’m not…” he stopped and searched for a combined excuse and distraction that he could use. “I’m not looking at the wall. Just thinking about Thunder Fists.” He tore his gaze away from the spot. The presence of the reinforced door nagged, at him, but for now he had to ignore whatever that was. The line moved again, and then it was time to select their dinner. He went past the lovely-smelling exotic dishes - curries, plates of vegetables, and what appeared to be succulent pork with a layer of crackling. His mouth watered, but he ignored those offerings and held his plate empty until he reached near the end of the queue and then served himself the spaghetti.

He hated every moment of the experience and in a couple of months he would start maturing his food palate, but for now he wouldn’t take any risks. He ate what little Ta had liked.

The spaghetti with a healthy dose of cheese was surprisingly tasty.

They left, heading toward their sleeping wing.

Finally, Tom thought to himself. This was his chance. He pointed at an isolation room they were passing:

“I want a toy.”

Bir stared at the closed doors in surprise:

“It’s a cel… a cele…” she stuttered and then gave up and changed what she was saying. “It’s a party week. We don’t have to do silent time. It’s not needed.”

“Toy,” Tom insisted. “I open and you stop the door closing.”

She shook her head.

“I want the toy. Just I go in and you stop the door.” He repeated.

“Will it work?” Pa asked, doubtfully.

He shrugged. There was only one way to see and getting accidentally stuck in the room for a couple of hours sounded better than anything else.

“Only one way to find out?” He suggested, and when Pa nodded, he approached the doors with determined steps. The other two followed, and when they were in position, he firmly placed his hand on the sensor. The gateway opened.

“Quick.” He ordered.

Bir and Pa went to block the doors, and Tom entered the room.

It was the size of a large bedroom, and absolutely packed with equipment. He moved towards the toy boxes - then stopped as he noticed the writing.

It was everywhere.

Warning: security is not guaranteed to work unless you are alone, and the door fully shut.

Then another line, near what appeared to be combat dummies.

Room not rated for spells stronger than tier 2.

On a console with multiple buttons and dials, the following was written:

Press for extra security if using abilities more powerful than tier 1.

Hold hand here and request the desired rank of combat dummy to activate direct opponent.

His eyes darted around. Two hours a day in here. He was definitely going to get the most he could out of it.

Relief flooded through him. This was much better than he had feared.

The extensive collection on the bookshelf caught his attention. It covered the entire wall. Greedily, he skimmed the titles.

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

* Spear fighting.

* Sword Basics.

* Acrobatic exercises.

* Nonspecific skill-acquisition methods.

* Development advice for the reincarnated ones.

These were all great topics, and Tom couldn’t wait to read them. He could see the last two especially guiding his short-term development.

Best of all, the existing setup meant that, from the start, he would get a guaranteed two hours per day in here. In other words, a time period during which he could be as abnormal as he wanted to. He could study the theoretical books safely, or else do intense training that would be off limits where others could see him.

That was a spectacular opportunity.

“Ta, why are you so slow?” Pa called.

He jerked, having not realized he had frozen only halfway in. Tom glanced back at him. The other child had left his post and had wandered into the room as well. His heart sank and panic set in when he saw that, and imagined the isolation room sealing them in, but thankfully Bir was still holding position in the right spot.

“There,” he declared, pointing at one of the three toy boxes off to the side. Pretending that he had been struggling to decide between them. The one he selected was the one intended for the kids their age, so if anything was spying on them, they wouldn’t be surprised. He forced the lid open to reveal the carefully-stacked arrangement of toys.

He grabbed the toy he could recall playing with. When he stood up, Pa was at the bookshelf and Bir was squealing as the door was trying to close and banging into her. Then the two of them fled the room, and the doors clicked shut behind them.

“Why did you do that Pa. You left and the doors are bad.” These were now closed, but she kicked them anyway. “Naughty big doors. They kept trying to shut.”

Tom stopped himself from laughing in response to her red-faced indignation. Instead, he held up his prize:

“I got it.” It was a train engine, something that none of the others would recognize. It was not like they existed here, and he doubted anyone would have bothered to recreate children’s books that might reference them. A crafter had created this presumably for a nostalgic reason, but there was a big difference between a one-off toy and the societal framework necessary to allow others to understand the artefact. To those who hadn’t experienced a life on Earth, the toy likely appeared to be a curiosity, a weird box with wheels.

Pretending excitement, Tom sat cross-legged and placed the train on the floor in front of him. There was a green button and when he pressed it, the wheels moved as though the thing had batteries. Tom had to admit that it was fun to watch, since it stirred long-forgotten memories.

It was probably why the crafter had made it in the first place.

There was another switch. He toggled it on, and lights lit up along the side of the toy.

Beautiful.

“Stupid toy we didn’t need it.” Bir said. “You almost get stuck and it’s not even a good one.”

“But I didn’t.” He answered. The train was in front of him, but apart from its slight nostalgic value, it added nothing to his life, not even as a distraction.

The act of retrieving it, though, was a different matter. That was a success, and it had confirmed that the entire orphanage system was set up to aid reincarnators. There were direct benefits, too, like the fact that he would not need to seek out solitary protected spaces because they were being forced upon him, but mainly it made him feel better about the situation. The assassins had been a shock, but if humans had built all this, it was likely that these had been countered, and, providing he showed due diligence and did not make any waves he would be protected.

The lights above flickered a warning, and Tom got to his feet hurriedly. Being out of their dorms after lights-out was scary; they had all gone through that at some point, and none of them wanted to repeat the experience. The third floor was dedicated to those under eight, a set of sixteen barracks-like rooms split evenly across the four different age ranges. The seven three-year-olds were, of course, shoved into his cohort’s dorms.

There was no segregation by sexes at their age, so the three of them piled into their normal room. Tom, for appearance’s sake, sat on the floor, next to his bed playing with the toy he had pinched. He knew from experience that it would disappear by morning, so he pretended to focus on getting the most out of it.

As he watched it roll itself from spot to spot and made its lights flash in different ways, he considered what skills he needed to prioritize. There was magic here that guided this train. Unlike the earthly ones, it had a boomerang effect that caused it to return to its user. Tom shook his head, disappointed in himself. So what if crafting had progressed significantly since he had died? That insight did nothing for him right now. Rather than observing useless shit, he had to spend his time focusing on his build.

Unfortunately, he knew little about the rules, but what he had seen in the training room made him hopeful that he could quickly close his knowledge gap.

All he could do was be thankful that the solitary humans who had entered Existentia had banded together and spent some time considering the best way to give opportunities to both normal children and the reincarnated ones.

But his fate pool was full, and waiting would be wasteful. Yes, a better understanding of how everything worked would help direct his efforts, but what he did now would be pointless at worst, so he wasn’t about to hold back.

What specific skills did he want to develop? He had a vague idea of the direction he wanted to take with his build, but not much more.

This time, he was not going to be a tank. Entering every battle knowing that he was about to be hurt might have been vital for keeping his friends alive in his last life, but not this time.

Someone else could take that role.

It was the same with crafting. Tom was always honest with himself. If he had a mythical title to support crafting, then he would do it anyway for the ranking points, but he didn’t and without that sort of incentive there was no way he was going in that direction.

What else? He really wanted a battle precognition skill. The intense desire for it was weird. It felt unnatural for him to possess such feelings, as he had always intended to take such a skill. Any build that lets you reach a high level without one, all of his memories agreed, would be an act of negligence. You would have to be a moron not to buy one no matter what role you filled. When you fought truly powerful opponents, capable of casting spells that could destroy you in one hit over a wide area if you weren’t pre-warned, you were dead.

Tom had always assumed his build would have that as one of the earlier uses of his experience. However, the intensity of the desire surprised him. He didn’t know why he wanted the ability so much, but it didn’t take much to work out that the urge had something to do with his missing memories.

The holes were strange, but he guessed it was probably a common symptom related to being reincarnated. Hopefully, the books in the isolation rooms would explain what those gaps were.

That’s what he didn’t want: the question was which way to take his build. What, apart from a heap of ranking points, did he desire from this second chance? Stealth, Assassin, Healer, or a specialization in doing damage? And, if he went down that last path, was it best to focus on multiple enemies or single ones?

There were so many options to consider.

The dilemma was which one was best to pursue. Judging by his past life, specializing in everything was not an option. This time he would not be a generalist; instead he would be a specialist capable of incredible feats.