MC POV
I made a vow to myself, to bring back my mother to life. When I first reincarnated in this world, I disliked it, rejected it with all my heart, but now I have come to accept it.
It was a slow, subtle shift, not a single moment of grand revelation, but a gradual accumulation of small, quiet interactions over the last two years.
The gentle warmth of a Lady Katsuyu, the genuine concern of the summoned beasts, the innocent joy of their children playing with me—these little things, so easy to overlook in the grand scheme of things, began to chip away at my initial animosity.
And though I am still not quite fond of this world's overall situation, this slow acceptance brought with it a singular, driving purpose: to bring my mother back to life.
I know it is possible, but how remains the question because of my faulty memory. It feels like my mind is a library with all the books, but half of them are blank and the other half are in an unknown language.
I know about the characters and the major plot beats, but my memory is a chaotic mess. It's like I read the subtitles without the visuals and then watched the show without sound or subtitles, and now I'm left to piece together what actually happened from these fragmented sensory inputs.
The memories flash through my mind like a broken projector. I remember the final shirtless villain, a figure of immense power and cold arrogance, coming back to life using what felt like eyes that held the very essence of creation and destruction.
I recall a multitude of scenes filled with gore and betrayal, of people plucking eyeballs from their sockets and replacing them like they were mere accessories to be swapped on a whim.
The cold, mechanical brutality of it all is a stark contrast to the easy, almost casual way I remember the scenes unfolding in my past life's memory.
I remember the two male leads being the last of the Uchiha and Uzumaki clans, the blonde lady being the last of the Senju, and all the weight that came with those titles.
I know the main protagonist wears orange and is the child of prophecy, but if you ask me to tell the whole story, it's a frustratingly fuzzy, disconnected narrative. I even remember another lady villain who came out of the male villain, a figure of immense, world-ending power, but my memory of her defeat is nonexistent.
I know she'll lose because that's just how the story goes, a fundamental principle of the genre. But now that this is my reality, that comforting sense of plot armor has vanished, and I don't truly know if any of it is true or if the story will end the way I remember.
Despite this memory being a chaotic mess, a good thing was that I had a lot of time to ponder it all, both while I was unconscious and now that I am conscious.
Every day, I work my mind like a muscle, gradually gaining more familiarity with the plot. I started to remember more and more scenes associated with the characters I recall, slowly putting together the pieces of the story, filling in the gaps of my broken memory.
While I may not be an unparalleled strategic genius, I was anything but dumb. I've been forced to work with what I have, to make logical deductions and connections where my memory fails.
Because all I know is that it's not just my mother's life at stake; the fate of this world might very well depend on me putting all the pieces back together. And so, the two years passed as I began to get used to my new life, driven by a desperate hope and a terrifying sense of responsibility.