He couldn't speak.He couldn't walk.He couldn't even hold his head up without effort.
But the power inside him was real.
It didn't sleep.
From the moment he opened his eyes in this world — this place of gentle hands and soft smiles — he had felt it. A quiet hum beneath his skin. A heat behind his eyes. A pulse in his tiny chest, like a beast caged within fragile flesh.
They called him a name here. Smiled when they said it.
He didn't care.
He didn't answer.
"I will kill them," he thought again, watching their expressions. "The moment I can move... I will tear them apart."
He couldn't explain the feeling.
It wasn't just anger. It was something deeper — twisted, instinctual, like hatred born in bone. When his mother laughed, he wanted to silence her. When his father lifted him in the air, he imagined burning their hands to ash.
They didn't hurt him.
They never had.
And that was the worst part.
Because he didn't know why he wanted them dead.
He remembered dying.
Or… being sealed. But that wasn't the end.
The light hadn't been the end. It had been a passage.
They thought they trapped him. But they had sent him here.
And now he was reborn — with memories intact, but rage even sharper.
One afternoon, sunlight filtered through the windows of his nursery. His body, still small and weak, lay wrapped in soft blankets.
But the power moved again.
He focused — as much as an infant could — trying to feel it. The mana. It surged inside him, chaotic and wild. In his last life, it had awakened at ten. But here?
It was already there.
His tiny fingers curled into fists.
The crib rattled.
Not from the wind. Not from any outside force.
From him.
A picture frame on the shelf shivered and fell. Glass shattered.
His mother came running, panic on her face. She picked him up, held him close, kissed his forehead.
"It's okay, baby. You're safe."
Safe.
He almost laughed.
The Sister
She never smiled.
She had long black hair, pale skin, and sharp eyes that never blinked enough.
She didn't talk much. Didn't laugh.
But she was always there.
Watching.
Sometimes she'd sit outside his room for hours, saying nothing. Sometimes she'd silently hand the mother a bottle before she even asked. Once, she caught him when he rolled too far off the bed. She didn't scold. She just fixed his blanket and left.
He hated her too.
He didn't know why.
Maybe because she was quiet. Maybe because she never treated him like a baby. Maybe because she didn't smile — and that made her harder to read.
One night, she walked in while he was testing his mana.
He had summoned a flicker of energy — a faint spark across his hand, like a dying ember.
She stood in the doorway.
He stopped.
They stared at each other.
She said nothing. Just turned and left.
He watched her go, and for the first time, felt something like… caution.
She wasn't like the others.
"I'll Kill Them"
The thought became a rhythm. A mantra in his head.
"I'll kill them.""When I'm strong enough.""When I can walk.""When I can hold a blade."
He didn't care what this world was.
He didn't care about magic academies, rankings, or noble houses.
He didn't care about awakening or S-class mana.
He cared about control.
He'd had none before. Chained in fire. Tortured in silence.
Now, he had power.
And even if it was buried beneath this weak, pathetic infant body, he could feel it growing every day.
The Sister Again
She came to his room late at night, sat by his crib, and read a book silently. He couldn't understand the words, but her presence irritated him.
He wanted her to leave.
So he tried again.
Mana crackled in his fingers. He focused it forward.
Nothing.
His limbs were too weak. His control too unstable. The energy dispersed into nothing but warmth.
She didn't flinch.
She just looked up. Stared. Then turned the page.
"Why don't you fear me?" he thought.
He glared at her for hours until his eyes grew heavy.
He dreamed of chains.
Final Scene
One day, he cried.
Not because he was angry.
Not because he wanted to.
He didn't even know why.
His father came rushing in, lifted him in his arms, bouncing him softly.
"Hey, little guy. You're okay. It's alright."
He stopped crying.
Not because the words helped.
But because someone came.
And that made him feel worse than any torture he'd ever known.
"Why do you come for me?""Why do you care?""Why don't you leave me to rot?"
He didn't understand this world.
He only knew one thing.
He was a baby with power.
And one day… he would use it.