"What does it mean to be a man in today's world?"
A young man asked the question as he stood among a crowd of thousands of other young men, all gathered to watch a live podcast. Four older men sat on the stage, each holding a microphone. One of them, dressed in an expensive suit made of fine material and looking the freshest of the four, was lean and muscular. His name was Jason. He smiled, believing the question was meant for him. "Before I answer that, what's your understanding of being a man today?" Jason replied with a question of his own.
"Erm… I don't know… maybe getting money, being strong, providing for your family."
"You can't be weak!" Jason cut in, ending the young man's sentence with a large full stop — a statement that sent chills across the entire crowd.
"To be a man is something you have to create yourself! You see, we live in a wicked and dark world, where men are being suppressed, and in some places women are now dominating men…"
The younger men in the crowd nodded their heads in agreement as they looked at one another.
"If you look at the statistics, masculinity is on a huge decline! Men used to be aggressive. Back in the day, it was extremely rare for men to be obese. But now, in the cities of America, the average man is overweight — it is disgusting!"
Some of the younger men hummed in agreement, while others who were overweight looked at themselves in disappointment. A few glanced at the overweight men, and from those looks alone it was clear they were being fat-shamed.
"I won't ramble for too long, but there are three things you need to obtain as a man! Power — to dominate and never be under any other man. Success — to prove your identity, because trust me, the world gives zero shits about you. And pride — to become independent and show no weakness, because the world does not forgive weakness. Chase those three things, and that's how you become a man!"
The crowd of young men clapped and nodded, the majority in agreement. However, a few broke into a nervous sweat, feeling uncomfortable.
Next to Jason sat a darker-skinned man wearing a tight designer T-shirt that showed off his bulging muscles. Tattoos covered his arms like sleeves, and he dripped in diamonds and jewellery — even in his teeth. He was one of the men on stage holding a microphone, and he clapped the loudest, unable to agree more with Jason.
"Bullshit!"
The word pierced through the loud clapping of the crowd and brought the parade to a halt. Jason turned to see who had made the comment. It was one of the four men sitting furthest away from him. He had a dad bod, wore a cowboy hat, and had a gun strapped to his jeans.
"Young men, don't listen to or encourage the nonsense that comes out of this man's mouth. Follow those three things he preaches, and you live a life of never being satisfied — and never being fulfilled."
"Never being satisfied? From the look of your body, it seems you're never satisfied with eating," Jason shot back, causing the young men in the crowd to laugh.
"You can't counter his point, so you go for his looks? Why?"
Next to the man who disagreed with Jason sat a slim, short man with glasses.
"Why? Because how you look is evidence of your life. Look at me — my gym-focused body, my expensive suit, my good looks. This shows other men and women that I am self-disciplined and know how to take care of myself. Mate, I am satisfied. However, you — the one saying what I'm saying is nonsense — are built the complete opposite. What young men want to hear advice from your mouth if you aren't showing living proof of it?"
The young men nodded in unison, some muttering that what Jason was saying was true, others calling the cowboy-hat man fat, mocking him for looking like a dad.
"To some extent, that is true. It was sad that we lived in a world where we judged a book by its cover. At times, it was even smart. However, young men, I encouraged you to judge people more by their actions than by how they looked. Judge them by their fruits."
"Ha — talking about fruits doesn't make you look any healthier, Dad," Jason joked, making the crowd laugh.
The cowboy-hat man didn't respond, instead waiting patiently for the laughter to die down.
"The fact that you don't understand what this gentleman beside me is saying was sad, I must say."
"Judging by the cover or judging by actions? Yes, I knew what he meant. But a homeless man did what a homeless man did, and a rich man did what he did."
The short man sighed, almost giving up as he spoke, his expression remaining stoic.
"Again, it was sad that you didn't get it."
Suddenly, Jason began to feel triggered as he noticed the expressions he received from both the short man and the cowboy-hat man — as if they were treating him like a child. A vein appeared on his forehead, faint but visible.
"Not trying to be disrespectful, but let's say all four of us were walking down the street. So me, Jason, the short man… and the fatty."
The crowd snickered.
"Who do you think people would judge or mess with more? Or who do you think, just from looking, would get respect?"
"Your point is?" the short man replied.
"As a man, you didn't need words for people to respect you. They should just look at you and already know what you were carrying."
"He's right," Jason added. "You had to look respectable — but also like a threat!"
"And trust me, guys," the man covered in jewellery said to the crowd, "this is how you get women. Types of men like me and Jason — that's who they love, not those two unfit old relics over there."
"Women?" the cowboy-hat man replied calmly. "From the way you talk, I can tell neither of you is married."
"No, I'm not," Jason responded.
"I don't believe in marriage. Why should a law tie me down, or let the government tell me who I can be with for life?" the jewellery-covered man added.
"Okay. Jason, do you ever want to be married?"
"Not really. I don't see the point of marriage myself."
"Okay, and why is that?"
"If he says he doesn't see the point, why are you pressing him with more questions about—"
"Sorry, but I'm not talking to you," the cowboy-hat man said politely but firmly. His words shut the jewellery-covered man down, and he took offence, falling silent immediately. He looked towards the crowd for a reaction, but they didn't even seem to notice the exchange, their attention fixed on the discussion between Jason and the cowboy-hat man.
"Because these days, women are after your money rather than you," Jason replied.
"Ah, so you do want to get married — but you're scared?"
"Pardon?"
"Just from your response, that's what it shows me."
"Sorry, old man, but you don't know me, so I don't know where you're getting this idea of fear from. In truth, I just don't have time to deal with women, etc."
"Okay, so it could be commitment?"
"What? What is with all these stupid diagnoses? You think I struggle with commitment? Can't you see what you're looking at? I go to the gym six times a week, I hardly take days off, I work like a freaking lunatic, and you're telling me I could be struggling with commitment?"
"Okay, no need to get angry. Sorry if I've offended you, but I'd like to ask another question. Earlier, you talk about — or agree with — the man with the diamonds, saying that as a man you have to look the part, which I actually agree with, to be honest. As you can see, I am out of shape, and I wouldn't want my kids to be the same. But you also agree with the man with the diamonds that this is how you get women. So I just want to ask — do you date?"
"Yeah, I talk to a lot of women, if that's what you're asking."
"So you do date?"
"Yes," Jason said sternly, losing his patience.
"So what is the point of you dating, if I may ask?"
"What do you mean?"
"You don't want to get married, you say you don't have time to deal with women because you're so busy, so I struggle to understand how someone like you dates. What was the purpose behind it?"
"From the way you're talking, I can tell you hardly get laid with your wife," Jason said mockingly, causing the crowd to laugh.
"What makes you say that?"
"As a man, who doesn't like women? Am I gay for not talking to women? I have urges that need tending to, so obviously I date."
"So women are basically needs for your pleasure?"
"Doesn't your wife tend to your needs?" Jason asked.
"She does — but she does so because she loves me, and I love her. Your way of doing it has no love, only lust."
"What? Every man has lust in him — that is a common human trait! And whenever a man feels lustful or has urges, it is normal to tend to them! It is in our DNA! It is our innate instinct — one of our survival drives!"
"You talk as if we are beasts… animals."
"I'd rather be a beast than a weak man, for sure! And don't studies show that we evolved from apes or something? So it makes sense why we are so reactive to our innate desires and drives."
"So from what you're saying, self-control doesn't exist?"
"When do I say that?! I do have self-control. To go to the gym as much as I do — the discipline! Do you know how much I am worth?!" Jason said, becoming visibly worked up.
"Quick question — what do you guys do as jobs?" the jewellery-covered man asked.
"I'm an electrician," the short man replied.
"And I'm an English teacher," the cowboy-hat man said.
Suddenly, the man with the jewellery burst out laughing. "A school teacher?! And you're talking like you're some big shot!"
"What's wrong with being a teacher? It was a privilege to educate the younger generation and raise them," the cowboy-hat man replied calmly.
"So how did you provide for your family?" the jewellery man asked.
"I provided by expressing love, telling my kids every day how much I loved them, making them feel safe, encouraging them, sharing my wisdom, being honest, being present."
"What the hell?! Didn't you hear my question? I asked how you provided for your family — not how to be a mother!"
However, Jason was no longer listening to him. One word lingered, echoing louder than the rest.
"Present?" Jason repeated slowly. "What do you mean… present?"
"As in always trying my best to be around. Sometimes I overworked myself, despite being underpaid — or not being paid at all — but I always made sure I was home before my children went to sleep," the cowboy-hat man answered, directing his words at Jason and ignoring the jewellery man's disrespect.
Once again, the jewellery man took offence. He glanced at the crowd, searching for a reaction — but felt invisible. His jaw tightened, teeth gritting as sweat began to form on his brow.
…
"Gadeon…"
…
"Gadeon!"
Gadeon wakes up, despite his eyes being open the entire time.
"You're only ten years old to be thinking about life the way you do. Hurry and eat your food before it gets cold," says an older woman with long black braided hair and grey eyes. She wears an apron as she cleans the kitchen.
Gadeon rubs his eyes as he checks his surroundings.
Oh yeah… I'm here now, he thinks, looking around at the wooden infrastructure. He is housed in a wooden home, where the table and chairs are all carved from wood, and the only source of light comes from an oil-filled lamp burning quietly with fire.
He looks down at his bowl, which holds a crystal-clear soup — so clear that Gadeon can see his own reflection. Vitiligo marks the skin around his mouth and eyes, something he seems used to by now. When he notices how small his hands are, he scowls at them. Sitting on the wooden chair, his feet still don't touch the ground, and his face twists in annoyance.
"Everything good, son?"
Automatically, Gadeon's spirit is irked. Before him stands an older male who looks like an aged clone of himself. He wears a baggy robe that looks far too big for him. The man has a baby face, hot pink eyes — the same colour as Gadeon's — and short, scruffy beige hair with a matching moustache.
"Don't call me that," Gadeon replies.
"Gadeon! Don't speak to your father like that!" the older woman snaps.
"It's alright, honey. He's just at that age now," Gadeon's father says.
"No, honey! He's always disrespectful towards you! He doesn't even call you 'Dad' — he calls you by your first name!"
Because he's not my dad. And it's not like I can tell you both that I've been reincarnated. It still sounds stupid to me, even after being here for ten years.
"It's alright. He'll open up at some point. I just have to be patient and continue to love him, and before you know it, all of this will be non-existent," his father says, laughing — which only irks Gadeon further.
Of all things, why did I have to inherit his traits? Why did I have to reincarnate? To be under another man? Even if he's technically older than me, I was twenty-five in my last life. I don't need a man to raise me — I can do that shit myself. And for goodness' sake, I have freaking pink eyes! I look and feel gay! My skin doesn't look normal, my hair colour looks radical — I basically look like him. Which I refuse. I spent so much time in my last life building myself, for it to just vanish!
At least I still have control over my body.
Gadeon tenses. For a ten-year-old, his muscles are surprisingly defined.
But I'm still too young — my muscles aren't fully developed yet. And because this family is broke, they never have enough money to buy the nutrients I need to properly build my body. For now, I should go back to my calisthenics workouts. At least that will strengthen my muscles.
With that thought, Gadeon leaves the dinner table.
"Woah, buddy, where do you think you're going?"
Gadeon ignores his father and continues walking away towards his room.
"Hey, Gadeon, I'm talking to you!" his father raises his voice to get his attention.
Again, Gadeon keeps walking, still ignoring him.
"GADEON! LISTEN TO YOUR FATHER WHEN HE'S SPEAKING TO YOU!"
His mother's yell freezes him in place. He can't take another step. Annoyance spreads across his face.
This woman loves shouting! And I don't need a father! In my old life, I didn't need one to get to where I was — so to have one now is infuriating! I don't need another man to look after me!
As these thoughts run through Gadeon's mind, his face twists into an expression of pure disgust and disgrace. The pent-up anger he's been holding directs itself straight at his father. It shakes the man slightly, stirring something emotional and painful inside him, forcing him to look away from his son's gaze.
Why does he hate me so much? Did I do anything wrong? his father wonders, his expression heavy with hurt.
However, he quickly shakes it off, refusing to let it show.
"Gadeon! It's time for our training, isn't it?"
"Training?"
Ah yes… that kind of training. The power and supernatural phenomena of this world.
"You've never beaten me before, right?" His father wears a smug expression, which only infuriates Gadeon further as he clenches his fists.
The only reason I keep losing to him during our training is because I'm trapped in a kid's body! If it weren't for that, I'd wipe the floor with this stinking man!
"It's time for our Flexing training!"
That's what it's called — Flexing. The art of translating one's breath, will, and movement into living elemental force.