Three more years passed. Seasons turned like pages in a storybook, and I grew with them. I was six now.

  I could walk without a wobble, speak with confidence, and express my thoughts freely. I no longer needed to mask my intelligence with broken sentences or feigned ignorance. But some things, I still kept to myself.

  Magic.

  It remained my secret. My quiet truth. I trained only when alone, tucked in hidden corners of the house or during stolen moments in the woods. My spells had grown stronger, my control more refined. I’d begun to experiment—adjusting incantations, pying with shape and structure. My mana reserves had grown too, deeper than I ever expected for someone my age.

  But I kept it hidden. Always.

  The world might not be ready for what I could do. Maybe I wasn’t either.

  One crisp spring morning, curiosity led me into the study. The shelves, once towering and impossible, now yielded to me with the help of a wooden chair I dragged noisily across the floor.

  That’s when I saw it—a worn book tucked between two rger tomes. I tugged at it, but it was heavier than I expected. The chair tipped beneath me and I fell, nding hard on my side. The book thudded beside me.

  I winced but grinned.

  Footsteps approached, swift but calm. Then came the warm voice I knew so well.

  "Ooh, you little curious child," Mom said, appearing in the doorway. She bent down and picked up the book. It was old—its leather cracked, its spine worn with time.

  She opened the cover, then gnced at me. "Trying to read, are we?"

  I blinked up at her, nodding once. My eyes fell back on the page.

  Symbols. Letters. None of them made sense.

  Mom ughed softly. "We haven’t taught you to read yet, have we?"

  I tilted my head, confused. Hadn’t I been granted nguage when I reincarnated? Yet this… this was foreign.

  She smiled, brushing hair from my forehead. "From that look, I presume we didn’t."

  Then, after a pause, she added brightly, "You’re only six, but… what if Mommy teaches you to read?"

  My heart skipped. I nodded eagerly.

  She set the heavy book aside and fetched a thinner, more colorful one from a lower shelf. "We’ll start with this."

  We sat together on the floor, and she pointed to a bold letter.

  "This is 'A'," she said.

  I traced it carefully with my finger, as sunlight filtered through the window, illuminating the parchment.

  That became our rhythm. Each afternoon after lunch, she’d guide me through the alphabet. If she was busy, Misaki—the maid who was so much more than a maid—stepped in. Her voice was steady and warm, her corrections gentle.

  Letters turned into words. Words into sentences. And soon, the mystery of the written world opened before me.

  One evening, I overheard them talking.

  "He’s picking it up so fast," Mom said by the fire, knitting in her p.

  Dad chuckled, polishing a bde. "At this rate, he’ll raid our bookshelves by next month."

  "Maybe it’s time we let him pick his own," she said, her smile audible.

  My heart soared.

  Books of my own.

  Then, one morning, my dream came true. Mom and Misaki entered the study dressed for travel.

  "We have a surprise for you," Mom said, kneeling down.

  I widened my eyes, pretending I hadn’t guessed.

  Misaki grinned. "How about a trip to pick some books?"

  I nearly burst with joy.

  I nodded so quickly I nearly toppled forward.

  Mom ughed, pulling me into a quick, warm hug. "Then let's get ready. Your first real book shopping trip awaits!"

  After I was dressed and ready, the three of us stepped outside. As we passed through the front wooden gate, I was struck by the beauty of my surroundings.

  Fields of crops stretched out around the house and alongside the road, vibrant and green and yellow under the clear sky. The sun sat high above, casting warm rays of light that made everything gleam as if the world itself had been freshly polished.

  As we walked down the gravel path, I spotted the vilge in the distance. It wasn’t the biggest pce I had ever imagined, but it was rger than I expected—clusters of houses, shops, and stalls clustered together, with smoke rising gently from a few chimneys.

  But we were still a ways off, perhaps a kilometer and a half by my estimation. Thankfully, just as the distance began to feel daunting, a fruit wagon drawn by a sturdy brown horse rumbled down the road toward us.

  An older vilger, bundled in a simple cloak, spotted us and pulled the horse to a stop. "Morning!" he called cheerfully. "Heading to town? Hop in, plenty of room!"

  Mom smiled warmly and exchanged a few polite words with him before lifting me up into the wagon, followed by Misaki and then herself.

  I sat perched on the wooden seat, legs swinging with excitement as the horse trotted forward.

  The breeze tugged at my hair. The scent of fresh earth and spring flowers filled the air. The road ahead was bright and open.

  As we entered the vilge, my wide eyes took in everything at once. The bustling streets were alive with activity—vendors calling out their wares, children darting between stalls, and townsfolk ughing and chatting as they moved about their errands.

  Most of the people were human, but not all. Here and there, I spotted others—an elf with silver hair helping unload crates, a beast folk merchant hawking colorful fabrics with a pyful flick of his tail. My heart pounded with excitement. It was one thing to hear about the diversity of this world—but to see it with my own eyes was something else entirely.

  The vilge itself was charmingly vibrant. A small river cut through its center, its sparkling waters crossed by wooden bridges adorned with flower boxes. Children pyed along the banks, their ughter mixing with the ctter of hooves and the hum of conversation. Stone and timber houses clustered together near the river, and colorful banners fpped gently in the breeze.

  After a few more minutes of rumbling along the main road, the wagon finally pulled to a stop near the market square. The scent of fresh bread, ripe fruit, and roasting meats filled the air, making my stomach growl.

  Misaki got off the wagon. "I'll go pick up some fruits and meats for the house," she said. "You two have fun."

  With that, she slipped into the crowd, disappearing among the bustling stalls.

  Mom turned to me, her voice serious but kind. "Stay close to me, alright? The market’s lively, but it’s easy to get lost if you wander."

  I nodded obediently, sticking close to her side as we began to weave through the throngs of people.

  Stalls lined the market square, each one brimming with goods. One vendor dispyed brilliant woven cloth in every color imaginable. Another hawked sparkling trinkets and polished stones. A third roasted skewers of meat over an open fme, the mouthwatering smell wrapping around me like a spell.

  But I didn’t stray.

  Not until I saw it.

  Down a small alley, tucked between a tailor’s shop and a bakery, stood a modest storefront—and in front of it, a huge mirror.

  My reflection.

  Until now, I had only glimpsed myself in puddles or polished surfaces. Never clearly. Never fully.

  Curiosity tugged at me.

  I hesitated, gncing at Eleanor.

  She was examining a jewelry stall a few steps ahead, her attention momentarily distracted.

  My heart thudded with guilt—but my feet moved anyway.

  I slipped away, edging closer to the mirror.

  And there I saw myself—truly saw myself for the first time.

  A boy stared back at me, smaller than I imagined but sturdy. His hair was a soft, dark blond, tousled by the wind. His eyes—a vivid shade of blue that shimmered like the waves of the ocean—were wide with wonder. His skin was fair, kissed slightly by the sun. And there, peeking from under his slightly messy hair, were pointed ears—subtle, but unmistakable.

  Half-elf.

  I reached up, brushing a fingertip over the edge of my ear in awe.

  This was me. This was Kenji.

  A boy of two worlds—neither fully human nor fully elf—but something entirely his own.

  A small smile tugged at my lips.

  As I admired my reflection, I leaned closer, studying the details of my face I had never seen so clearly before. The soft curve of my cheeks, the slight point of my chin, the inquisitive tilt of my eyes—it all felt so real, so tangible now.

  But just as I was lost in thought, the mirror shifted.

  In the reflection, I caught sight of a familiar silhouette approaching.

  Eleanor.

  I turned quickly, heart skipping a beat, half-expecting to be scolded for wandering off.

  But when I faced her, Mom just sighed dramatically and knelt down in front of me.

  "You’re sneaky, you know that?" she said, her voice warm with relief. "You scared me for a moment."

  Eleanor chuckled and gave me a pyful nudge on the nose. "Next time, just tell me if you want to admire yourself," she teased. "You’re growing into such a handsome young man—it’s only natural."

  The fear of being scolded faded into the cozy warmth of her words.

  She reached out her hand, and I quickly took it, feeling the strength and comfort there.

  "Come on," she said with a wink. "Let’s find you those books, my little adventurer."

  Hand in hand, we turned back toward the bustling market.

  We continued down the busy market street until finally, we reached a quaint little shop tucked between a pottery stall and a candle-maker’s booth. The sign above the door read: Whispering Pages Bookstore.

  As we stepped inside, a small bell jingled overhead.

  The shop smelled of old parchment, leather, and a faint hint of vender. Shelves stacked high with books leaned slightly under the weight of their treasures, and a warm golden light filled the cozy interior.

  The shopkeeper—a kindly older man with spectacles perched on the tip of his nose—looked up from behind the counter and smiled broadly.

  "Ah! Eleanor! And who’s this fine young d?"

  "This little fellow," Eleanor said, gesturing at me with a soft ugh, "is here to find his very first books."

  The shopkeeper chuckled, his voice a warm rumble. "Well, isn’t that something. Follow me, young master!"

  He led us to a far corner of the store where colorful covers and softer bindings lined the shelves.

  "Here we are," the shopkeeper said. "Bedtime stories, adventures for young minds, and a few fables to stir the imagination."

  I immediately began scanning the titles, my excitement barely contained.

  "The Tale of the Wandering Wolf."

  "The Girl Who Touched the Moon."

  "Legends of the First Dragon."

  They all sounded fun… but somehow, they didn’t grab my attention.

  Curious, I wandered a little further down the row. Past the brightly colored covers, past the obvious choices…

  And there, tucked between two thicker tomes on the second shelf, something caught my eye.

  A worn, heavy book with a simple, bold title:

  "The Universal Guide to Magic."

  I reached out slowly, fingers brushing over the rough leather cover.

  Something about it called to me.

  Something deep.

  I carefully pulled it from the shelf, the book heavier than I expected. It thudded softly against my chest as I hugged it close.

  Mom, noticing my choice, arched a brow.

  "A bit ambitious for your first book, isn’t it?" she teased gently.

  I hugged the book tighter.

  The shopkeeper chuckled, wiping his hands on his apron. "Well now… that's a curious choice. Not many youngsters reach for that one."

  Mom smiled warmly and ruffled my hair. "Alright, little schor. If that’s what you want, we’ll get it."

  I beamed, cradling the book as if it were a treasure.

  It wasn’t just a guide to magic.

  It was the next step.

  The next piece of the puzzle in a world I was determined to understand.