About eight months had passed since Seren's reincarnation into this world. The language that once sounded foreign and fragmented to his ears had become increasingly familiar—like a lullaby gradually revealing its lyrics.
He could already understand simple words like water, milk, papa, mama, bath, and even pee-pee by the time he was just two months old. Now, at eight months, full sentences began to make sense, though his baby tongue could only produce a few select sounds—mama, papa, and milk being his favorites. Still, for an infant, it was quite the achievement.
Whenever Seren grasped a new word or deciphered a sentence, a subtle melody played in the background—like the chiming of a soft glockenspiel. Each note was high, clear, and innocent, echoing like crystal droplets on water. It was the music of understanding, and it swelled gently in his mind whenever he made a new connection.
His name was Seren. At first, he assumed it was a nickname—some babyish pet name—but that illusion was shattered one afternoon. While lying in his crib, half-asleep and cocooned in warmth, he overheard his parents whispering lovingly about him. "Seren is growing up so quickly," Rye had said, her voice a caress. Nel responded, "Our little Seren… he's sharp, just like you."
That settled it. Seren was his real name. And somehow, that knowledge made the gentle background strings swell—like a harp ascending toward a peaceful crescendo.
Rye, his mother, was a woman of calm grace, with warm hands and a voice that could coax smiles from even the sourest of moods. Nel, his father, was the quiet type but dependable and kind. Over time, Seren had grown genuinely fond of them. He wasn't just their son now—he felt like it.
By this age, Seren could scuttle around the house on all fours like an agile crab. But strangely enough, he wasn't allowed to look outside the windows. His every outing involved a curious ritual: whenever they left the house, his eyes were blindfolded and his body wrapped in a soft blanket.
The first time this happened, he'd been terrified. The music that usually played in his head fell into eerie silence, replaced by a single slow beat—thum… thum… thum—like a distant war drum, echoing his own heartbeat.
He wasn't alone in this experience. One day, he saw red-haired child, wrapped up just like him, being brought to the his house. The neighbor's baby, when revealed, blinked with the curiosity of a kitten. That sight reassured Seren: Perhaps it's a ritualistic practice here.
In time, he learned the red-haired child's name: Arnold. Or simply Arn, as everyone affectionately called him. The music that played whenever Arn was nearby had a mischievous bounce—plucked strings like a mandolin being played with one hand while the other snatched candy.
Arn's mother, Lina, often brought him over to play with Seren, and vice versa. Their baby playdates were common, noisy, and oddly satisfying. Lina was youthful and bright-eyed, with a voice that sang through the house like wind through chimes.
One such morning, Rye was bustling about with housework when Lina arrived.
"I'll take Seren with me today," she said sweetly. She tied a cloth gently over Seren's eyes and wrapped him in a blanket.
As Lina carried him, the background music became muffled—like it was coming from the bottom of a deep well. It always did when he was blindfolded. Seren had grown to associate that muffled sound with anticipation and mystery, his emotions stretching forward like unseen hands reaching through the dark.
...
The gentle sway of Lina's arms lulled Seren into a half-dreaming state. Even blindfolded, he could feel the rhythm of her footsteps through the music in his head—soft percussion tapping like a slow heartbeat, syncing with the comfort of being carried.
When they arrived at Lina's home, she gently unwrapped him and removed the blindfold. The sudden rush of light was met with a fluttering sound in his head—like a flock of flutes scattering in a golden dawn.
Arn was already on the floor, surrounded by wooden blocks carved into geometric shapes—pyramids, cubes, spheres, and flat triangles. A pyramid sat awkwardly atop a cube, and the other pieces lay scattered around him like an unfinished temple. Arn was chewing a triangle with the uncoordinated devotion of a teething beast.
Lina chuckled, setting Seren down beside his friend. "You'll hurt yourself with that one," she said, gently taking the triangular block away. "You two play while I finish up in the kitchen."
The music shifted as Seren examined his friend—a mix of curious pizzicato strings and chime-like tinkling. He leaned closer and touched Arn's fiery red hair. This shade... it's impossibly vivid. Like a burning sunset.
Arn, seemingly intrigued by Seren's approach, stopped sucking his fingers and leaned forward. One hand grabbed Seren's thigh, the other fumbled at his baby suit. Then—without warning—Arn latched onto Seren's cheek and began to suck.
The background music exploded.
Violins screamed in a chaotic flurry while a tambourine clattered somewhere in the back of his mind. Seren flailed, his tiny limbs flapping like startled wings, and he tumbled backward. Now flat on his back, with Arn looming over him, the red-haired boy suckled with determination, hoping for milk from the wrong source.
Why are you doing this?! Seren's internal cry was met with a crescendo of comic horns and discordant piano. His emotional soundtrack had descended into a mess of comedic embarrassment and desperation.
"Hey! What are you guys doing?"
A man's voice rang out, followed by swift footsteps. A tall figure with red hair appeared and plucked Arn off Seren with practiced ease.
"Don't do that, little Arnold," he cooed in a faux-baby voice. "Little Seren is kind enough to play with you. Don't go bullying him like that."
The man—clearly Arn's father—grinned, then turned toward the kitchen.
"Bran! Darling! Are you home?!" Lina called back with an audible smile.
"Ah, I'm back, maste— I mean, my dear," said her husband.
"You can never resist making pervy jokes," she said as she emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.
"You love my jokes, admit it," he teased, looping his arms around her waist. "After all, I am your obedient little slave... in bed, that is."
Seren's internal orchestra stumbled.
The violins screeched to a halt. The harp strings snapped. The chimes stopped chiming. A low, ominous cello began to drone.
"Don't say such things in front of the kids," Lina said, blushing slightly as she gave him a playful whack on the head.
"What does it matter? They can't understand." He grinned, but his hands were already wandering. One cupped her breast, the other slid down to her crotch, rubbing it.
A moan escaped Lina's lips.
What the actual hell? Seren drooled slightly, caught between the confusion of his infant body and the clarity of his adult mind. Can you people not?!
The music in Seren's head was chaos—twisting tones, clashing symbols, and muted horns of despair. It felt like someone was DJ-ing his internal soundscape with a blindfold and a bottle of wine.
"What are y—!" Lina gasped, pushing her partner away, but not with any real resistance.
"I think you need more training," she smirked, discarding her apron as she made her way toward the bedroom. "Come quickly. I'll train you thoroughly."
Seren stared, dazed. The background music softened into a confused xylophone rhythm. I am deeply sorry for eavesdropping, he thought, covering his eyes with his tiny fists.
"What about the kids?" the man—Bran—asked.
"Don't worry, it won't take long. I'll train you in just about twenty idis," Lina replied, disappearing into the room.
[Note: One adis = 24 minutes. One adis = 72 idis. One idi = 20 seconds.]
The door shut.
For the next five minutes, Seren was serenaded by something far less musical—Bran's exaggerated moans and what he could only describe as "the death screams of a very satisfied man." It was a strange, surreal moment, made worse by the rhythmic creaking that vaguely matched the tempo of the music in his head—a slow, repetitive bass beat that made Seren wish for the comforting hum of silence.
Eventually, only Lina emerged. Her hair slightly disheveled, cheeks flushed, but otherwise calm, she resumed her kitchen chores like nothing had happened. Seren gaped at her in awe and horror.
Arn giggled and tried to build a tower from two blocks.
Later that evening, Bran finally came out of the room and trudged toward the bathroom, utterly defeated, muttering something about being "slain by love."
A knock came at the door.
Lina answered. It was Nel—Seren's father.
"Hello, Lina," Nel greeted warmly.
"Hey there, Nel. What brings you here?"
"My son. I came for little Seren."
"He's playing with Arn. You sure you want to disturb them?"
"I'll take Arn too."
"Alright, alright, come in first." Lina led Nel to the living area.
"There they are, little angels," she called softly. Seren and Arn turned toward the voice like sunflowers seeking warmth.
"Hey, you two," Nel said, kneeling and ruffling their hair. "Thanks for watching over Seren."
"Oh Nel, what are you doing in my house?" Bran's voice boomed playfully from the hallway.
"I came to get Seren," Nel replied. Then, eyeing the man's damp hair and bathrobe, added, "Bran… did you take a bath just now?"
In this world, people only bathed in the morning. Bathing in the evening was unusual, even suspicious.
"Yes. Actually, Lina... played with me," Bran said.
"Played…?" Nel raised a brow.
"I mean, Lina ra—AHHH!" Bran yelped as Lina smacked him with a wooden spatula.
"Keep your mouth shut," she said.
"I should get going. Rye's waiting," Nel mumbled, clearly eager to leave.
"Why not have dinner here?" Bran offered.
"Thanks, but Rye's prepared dinner. She'd be upset if I skipped it."
Nel picked Seren up, covered his eyes with a cloth, wrapped him in a blanket, and offered his thanks before heading out.
Seren's music returned to a gentle lullaby of strings and wind chimes as Nel carried him across the road and back home.
Rye had set the table. They ate together—Seren drinking warm milk from his mother's bottle, comforted by the soft, familiar background tune that played only when his world was safe and quiet.
...
Time marched forward in soft, nostalgic harmonies. Sixteen months had passed since Seren's birth into this new world. Now two years old, he was a proper toddler—sharp-eyed, quick-tongued, and curious beyond his age. Unlike other children his age, he could hold conversations, formulate questions, and even express his preferences with clarity.
Whenever he spoke, his internal music fluttered with pride—like a marching band warming up for a parade. The brass horns tooted with joyful confidence, while xylophones clicked with rhythm and cadence. Arn, on the other hand, was still fumbling with syllables and often stuck to babbling half-words, much to Seren's amusement and minor frustration.
Today was Seren's second birthday, and the garden of his house had been transformed into a lively venue for the occasion. Banners fluttered in the breeze, tables were laden with treats, and cheerful townsfolk filled the garden with laughter. The background music in Seren's head was swelling like a festival fanfare, vibrant and orchestral, rising and falling in time with the party's rhythm.
Among the many guests, his best friend Arn stood proudly in a snazzy outfit—black pants, a white shirt, and a red coat that perfectly matched his vibrant hair. Arn's eyes were bright, as though he understood the day held significance, even if the exact nature eluded him.
With Arn was his mother, Lina, who was heavily pregnant with her second child. Her belly rounded beneath her soft blue dress, and her face held that glow—a mix of fatigue and anticipation. Though her child was due any day now, she insisted on attending. After all, the party was just across the street.
The music shifted slightly whenever Seren looked at her—less boisterous, more uncertain. It sounded like a solo cello weaving between bright violins: joy entangled with something unspoken.
Among the guests were two sisters who immediately caught Seren's attention. The elder, perhaps five years old, walked gracefully across the grass while holding the hand of her little sister—a toddler around Seren's age with cotton-candy pink hair and sleepy, distant eyes.
Their mother followed behind, cradling the pink-haired child. The older sister stepped toward Seren with a curious, almost regal air.
"You turned two today," she said. Her voice was bright, but not condescending. "You can walk and talk just like me. My little sister can too, but she's lazy."
The music in Seren's mind lightened to an elegant waltz, with gentle violins and a harp plucking in three-time rhythm.
"You're...?" he asked, his voice nervous but composed.
"I'm Selena," she replied, brushing a lock of purple hair behind her ear. Her eyes gleamed violet in the sunlight.
"Nice to meet you, Selena-san. I'm Seren Midorito."
"Seren-kun, huh?" She gave him a gentle pat on the head. "You're a handsome little man."
The harp arpeggio in Seren's mind nearly broke into a full-blown romantic ballad. But before he could blush properly or reply, his mother's voice rose above the chatter.
"Gather up, everyone! It's time for the cake cutting!"
The crowd swarmed around Seren like a warm wave. Arn clung to his side, Selena hovered nearby, and all eyes turned toward the decorated table where a two-tier cake stood, its frosting glittering under the morning sun.
The music built up—drums rolled, flutes soared. It was the cliBran of his little world.
But then—
"Aahhhhhh! It's coming! The baby is coming!"
Lina screamed, clutching her belly as she sank to her knees. Panic swept through the garden like a gust of wind tearing through paper decorations. The music shattered—discordant notes, the sound of cymbals clashing, violins screeching like startled birds.
Guests scrambled. Nel rushed to help. Rye guided people back. A midwife was called within minutes, and Lina was carried gently back to her house.
In the chaos, Seren stood frozen beside the cake. Arn looked around in confusion. The background music was silent now—muted as though waiting for something.
Time passed.
Eventually, cries were heard from across the street—but not Lina's.
A newborn's cry pierced the quiet air. High-pitched, pure, and filled with life.
The music returned like a sunrise—soft piano chords, swelling strings, and flutes that danced like the wind. A baby girl had been born, her hair already showing a faint reddish hue like her brother's.
The town rejoiced. News spread quickly. People clapped, cheered, and congratulated Bran and Lina on their newest family member.
Seren remained near the cake with Arn, unnoticed and forgotten amidst the excitement. He looked at his friend, shrugged, and picked up a small wooden knife from the table. Arn nodded.
Together, they cut the cake.
Two toddlers—unattended and determined—enjoyed the sweet frosting and soft layers of sponge in solitude. Seren smiled, mouth stuffed, while a flute played a slow, content tune in the background. Arn giggled through a mouthful of cake.
They forgot about me... again, Seren mused. But even so, he was oddly satisfied. For now, at least, the cake was theirs alone.
...
The morning after the party, Nel decided it was time for a little father-son outing. The sun had barely cleared the mountain peaks when he wrapped Seren in a warm brown cloak and lifted him gently into his arms.
"We're going out today, little man," he said, his voice laced with fondness.
As they stepped out of the house, Seren's mind was immediately greeted by a fresh and open musical score—airy woodwinds and a rising swell of orchestral strings. His heart leapt in rhythm with it. The melody was laced with anticipation and childlike wonder.
Their home was in one of the livelier quarters of town, where streets curled like ribbons between medieval German-style houses. Each house stood with steep rooftops and exposed wooden beams, vines of ivy climbing their sides. Many had tidy gardens out front, blooming with flowers of soft pastels. Seren's eyes sparkled at the sight, and his music shifted into a gentle waltz—flutes dancing playfully with wind chimes.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Nel murmured.
Seren couldn't answer with words, but his tiny gasp said enough.
Soon they reached the town's bazaar—the beating heart of daily life. Stalls stretched from one end of the square to the other, their bright canopies fluttering in the breeze. Merchants shouted greetings, and townsfolk bustled about, inspecting produce, fabrics, and trinkets. Flower stalls in particular caught Seren's eye, their arrangements bursting with wild, fragrant color.
The music in his head now layered itself like petals—each instrument a different shade: violins for crimson roses, flutes for lavender, dulcimers for golden sunflowers. His emotions—delight, curiosity, and amazement—composed a sonata that bloomed with every turn of the head.
He couldn't help it. "Wow..." he whispered, barely audible.
Nel smiled. "First time seeing the market, huh? I used to carry you through here with your eyes covered. But I guess you're ready now."
As they left the market and moved toward the town's outskirts, the scenery began to change. Continuous rows of homes gave way to open fields and wide skies. Vast farmland stretched across gentle hills, painted in a tapestry of greens and golds. Crops swayed in the wind like dancers moving in sync.
Standing at the edge of a ridge, Seren's breath caught in his throat. From this height, the entire valley town unfurled before him—like a living painting nestled between towering mountain walls.
The music in his mind slowed into a majestic hymn. Horns sounded distantly, joined by long, soulful cello notes. This was no longer the song of a baby's wonder—it was awe in its purest form. The world was vast. Alive. And breathtakingly beautiful.
A group of nearby farmers noticed Nel and approached, one of them holding a large, round fruit in his hands.
"For the little one," said the farmer with a warm smile, handing Seren a freshly picked watermelon.
Seren's eyes widened at the vibrant red color and cool, earthy scent. Nel cut a slice with his pocket knife and handed it to him.
The moment Seren tasted it, his entire orchestra swelled.
A choir burst into song in his mind—light and divine. Harps soared, bells chimed, and a gentle rain of piano keys cascaded behind it all. The sweetness was unlike anything he'd ever known.
"They taste ten times sweeter than the ones I had in my last life..." he whispered, lost in the moment.
After resting for a while beneath the shade of a tree, Nel carried him back toward the opposite end of the valley. This time, they took a winding path through the town, crossing bridges and narrow stone walkways until they reached a place where even the sky seemed to change.
As they rounded a bend, Seren's eyes went wide again.
Before him stretched a forest—an ocean of vibrant blue.
The trees, though shaped like sakura, bore blossoms in shades of sapphire, cerulean, and indigo. Each tree shimmered slightly in the light, as if dusted with crystalline powder. The wind made the petals flutter down in swirls of soft blue snow.
A deep hush fell over his music.
Then, slowly, the strings returned—low and reverent. A violin hummed a single, drawn-out note. Harps joined it like sighs. A cello pulsed like a heartbeat. The forest had its own melody, one that wove into Seren's soul like a sacred thread.
"This is the Forest of Blue Sakura," Nel said quietly. "Rare trees. Sacred, some say. Many special fruits grow here—things you won't find anywhere else."
Giant deer ambled through the trees with graceful steps. Near a bush, a tiny giraffe—no taller than Nel's knee—nibbled at a strange blue berry. Birds with rainbow feathers darted between branches, each letting out chirps that almost matched the harmony in Seren's head.
At the forest's edge lay a garden. Grass rolled beneath arching sakura branches, and petals floated gently down, catching in Seren's hair.
He reached out as one landed on his hand.
The music fell silent.
Not out of absence—but reverence.
Then a single note played.
One pure piano key.
This world… it really is wonderful.
...
As the sun began its slow descent, painting the sky in hues of violet and amber, Nel sat with Seren beneath the arching branches of the blue sakura trees. Petals drifted down around them like stardust, silent and slow.
Seren lay quietly in his father's arms, his eyes fixed on the swirling canopy above. The music in his mind was soft now—a lullaby of violins and ambient chimes, weaving gently in and out of awareness, as if the forest itself were humming a forgotten song.
He wasn't just hearing anymore. He was listening.
Why do I hear music? Why only me? he wondered.
He hadn't told anyone, of course. Who would believe a toddler babbling about symphonies and harpsichords playing inside his head? But ever since his reincarnation, this background music—this strange emotional soundtrack—had always been there, subtly shaping his perception of the world.
It wasn't random, either. It flowed with his thoughts, surged with his fears, danced with his joys, and fell silent in moments of dread. It was more than magic. It was... soul.
Sometimes, he felt as though the world itself was speaking to him—not through words, but through music. Like it was showing him its truth, one note at a time.
Nel sighed softly beside him. "It's peaceful here, isn't it?" he said, stroking Seren's hair.
Seren nodded weakly. He didn't have the words, but the music said it all.
Later that evening, as they returned home, the streets were quieter. Torches flickered to life along cobbled paths. Seren's senses felt heightened—as if his ears could catch even the sound of leaves turning or shadows shifting.
When they arrived at their doorstep, Rye opened the door with a wide smile.
"There you are!" she said, her voice glowing with warmth. "How was the adventure?"
"Magnificent," Nel said, passing Seren into her arms. "He saw the market, the farms, and even the Blue Sakura Forest."
Rye gasped gently. "You took him all the way there?"
"I think it was time," Nel replied. "He's not just a baby anymore."
Seren nestled into Rye's shoulder, her familiar scent and heartbeat wrapping around him like a blanket. The music curled with it—harps, soft piano, and a faint heartbeat drum in the distance.
That night, Seren lay in his crib, the moonlight casting silver shapes across the walls. The stars winked at him from behind the glass. He didn't cry. He didn't need to.
The song playing in his mind was slow, thoughtful—melancholy, perhaps—but not sad. It was the kind of music that accompanies the ending of a chapter and the quiet beginning of another.
I've been reborn. I have a family now. Friends. A place to call home.
He closed his eyes. The music slowed to a whisper, a single violin note suspended in time.
I don't know why I was brought here, or what I'm meant to do. But this time... I won't waste it.
With that thought, he drifted into sleep, his final breath of the day accompanied by a closing chord—peaceful, deep, and resolute.