About two and a half years had passed since I was reborn as Hachiro.

At last, my body had begun to move the way I wanted.

I could walk.

I could even run a little.

I could eat by myself.

Most importantly, I was finally able to use words.

‘Finally…’

Being a baby had been a nightmare.

Inside my head were the memories of Hiroyuki, who had lived for forty-two years.

Yet all that came out of my mouth were cries.

No matter how much I wanted to tell someone something, I couldn’t.

I was hungry.

It was hot.

It was cold.

Even those simple things could only be expressed by crying.

But after I turned two, things gradually began to change.

I could say individual words.

Then short sentences.

By pretending I was simply imitating the adults around me, I was able to choose what I wanted to say.

Of course, I couldn’t suddenly start talking like an adult.

If I did, everyone would think I was creepy.

So Hachiro slowly expanded his vocabulary.

“Father.”

“Mother.”

“Food.”

“Water.”

“What’s this?”

At first, those were the only words I used.

But inside my head, I was always thinking.

‘First, I need to be able to communicate.’

Knowledge was useless if I couldn’t share it.

Improving farming tools.

Selling food.

Making use of surplus fish.

Even if I thought of ideas like those, I was only the village headman’s eighth son.

And on top of that, I was a two-and-a-half-year-old toddler.

Who would take me seriously?

First, I needed people to see me as a child who could communicate.

A child who learned quickly.

Only then would anyone listen.

My older brothers occasionally attended the temple.

The monk there taught the village children how to read and write.

It wasn’t some prestigious academy.

He simply showed the children written characters and taught them basic arithmetic.

But in this era, that was more than enough.

Being able to read.

Being able to count.

Those skills alone made someone more useful than most.

Sometimes I was carried on one of my brothers’ backs or led by the hand to the temple.

At first, I was just tagging along.

While my brothers studied, I simply sat quietly in a corner.

But to me, those moments were invaluable.

‘This is the place.’

If I said anything at home, the adults would dismiss it as childish nonsense.

But the monk was different.

He could read.

He understood numbers.

The villagers brought him rice and vegetables, and in return he taught their children and even offered advice.

If I could get him to notice me, he might actually listen to what I had to say.

That day, the monk was writing characters on a wooden board.

“This is ‘A.'”

The children repeated together.

“A.”

“This is ‘I.'”

“I.”

Hachiro listened quietly from the corner.

It was all far too easy.

But precisely because it was easy, I had to be careful.

If I suddenly read everything perfectly, they’d think I was a monster.

I needed to appear only a little ahead of other children.

Just a little smarter.

The monk suddenly looked at me.

“So, Hachiro has been listening too?”

Hachiro nodded.

“What does this character say?”

The monk casually held up the board.

It displayed the very character the children had repeated several times earlier.

Hachiro paused for a moment.

Tilting his head like a normal toddler, he answered.

“A.”

The temple fell silent.

My older brother’s eyes widened.

“Hachiro, you know it?”

“I heard.”

Hachiro gave a short reply.

The monk smiled slightly.

“Oh? You have good ears.”

I thought that would be the end of it.

Instead, the monk pointed to another character.

“Then what about this one?”

“I.”

“And this?”

“U.”

The monk’s expression changed.

Hachiro immediately fell silent.

I wasn’t going to answer everything.

Showing too much now would be dangerous.

“…Two or three is enough. You’ve remembered well.”

The monk said so, but surprise lingered in his voice.

A few days later…

This time, the lesson was about numbers.

The monk lined up several pebbles.

“There are three stones here. If you take one away, how many remain?”

My brothers thought it over.

Hachiro watched from the side.

It was incredibly simple.

But for children of this era, it was an important lesson.

The monk looked at Hachiro again.

“Hachiro, do you know?”

“Two.”

The moment I answered, one of my brothers laughed.

“Does he really understand it?”

The monk rearranged the stones.

“Then what is two plus two?”

“Four.”

“And if you take two away from five?”

“Three.”

This time, no one laughed.

The monk stared at Hachiro.

“…You’re only a little over two years old, aren’t you?”

“Mhm.”

“Who taught you?”

Hachiro pointed at his older brothers.

“I heard my brothers.”

It wasn’t a lie.

I had listened while my brothers were learning.

The only difference was that I still had the mind of my previous life.

The monk fell silent.

After a while, he quietly said,

“This child has more than just good ears.”

That single sentence was enough.

‘That’s one person.’

Hachiro quietly let out a sigh of relief.

I had found the first person who might actually listen to what I had to say.

The very first one.

And that was enough.

Of course, I still couldn’t actually start anything yet.

With the body of a two-and-a-half-year-old, I couldn’t even lift a sack of rice.

I couldn’t use a knife.

If I went near a fire, I’d immediately be scolded.

Selling food along the roadside was still a distant dream.

But I could finally see the path ahead.

First, earn the monk’s recognition.

Next, convince Father and Mother that Hachiro wasn’t an ordinary child.

Then get my older brothers to help.

Ask for a little rice.

Chop some pickled vegetables.

Wrap everything in bamboo leaves.

Sell it along the highway.

A plain rice ball might sell for five mon.

But if I mixed in miso and chopped pickles to make it more filling, perhaps I could sell it for ten.

Earn money.

Increase our food supply.

Improve our clothing.

Make sure my family could eat until they were full.

Then help the village as well.

‘First, everyone needs enough to eat.’

That was Hachiro’s very first goal.

But before any of that, there was something else I needed.

Trust.

The ability to communicate.

People who were willing to listen.

At two and a half years old, Hachiro had finally reached that starting line.

I still couldn’t fight.

I still couldn’t do business.

Even so, Hachiro’s rise had already begun.