Chapter 1 : Rebirth and Growth

Getting pushed out of a vagina while having full awareness wasn't a pleasant experience. At least, that was the only conclusion he could draw from his admittedly small sample size.

He hadn't yet had the pleasure to meet another reincarnator like him.

His death had been quick too.

No, he hadn't been graced with his majesty Truck-kun's presence like most of the reincarnators, if anyone's wondering. Those bastards were lucky.

His end had been far less dignified.

He'd simply just walked out of a grocery store before a sharp and heavy thing hit him in the head, accompanied by a deafening sound of a gunshot. And then the next thing he knew, he was trapped inside the body of a newborn with blurry vision, useless limbs and cold wind biting into his naked form – but only his head. The rest of him was still inside the vagina.

And so the struggle ensued.

The next few minutes were one of the most horrific moments of his life. He wouldn't wish it even upon his worst enemy.

The first few months of his new life were less living and more reconstruction.

Although his memories remained intact, his mind had been forced to operate through the immature hardware of a newborn brain.

His thoughts formed sluggishly. He grew tired just after half an hour of being awake, faster if he concentrated too hard or moved too much.

His arms and legs jerked around like a dying fish on land.

But the most embarrassing part of it all was being breastfed by a woman who was, as far as his memories were concerned, a complete stranger.

Eventually, though, those strangers became familiar.

Bonding with Tessa hadn't been hard. You can't really not like the woman who feeds you milk directly from the source, especially if that woman is as beautiful as Tessa.

Mike, on the other hand, talked to him endlessly when he came back from work. He even ended up spilling some of his dark secrets a few times, perhaps thinking his infant son wouldn't be able to understand a thing.

He was just a naive little man who wasn't aware of the divine might of reincarnators.

Regardless, thanks to his help, he was able to gather a lot of information about this world. Or Earth. Yeah, he had figured out he was still on Earth, just about half a century in the past.

That sucked but not more than not having a System.

His new parents were kind people. His mother and father were Americans, as his previous family had been, though this time their roots traced back to Florida instead of Texas. They also happened to be British. That detail made perfect sense. The accent of everyone he had met apart from his parents had always sounded a bit... weird.

He also discovered that his new name was Tyson Stewart.

Remarkable. Of all the names available in the world, destiny had chosen Tyson. Maybe he could become the Beyblade Champion of infants.

Months drifted by. Then years.

Relearning existence consumed an astonishing amount of effort. Before this life, Tyson had never considered how much work went into something as simple as rolling over. Crawling alone had taken him roughly four months of persistence.

Four months.

For an adult mind trapped inside a baby's routine, that was excruciatingly dull.

Despite all his complaints, though, his parents were wonderful. They doted on him, taught him patiently, and watched over him with unwavering affection.

Tyson did his best to play the role of a perfect baby. He laughed when babies were expected to laugh and reacted appropriately whenever possible. Not that he was above occasional mischief.

Sometimes he deliberately woke them during the night. He always felt guilty afterward, but there wasn't much else he could do. Even perfect babies wet their diapers.

Unlike certain absurdly overpowered anime protagonists, he hadn't emerged from the womb speaking in complete adult sentences. [Yes, I am talking about you, Anus Voldigoad!]

Speaking required practice. His vocal cords needed development, and forming words was a skill he had to build from scratch.

Not that saying, "Hello, mom and dad. I've already lived an entire life before this one, and I don't truly think of you as my real parents," would have gone over particularly well.

The thought alone filled him with shame.

He felt like an asshole. It wasn't their fault. The problem was that, in his mind, they felt less like replacements for his original parents and more like two genuinely good people he happened to care about. He couldn't simply overwrite old bonds with new ones.

But he wasn't against making new bonds. It would take time, yes. But eventually he would accept them as his parents... probably.

After the initial excitement wore off, Tyson seriously considered his reincarnation.

He couldn't stop wondering why any of this had happened.

What force had shoved his consciousness into another body?

Why him?

Shouldn't death have led somewhere else? An afterlife, perhaps. Maybe oblivion. A black void filled with answers, or at least an explanation.

Instead of receiving cosmic answers, he spent his days attempting to convince his infant body that solid food wasn't a threat. By the time he could chew properly, he was thoroughly sick of baby food.

He enjoyed having brand new eyes and an unscarred body, of course. Everything was so clear and fresh, and he had none of the aches and pains that grow in you as you become an adult.

Time continued forward.

One benefit of possessing an adult mindset while inhabiting a child's body was having endless patience for long-term goals. Tyson ate, slept, and exercised as much as circumstances allowed – or the closest thing a kid his age could manage.

At first it was merely an attempt to avoid feeling helpless. Eventually, it became a routine. By age four, he exercised every single morning.

Speech had also come very early. He started speaking around nine months old and could form complete sentences by fourteen months, though he intentionally restrained himself whenever possible.

There was only so much hiding he could do, however.

His parents realized very early that something about him was unusual. His attention span and learning ability were absurd for his age. Situations that sent other children into tantrums barely seemed to affect him.

So when he turned four, they did what any sensible white parent would do if their child showed any behavior they deemed abnormal. They took him to meet a therapist.

Oh. Their description had been much friendlier. "A very kind uncle wants to have a conversation with you."

Like he said, they were wonderful people.

His mother was pregnant at the time. Back in his previous life, he had a cute little sister. Part of him wondered whether history intended to repeat itself.

The appointment lasted roughly an hour.

When it ended, the therapist concluded that Tyson was a sociopath.

Tyson's own diagnosis was that the therapist was an idiot.

He informed his parents accordingly and made it very clear that he had no interest in speaking with that bastard ever again.

Following that incident, something subtly shifted.

His parents treated him differently.

He didn't particularly care.

If anything, he was a better son to them than he had been in his first life, which was a depressing thing to admit. He cleaned up after himself, ate without complaint, and later helped care for his younger brother, Tyler.

He had been a bit distraught initially, having expected a sister. But little Tyler was no joke. His cuteness eventually overloaded Tyson. After spending a few months with his little brother, Tyson was already figuring out different ways to tease him.

As time passed, he realised that the 'pretending to be a normal child' thing could only go so far. No matter how carefully he acted, living as an adult inside a child's body attracted attention.

The boy who spent his free time reading books, exercising, and behaving like a middle-aged uncle instead of participating in playground dramas stood out, especially to children.

And those playground dramas absolutely counted as politics. Anyone claiming kids weren't political creatures had clearly never spent time around them.

Their methods lacked sophistication, sure, but they could be every bit as cruel as professional politicians, senators, members of parliament, House of Lords. Whatever Britain called them.

Tyson wasn't interested enough to check.

In any case, his first school fight occurred when he was six and attending his second year of classes.

The conflict started with a larger boy throwing his weight around.

Tyson responded by putting him flat on his back and pinning him there until a teacher intervened.

Nothing severe. He wasn't interested in genuinely hurting another child. Unfortunately, the other boy interpreted the lesson poorly.

Afterward, the harassment continued in less obvious forms, or what the boy considered less obvious forms. Most of it revolved around racist comments.

Tyson ignored it. Right up until the moment the kid insulted his mother.

At that point, Tyson introduced him to an armbar after school and calmly explained why treating people that way was unacceptable.

The message landed.

The bullying stopped.

The unintended consequence was Tyson earning a reputation as a troublemaker. Apparently threatening to snap someone's arm because they'd disrespected another person was frowned upon.

Children were truly adorable.

For a while, life settled into a relatively peaceful rhythm.

Then, at nine years old, everything changed. He transferred schools. The new place was called St. Gregory's Primary School. Anyone familiar with the name might have recognized its significance.

Tyson certainly didn't.

He had been reborn in 1980. As far as he was concerned, that date mattered only because it gave him opportunities to invest in certain companies later. Beyond that, it wasn't especially noteworthy.

At least, that was what he believed.

Then came his first day at St. Gregory's.

Standing at the front of a classroom while the teacher introduced him to his new classmates, Tyson scanned the room with only mild curiosity.

Then suddenly, his gaze landed on a boy sitting near the back and he froze.

The kid looked painfully thin, almost swallowed by clothes several sizes too large. Oversized round glasses rested on his face. Bright green eyes peered out from beneath an untidy bowl haircut.

And hidden beneath that hairline was a scar shaped like a lightning bolt.

Tyson somehow managed to keep his expression under control despite the storm raging inside his head.

When the teacher instructed him to find a seat, he walked across the classroom and chose an empty desk beside the skinny boy.

Beside Harry Potter.

In that instant, understanding slammed into him.

This wasn't merely reincarnation.

This was an isekai.

And not just any isekai.

He had somehow landed in one of the most common fictional worlds people ended up transported into.

'Fucking Hell!' Tyson cursed in his mind.

He needed to acquire a gun as soon as possible!

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