Now, before I begin to tell you my story, I have a question. Why do people, when they get reincarnated or transmigrated into another world with knowledge about fictional stories like manga, novels, games or movies, try to recreate it? I mean, if the point is just becoming rich, there are several other ways to become one, the dumbest being buying shares or bitcoin. BUT now that I have this perfect memory and absurd talent implanted into my body? Mind? Whatever. I understand the appeal now. The feeling of being a genius, the feeling of being appreciated and adored and looked upon like I am some human miracle, and the feeling of tormenting people with those said works as I enjoy their reactions. The reactions of people experiencing peak fiction for the first time, knowing they'll hate me for killing their favourite character but couldn't bring themselves to actually kill me. I understood it all now, at this moment, at this instant, when my mind finished absorbing everything it had been fed.
Who am I, you ask? Well, I am Spider-Man.... Yeah, just kidding. I am Yoru Yamamoto, currently a 14 year old who got forced by his mother to join an Art class since he had no hobbies. Sigh. Parents are so controlling. I understand it, my new mother wants me to make friends who will drag me outside to touch grass rather than letting me rot at home being lazy. Yoru has friends from what I gathered from his memories, so he, or I, am not a shut-in. It's simple really: you talk to me, I talk to you. The conversation just needs to go both ways rather than me doing all the yapping or me doing all the listening. If you have nothing to add, then let's drop it already.
Now, before I get too sidetracked, to those who are too dumb to understand certain things, I am not Yoru. Simple as that. I am not him in the truest sense. The lil bro died. Yeah, he died last night due to heart failure, that's all I know. Before I could process it, my soul entered his body, started healing it, made it better in several ways and left me with all his memories plus my past life and a random dump of fiction knowledge. Yeah, that's it. How I died? I don't know. Even if I did, I wouldn't tell you. Just consider it plot convenience since the sad backstory is missing.
*Smack.*
"Why are you staring at your homework? Don't you want to complete it?"
The hell. I feel like my mind smacked against my skull three times. Who hits a kid that hard.
"Yeah, sorry. I'll complete it now."
What's with this scary old woman hitting me every few hours. Oh, I'm not uncomfortable with the fact that she was a stranger to me last night. Guess the memory integration went well. Still, this should be considered harassment. No wait, child abuse, since I am a kid now.
30 minutes later.
"Oh! Done already?"
"Yeah."
"Are you feeling okay, Yoru?"
"Umm, yes? Why do you ask?"
"Nothing, just surprised to see you do something. And do it correctly without wasting three hours on it."
Well of course I did, it's kids' stuff.
"What, you think I'm dumb?"
"Of course I don't think that. I know you are."
"Hey, that's-"
"What, offensive?"
"Nevermind. I finished the homework so I don't see a point in you scolding me."
"Yeah yeah, now get ready. Your art class is in 30 minutes."
*Sigh.* "Fine."
Being a reincarnator has one problem I find genuinely difficult to handle, at least until my genius image is fully established: knowing when to act like a kid and when to act like an adult. It's a harder balance than it sounds.
20 minutes later.
Art class, art class, art class. Hmm. It's a 10 minute bicycle ride from my house to a one story building with a small convenience store on the ground floor and the art class on the first floor. Our "Sensei" is a 40 to 50 year old man named M. Hidetaka, or Hidetaka Miyamoto. Yeah, I also thought I was about to be taught by Miyazaki but nope, just some random half bald guy with a beard and really good painting skills. Not gonna lie, 10/10.
"Good evening, Sensei."
"Good evening, Yoru-kun. Take a seat, let's wait for the others."
"Hai."
Hai is a word I feel like I am using too much. Hai, hmm, ohh, sooo. Bro, what are these expressions. I swear you could start and end an entire conversation with just these words alone.
After an hour of class covering perspectives, anatomy, imagination and creativity, I had fully adapted. Yeah, my Eight Handled Wheel of Mahoraga had turned, and turned me from a level 1 newbie to a level 100 king. As Hidetaka Sensei taught the class of 12 to 15 children, I adapted to his technique and made it my own, going from copying the perspectives he drew on the board to moving in sync with his hands.
So this was it, the talent that came with reincarnation. Damn, I could really get used to this. Hahahaha. HAHAHAHA. Sorry.
Here he comes, yes closer, come closer Sensei, look in my book. Look. Into. It.
"Impressive work, Yoru-kun. I didn't know you could draw like that, your mother said you were a total novice."
"Uh, yeah. I just copied how you drew, Sensei."
*Silence.*
Yes, stare at me mortals. Stare at the being who has surpassed you and stands above you in every sense, you filthy.... Dammit, these fictional works are messing with my head too much. I sound like a narcissist.
"You copied as I drew?"
"Hai, Sensei. Is that a problem? Was I not supposed to do that?"
Yes, I just need to play the dumb innocent kid act and make myself the hidden genius. Officially.
"..."
Hidetaka Sensei stepped away and pulled out his phone.
"Hello? Yes, Mrs. Yamamoto?"
"Yeah, it's me, Yoru-kun's art teacher."
"No no, nothing troubling. I have something I would like to discuss with you, can you come here?"
"Yeah, thank you for understanding."