I stood at the window of my room, watching Cedric in the training yard below.
He was there again. Just standing in the center, arms crossed, waiting.
My hand was on the doorknob. I'd gotten dressed. Walked halfway down the hall.
Then stopped.
Turned around.
Came back to my room.
Because I still didn't have an answer.
Why are you training?
The question haunted me. Followed me through every moment of the day.
I wanted my mother to be safe. I wanted to deserve this second chance. I wanted to be better than Kenji Yamamoto.
Those were reasons. Real reasons.
But were they enough?
Would training with a sword really keep my mother safe in a world of political intrigue and poison? Would learning combat make me deserve this life? Would physical strength make me a better person?
Or was I just dressing up the same old fear in prettier words?
I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, watching Cedric finally turn and leave after an hour of waiting.
Six days now.
Six days I'd failed to return.
"Aldric, darling, you barely touched your breakfast."
My mother's voice pulled me from my thoughts. We were in her solar, her private sitting room, where she spent most of her time. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, illuminating the embroidery she was working on. Some elaborate scene with ravens and roses.
I looked at the plate of pastries and fruit she'd brought me. I'd eaten maybe two bites.
"I'm not very hungry," I said.
She set down her embroidery, moved to sit beside me on the cushioned window seat. Her amber eyes were full of concern.
"You've been like this for a week now. Not eating. Not sleeping well, I hear you moving around at night. Not going to training." She touched my cheek gently. "Talk to me. Please. What's wrong?"
How could I explain?
That I was a seventeen-year-old trapped in a five-year-old's body. That I'd died once from giving up and was terrified of doing it again. That I didn't know how to be the person she thought I was.
"Master Cedric asked me a question," I said finally. "And I don't know how to answer it."
"What question?"
"Why I'm training. What I actually want." I looked at her. "And I don't know, Mother. I thought I did, but... I don't know."
She was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then she took my small hand in hers.
"When I was young, younger than I am now, newly married to your father, I asked him a similar question. Why did he work so hard? Why did he spend so much time managing territories, attending court, dealing with politics he hated?"
"What did he say?"
"At first, he said it was duty. Responsibility. The Ashford legacy." She smiled softly. "But I kept asking. Pushed him. Finally, he told me the truth: he did it because he'd seen what happened to noble families who didn't. Families torn apart by their own weakness, their territories absorbed by stronger neighbors, their children left with nothing."
She squeezed my hand. "He worked hard because he was afraid of losing everything. But that fear motivated him to build something worth protecting. The fear became purpose."
"But what if the fear is all there is?" I whispered. "What if I'm only training because I'm scared, not because I want to protect anything?"
"Then start with the fear," she said simply. "Start with being scared, and along the way, find something worth protecting. The motivation doesn't have to be perfect from the beginning, Aldric. It just has to be enough to take the first step."
She pulled me into a hug, and I let myself be five years old for a moment. Just a child being held by his mother.
"You don't have to have all the answers right now," she murmured. "You're allowed to be unsure. You're allowed to be scared. You're allowed to make mistakes and change your mind. That's what growing up is."
But I'd already grown up once. Already made all my mistakes. Already died from them.
I was supposed to be better this time.
On the eighth day, my father summoned me to his study.
It was a large room, all dark wood and leather, lined with books and maps. A massive desk dominated the center, covered in papers and correspondence. My father sat behind it, those ice-blue eyes studying me as I entered.
"Sit," he said, gesturing to the chair across from him.
I climbed into it, feet dangling above the floor.
He didn't speak immediately. Just watched me with that calculating gaze that missed nothing.
"Cedric tells me you've stopped training," he finally said.
"Yes."
"He also says you have potential. That you were learning faster than most students he's taught."
I didn't respond.
"So I'm curious," Father continued, leaning back in his chair. "Why quit when you were succeeding?"
"I wasn't succeeding. I was barely keeping up."
"Barely keeping up at five years old is succeeding," he corrected. "Most noble children don't begin formal combat training until they're seven or eight. You manifested mana at five and immediately began advanced instruction. Everything would be difficult."
He stood, walked to the window overlooking the grounds. "I'm not going to force you to continue. That's not how I operate. But I am going to tell you something my father told me when I wanted to quit my own training."
He turned to look at me. "Quitting is easy. It's the easiest thing in the world. You stop trying, and the difficulty stops too. But everything worth having in life is on the other side of difficult. Family, power, respect, safety, all of it requires pushing through when you want to quit."
"What if I don't know what I'm pushing toward?" I asked quietly.
"Then you're already ahead of most people," he said, surprising me. "Most people never ask that question. They just follow what they're told to want. You're asking what matters to you. That's wisdom most adults don't have."
He returned to his desk, pulled out a piece of parchment, and began writing something.
"I'm hosting a banquet in two weeks. Several noble families will be attending, dukes, counts, marquesses, and viscounts. It's partially political, partially social. Your mother will be there, and I'd like you to attend as well."
"Me? But I'm five"
"And the son of a Duke. You'll need to learn courtly behavior eventually. Might as well start now." He finished writing, folded the parchment, sealed it with wax, and the Ashford raven seal. "This will give you something to think about besides training. See how other noble children behave. Watch how politics works in practice."
He handed me the sealed letter. "Give this to your mother. It explains which families to expect and which children will be there."
I took the letter, confused about why he wanted me to deliver it instead of a servant.
"Father?"
"Yes?"
"Why did you really hire Master Cedric? He's clearly... more than just a sword instructor."
Something flickered in Father's eyes. "Because when you destroyed that training dummy, I saw something in you that worried me. Desperation. Fear. The look of someone fighting for their life against an enemy only they could see."
He leaned forward. "I've seen that look before. On soldiers who survived battles they should have died in. On men who'd lost everything and were clinging to anything they could control. It's dangerous, Aldric. That kind of fear can make you strong, but it can also make you reckless. Or cruel."
He held my gaze. "I hired Cedric because he understands that fear. Because he's lived with it. And because if anyone can teach you to channel it into something productive instead of destructive, it's him."
"What happened to him?" I asked. "Why did he leave the Royal Knights?"
"That's his story to tell, not mine. If you ever go back to training, maybe ask him." Father returned to his paperwork, a clear dismissal. "You're excused. Give that letter to your mother."
I left his study, the sealed parchment in my hand, feeling more confused than when I'd entered.
The banquet preparations consumed the manor for the next two weeks.
Servants cleaned and decorated the great hall. Cooks prepared elaborate menus. My mother had new clothes made for both of us, her in an elegant gown of deep blue that brought out her amber eyes, me in miniature noble attire that made me look like a tiny version of my father.
I hated it.
The clothes were restrictive, the formality exhausting, and the whole thing reminded me too much of Yuki's rich parents. The shallow social climbing, the status games, the careful performances.
"Stop fidgeting," my mother said gently as Clara adjusted my collar for the third time. "I know it's uncomfortable, but you'll get used to it."
"Why do I have to go?" I asked. "I'm five. Can't I just stay in my room?"
"Your father wants you there. And honestly, so do I." She knelt down to my level. "I know social events can be overwhelming, but you'll need these skills someday. Better to learn them young."
"What if I make a mistake? What if I embarrass you?"
"Then you'll have made a mistake," she said simply. "And we'll fix it. You're a child, Aldric. You're allowed to make mistakes. No one expects perfection from a five-year-old."
But I wasn't really five. And people definitely expected things from the Duke's son.
The evening of the banquet arrived too quickly.
The great hall was transformed. Hundreds of candles created a warm glow. Tables laden with food lined the walls. Musicians played something elegant in the corner. Nobles in expensive clothing filled the space, talking, laughing, playing their political games.
My father stood near the main entrance, greeting guests. My mother and I waited nearby, ready to be introduced.
"Duke William Hartbrook and his family," the servant announced.
An older man with grey hair and sharp features entered, followed by a woman and three children. Two boys who looked maybe twelve and fourteen, and a daughter who appeared around eight or nine.
"Wilhelm," my father greeted him warmly. They clasped forearms in that way warriors did. "Thank you for coming."
"Heinrich. Always a pleasure." The Duke turned to my mother, bowing slightly. "Lady Marianne. You look radiant as always."
"Duke Hartbrook," my mother replied with a curtsy. "Please, introduce your family."
As the adults talked, I noticed the daughter watching me. She had dark hair pulled back in an elaborate style, green eyes that seemed to take in everything, and a serious expression that seemed too old for her face.
She approached me while our parents were distracted.
"You're Aldric Ashford," she said. Not a question. A statement.
"Yes."
"I'm Adelaide Hartbrook." She studied me with those green eyes. "My father says your father is one of the few honest men in court. That's rare."
"I... guess so?"
"You're small," she observed.
"I'm five."
"I'm eight. That's three years older. That's significant at our age." She tilted her head. "But you don't talk like you're five. You talk like you're older."
Shit. I'd been careless. She's way too observant for an eight-year-old.
"I just... read a lot," I said quickly.
"Hmm." She didn't look convinced. "Do you like books?"
"Yes."
"Good. Most noble children are stupid. They only care about hunting and fighting and showing off." She said it matter-of-factly, not cruelly. "It's refreshing to meet one who can actually hold a conversation."
Before I could respond, more guests arrived, and Adelaide was pulled away by her mother.
But she glanced back at me once, a small smile on her serious face.
"Count Victor Ashton and his family."
More nobles. More introductions. More careful political dancing.
I was exhausted already, and the banquet had barely started.
"Viscount Theodore Blackwood and his daughter."
Something in the way my father's voice changed made me look up.
A man in his forties entered, tall and distinguished with dark hair going silver at the temples. He had an easy smile and confident bearing that spoke of someone comfortable in noble society.
But it was the girl beside him who made my breath catch.
She was seven years old, with golden blonde hair that fell in natural curls to her shoulders. Her eyes were a striking blue-green, like the ocean on a clear day. She wore a dress of pale pink that somehow didn't look ridiculous on her, made her look like something out of a fairy tale.
But it was her expression that really caught my attention. Open, friendly, warm. She smiled at everyone she passed, and people smiled back. There was something genuinely joyful about her, something that drew attention without trying.
She was beautiful. Even at seven, you could tell she'd be stunning as she grew older.
And something about her was familiar in a way I couldn't place.
"Theodore," my father greeted the Viscount warmly. "It's been too long."
"Heinrich. Lady Marianne." Theodore bowed to my mother. "You look well. Marriage to this old warhorse must agree with you."
My mother laughed, actually laughed, which was rare at these formal events. "He has his moments."
"And this must be young Aldric." Theodore crouched down to my level. "I've heard interesting things about you. Destroyed a training dummy with a kick at five years old?"
"I... yes, sir."
"Impressive." He stood, gesturing to his daughter. "This is my daughter, Seraphina. She's seven, but acts more mature than half the adults here."
Seraphina curtsied perfectly, a practiced motion that somehow didn't look rehearsed. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lord Aldric."
Her voice was bright, cheerful, with an accent that suggested she'd been taught by expensive tutors.
"Just... Aldric is fine," I said.
She smiled wider. "Then you must call me Sera. Everyone does."
"Sera," I repeated. The name felt significant somehow.
"Perhaps the children would like to explore the gardens while we adults talk politics?" Theodore suggested. "I'm sure they'd be more comfortable."
"An excellent idea," my father agreed. He looked at me. "Aldric, why don't you show Sera the rose gardens? Stay where the guards can see you."
I wanted to refuse. Wanted to stay with my mother, where it was safe.
But Sera was already heading toward the garden doors, and everyone was watching.
I followed.
The gardens were cooler than the great hall, the night air pleasant after the stuffiness inside. Lanterns hung from trees, creating pools of warm light. Roses bloomed in carefully tended beds, their scent heavy and sweet.
Guards stood at discrete distances, close enough to protect but far enough to give the illusion of privacy.
Sera walked ahead of me, seemingly fascinated by everything. She'd stop to examine flowers, exclaim over the fountain in the center courtyard, and point out constellations in the clear sky.
"It's beautiful here," she said, spinning in a circle with her arms out. "Your home is wonderful, Aldric."
"You can just walk around your own gardens," I said.
"Yes, but that's boring because I know everything already. New places are exciting!" She stopped spinning, looked at me with those blue-green eyes. "Don't you think so?"
"I... guess?"
She laughed. "You're very serious. My father says I should be more serious, too, but I don't see the point. Life is too short to be serious all the time."
She moved to the fountain, trailed her fingers in the water. The lantern light reflected off the ripples, making patterns on her face.
"Do you have friends?" she asked suddenly.
"What?"
"Friends. Other children you play with, talk to, have fun with." She looked at me curiously. "Do you?"
"No," I admitted. "My half-siblings don't really... and I don't meet many other children."
"That's sad." She said it simply, without judgment. "Everyone should have friends. It makes life better."
"Do you have friends?"
"Lots!" She smiled. "At home, I have three friends I see almost every day. And I make new friends everywhere we go. Like you!"
"We just met."
"So? That's how all friendships start." She came closer, that open smile still on her face. "I like you, Aldric. You're different from other noble children. You actually think before you talk. Most of them just say whatever their parents told them to say."
She tilted her head, studying me. "You seem sad, though. Like something's bothering you. Do you want to talk about it?"
The offer was so genuine, so earnest, that for a moment I actually considered it.
But what would I say? That I was a reincarnated SOB haunted by guilt? That I was too scared to continue training because I didn't know why I was doing it? That I was terrified of becoming the monster I'd been in my previous life?
"I'm fine," I said.
"You're lying." She said it cheerfully, without accusation. "But that's okay. We just met. You don't have to tell me everything yet."
"Yet?"
"Well, we're going to be friends. Friends tell each other things eventually." She held out her hand. "Come on, show me more of the gardens. I want to see everything!"
I took her hand, small and warm in mine, and let her pull me along the paths.
She talked the entire time. About her home, her tutors, the books she was reading, and the music she was learning. She asked me questions—about my favorite foods, my favorite books, and whether I preferred summer or winter.
Simple questions. Easy questions. The kind children asked each other.
And slowly, without meaning to, I relaxed.
She was easy to be around. Genuine in a way that was rare in noble society. She didn't seem to be performing or calculating, or playing games.
She was just... herself. Openly, unashamedly herself.
We were examining a particularly large rose bush when she asked, "Why did you stop training?"
I froze. "How did you know about that?"
"Father mentioned it before we came. Said the Duke's son had shown remarkable talent but had recently stopped attending lessons." She looked at me with those perceptive eyes. "So why did you stop?"
"I..." The truth tried to force its way out. "I didn't know why I was doing it."
"Doing what?"
"Training. Learning to fight. All of it." I stared at the roses instead of her. "The instructor asked me why I was training, and I couldn't answer. Not really. So I stopped."
"That makes sense," Sera said simply.
I looked at her in surprise. "It does?"
"Of course. Why do something if you don't know why you're doing it? That's just following orders, not making choices." She plucked a rose petal that had fallen to the ground. "But I think you do know why. You're just scared to admit it."
"How would you know?"
She smiled. "Because I'm really good at reading people. My father says it's my best talent. And you..." She studied my face. "You're scared of something. Something big. And you thought being strong would fix it. But it didn't, so now you don't know what to do."
The accuracy of her observation was terrifying.
"You're seven," I said weakly.
"Almost eight. And age doesn't determine understanding." She tucked the rose petal into her pocket. "My mother died when I was five. I remember being scared all the time. Scared something would happen to Father. Scared I'd be alone. Scared of everything."
Her smile softened, became sad. "I thought if I was perfect, perfect manners, perfect studies, perfect daughter, then nothing bad could happen. Like if I just tried hard enough, I could control everything."
"What changed?" I asked quietly.
"I realized I couldn't control everything. Bad things happen no matter how perfect you try to be. So instead, I decided to be kind. To make friends. To enjoy things. Because if bad things are going to happen anyway, I might as well be happy between them."
She looked at me directly. "You can't train away whatever scares you, Aldric. Training might make you stronger, but it won't make you less scared. Only figuring out what you actually want will do that."
Before I could respond, a servant appeared.
"Young lord, young lady, the Viscount is preparing to depart. Lady Seraphina, your father is looking for you."
"Already?" Sera pouted. "But we were just getting to know each other."
"I apologize, my lady, but the Viscount was quite insistent."
Sera sighed dramatically, then brightened. "Well, we'll see each other again. Father comes to these events often." She took my hand again, squeezed it. "It was really nice meeting you, Aldric. I meant what I said, we're friends now."
"We are?"
"Definitely." She started to leave, then paused. "Oh, and about your training? I think you should go back. Not because you have to, but because giving up on something you were good at just because it's hard seems sad. You deserve to be good at somethings."
Then she was gone, following the servant back toward the manor, her pink dress swirling as she walked.
I stood alone in the garden, her words echoing in my head.
You deserve to be good at things.
Such a simple statement. But it hit something deep inside me.
Because Kenji Yamamoto hadn't thought he deserved anything good. Had taken what he wanted by force because he didn't believe anyone would give it to him freely.
And Aldric Ashford didn't think he deserved this second chance. Didn't think he deserved his mother's love or his father's attention or any of the opportunities this new life offered.
So he sabotaged himself. Quit when things got hard. Ran from difficulty.
Because deep down, he didn't think he deserved to succeed.
The realization was like a punch to the gut.
Cedric's question: Why are you training?
Not "to be strong" or "to protect people" or any of the surface answers.
The real answer: To prove I deserve this second chance. To prove I can be better than I was. To prove I'm worth the love my mother gives me and the patience my father shows me.
To prove I deserve to be good at something.
That was why.
I found my mother still in the great hall, talking with other noble ladies. She saw me approach and excused herself, coming over with concern on her face.
"Are you alright? You look upset."
"I'm fine, Mother. I just..." I took a breath. "I want to go back to training."
Her eyebrows rose. "You do?"
"Yes. Tomorrow morning. I need to talk to Master Cedric."
She studied my face for a long moment, then smiled. "Alright. We'll make sure you're up before dawn."
"Thank you." I hesitated. "Mother? Do you think I deserve this? This life, this family, everything?"
"Oh, Aldric." She pulled me into a hug. "Of course you do. You're my son. You deserve all the love and opportunities in the world."
I held onto her, letting her words sink in.
Maybe she was right.
Maybe I did deserve this.
And maybe it was time to stop running from the work required to keep it.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I kept thinking about Sera. About her words, her easy confidence, her genuine warmth.
She'd lost her mother at five. Had been scared of everything. But she'd found a way to move forward. To be happy despite the fear.
If she could do it, maybe I could too.
And there was something else. Something about her that nagged at the back of my mind.
That blonde hair. Those blue-green eyes. That personality, cheerful, upbeat, and optimistic.
She was just built different.
I pushed the thought away. It didn't matter. Past life, present life, they were separate. I couldn't let memories of Kenji's mistakes color how I saw people in this new world.
Sera was my friend. She'd said so herself.
And friends deserved better than suspicion and guilt.
I rolled over, closed my eyes, and tried to sleep.
Tomorrow, I would return to training.
Tomorrow, I would face Cedric's question with an honest answer.
Tomorrow, I would start actually deserving this second chance.