Jonathan's new home, as far as he could tell through blurry baby vision and scattered fragments of thought, was an ordinary British house near London. Nothing magical about it. Not unless you considered floral wallpaper, carpeted stairs, and a terrifyingly loud vacuum cleaner to be enchanted artifacts.
His crib sat near a window with lace curtains and the constant scent of tea and laundry detergent drifting in. The voices around him had accents now. British ones. Soft, clear, and musical compared to the laid-back American drawl he once had.
'So I've been isekai'd across the Atlantic. Great. I died American and respawned with tea privileges.'
His parents were loving, no doubt about that. His mother doted on him constantly—hugs, kisses, lullabies, and an endless stream of cooing. His father was more awkward but earnest, the kind of guy who tried too hard and somehow made it charming.
Jonathan spent most of his time playing with what he now mentally called IE—internal energy. He'd worked with it long enough to develop decent control inside himself. He could swirl it around, compress it into pulses, and spread it through his tiny limbs like warm syrup. He was convinced it was strengthening him. Not in a bench press way, but in a foundational, future-sorcery-unlocking way.
Naturally, the next step was external projection.
He picked a quiet moment, lying in his crib while soft sunlight filtered through the curtains.
'Alright, let's see if I can launch a ki blast. Or at least float a sock.'
He gathered the IE inside him, compressed it, and visualized it flowing out of his hand like a controlled burst.
Nothing.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
The third attempt left him with a pulsing headache and the sudden need for a nap.
'Okay. So shooting energy beams is apparently not on the newborn skill tree yet. Cool. I'll just go back to pooping myself and contemplating metaphysics.'
Speaking of which...
---
The Diaper Incident
"Alright, little man," his dad said in a mock-heroic tone, lifting Jonathan onto the changing table. "Let's see what kind of nuclear event we're dealing with today."
Jonathan stared up at him, mildly offended.
'I'll have you know I was mid-experiment. My bodily functions are a casualty of progress.'
His dad unfastened the diaper and immediately recoiled.
"Oh good lord—that's unholy. Did you eat curry in there?"
Jonathan tried to focus, compressing some of his IE to ignore the indignity. Then, just for the hell of it, he imagined lifting the soiled diaper with energy and flinging it away like a battlefield casualty.
To his shock—it moved.
The corner of the diaper lifted ever so slightly… then launched upward with a sudden flick, hitting the ceiling fan.
His dad screamed. "BLOODY—!"
The fan spun.
The diaper spun.
A perfect arc.
It landed with a thwump on the nearby bookshelf.
There was a moment of stunned silence. Jonathan stared at his father.
His father stared at him.
Then came a muttered, "I am not telling your mother about this," as he fetched gloves and disinfectant.
'Achievement unlocked: Telekinetic Diaper Catastrophe.'
He couldn't stop the satisfied baby snort that came out. His dad paused and looked down.
"…Did you just laugh?"
'Buddy, you don't even know how hard I'm holding it together right now.'
---
That night, lying in his crib again, Jonathan felt exhausted but oddly accomplished. He hadn't launched a sock or bent a spoon, but he had flung an object. Maybe his projection wasn't entirely broken—just unrefined.
He still didn't know where he was. Still didn't know the rules of this new world.
But there was energy in his body.
And chaos in his heart.
And that was a start.