I don't know how long it's been since I witnessed that strange object in the sky that looked like a fighter jet.
Since then, time felt blurry when my only calendar was the hunger in my stomach and sudden drowsiness. Maybe it had been a few weeks. Maybe months. Definitely not a year yet.
Day after day passed with the same rhythm: nursing, sleeping, crying, repeat.
A boring life for an adult mind trapped in a baby's body.
But today... Something felt different.
There was something in the air, a kind of tension that even a baby like me could feel. The room felt busier than usual. Not just my mother and father; I could hear other footsteps, strange whispers, and the sound of things moving around the house.
Like preparations for some important event.
And when I heard their conversation, my heart started pounding hard.
"Today we're going to give my child a name!" my father's voice rang out loud enough to make my heart immediately sink to the bottom.
A name?
Oh God.
I hadn't even thought about that yet.
All this time I'd been busy struggling with the fact that I was no longer a man, but a baby girl. I hadn't even had time to decide whether I truly accepted this reality or was just living in some prolonged weird dream.
But now, reality slapped me hard again.
I was going to be given a new name.
And somehow, that felt like a funeral ceremony for what remained of my old identity.
Before I could ponder longer, my body was lifted from the baby bed. I reflexively turned, trying to figure out who was carrying me.
I was being held by my mother... a woman with light blue hair and blue eyes the same as mine, with pale skin that made her look like a living porcelain doll.
Her body was warm, and I could feel her heartbeat as my cheek pressed against her chest. The faint aroma of jasmine mixed with that distinctive baby milk smell filled my senses, creating a sense of safety that conflicted with my anxiety.
Meanwhile, my father stood upright on the other side with several of his colleagues.
A man with neat black hair and deep brown eyes. His jaw was firm, his gaze full of determination, and his voice heavy with unusual authority. He wore clothes that were too neat for just a house event... a clean white shirt and black pants that looked formal.
Around them were several other people I didn't know yet. From the way they bowed their heads respectfully every time Dad spoke, I could guess they were work colleagues or maybe close family friends.
Around my father stood several pairs of legs wrapped in stiff black fabric pants.
I had to crane my neck until it hurt to see their giant faces. Their expressions were serious and unfamiliar, like surveillance towers watching me.
And in the middle of all that pressure, my gaze returned to my mother. That's when I first noticed something.
Her bright blue hair, the same color as my thin hair, looked so contrasting with the normal hair colors—black and brown of my father and his colleagues.
Were we... different?
Seemed special... Since my father and his colleagues had normal hair colors.
I tried to listen in on my father's colleagues' conversation. Even though this language was still foreign to my ears, my sponge-like baby brain kept absorbing every syllable I heard.
What was clear was that the word "name" kept repeating in their conversation, spoken with an almost sacred tone.
"I've decided," Dad said with a voice that filled the room.
"We'll name her Seraphina."
I immediately froze in my mother's embrace.
Seraphina? SERAPHINA?
What kind of name was that? It sounded like a fairy princess name from children's tales, or worse, like the main character from an over-the-top romance novel.
I screamed inside with my whole heart and soul.
I REFUSE!
However, this traitor body could only let out a small mumble.
"Uuuh... aah..."
Damn, that didn't sound like a protest. It actually sounded like innocent agreement from a happy baby.
My mother, whose face was usually gentle and accepting, suddenly frowned. Her expression changed to a mixture of clear confusion and reluctance.
"Seraphina?" she repeated softly.
"Isn't that too... heavy for such a small baby? She's still so fragile and tiny. And that name..." she paused for a moment, "...sounds like an angel name from novels popular with teenage girls."
Her tone was full of doubt, and I could feel her body tense up a little.
Finally someone was thinking clearly in this room!
Dad immediately looked at my mother with a stubborn gaze that refused to compromise. "This name will protect her. A strong name, a name that will give her an honorable place in this world." His voice rose slightly, with shocking conviction.
"Moreover, doesn't that name suit her perfectly? Our little princess will surely grow up to be a gentle and graceful woman. That name is perfect for her."
I could feel the tension starting to thicken between them. The air in the room seemed to turn electric, and the guests started exchanging uncomfortable glances.
"I prefer a simpler name," my mother said in a softer voice, almost like a plea.
"How about Aria? Or maybe Lina? A gentle, sweet name... matching her innocent face."
I wanted to applaud in support if only my hands weren't the size of peas.
YES! Listen to my mother, Dad! Aria or Lina were clearly a thousand times better than Seraphina, which sounded like a character from an over-the-top fantasy novel full of fairy sparkles and cliché romance!
At least I wouldn't feel like I was wearing a fairy costume every time my name was called.
But Dad shook his head hard with an increasingly stubborn expression.
"No. 'Aria' is too common. You know, in this world a common name is the same as an invitation to be ignored. If her name is simple, everyone will think she's weak... And the world out there won't hesitate to forget her."
I stared at my father's face in wonder. What kind of weird logic was that?
I wanted to curse in multiple languages.
Since when could a name determine someone's fate so extremely? As long as the name wasn't weird or embarrassing, it shouldn't matter, right?
Looking at my father who was still insisting on arguments that I thought made no sense, I began to suspect whether my father was a fanatical reader of fantasy novels or maybe had some weird obsession with names that sounded grand.
The conversation continued while I could only listen while trapped between them—literally and metaphorically.
I felt like a ball being fought over by two teams in a game I never wanted to play.
On one side, my mother wanted to protect me with gentleness, wanted me to have a simple and happy name that wouldn't burden me with excessive expectations. I could feel the warmth of her pure love.
On the other side, my father seemed to be demanding I carry a burden from birth.
The name "Seraphina" wasn't just a name, but a symbol of great hopes, maybe even demands that would follow me for life.
And in the middle of all that adult debate, I only wanted one thing: to be called by my old name again. I wanted to be myself again, not a living doll with a name that sounded like it came from a fairy tale book.
But that was impossible now, wasn't it?
A few minutes of debate passed with increasing intensity.
The guests began to look uncomfortable, whispering softly while throwing worried glances. The atmosphere that should have been cheerful turned tense and awkward.
Finally, the decision fell with my father's firm voice that cut through all discussion.
"The decision is final. Starting today, she is Seraphina. Seraphina Elveira."
Elveira?
So that was their family name?
The family name that would become my family name too now?
That full name combination sounded even more dramatic and over-the-top. Seraphina Elveira. Like the name of an opera protagonist or classic novel full of tragedy and over-the-top romance.
I didn't want this!
I immediately wanted to cry and this time I really did cry.
"Waaa! Waaaahh!"
My crying echoed in the room, making everyone turn with small smiles.
They thought it was just ordinary cute baby crying, maybe from hunger or sleepiness.
When actually, I was crying because I had just lost myself for the second time.
My old name, my past life, my identity as an adult man. everything was buried even deeper beneath this new name that felt foreign and excessive. If my first death was when I got hit by the truck, then this was my second death.
The death of identity.
I felt my identity buried. But I didn't know that the days after would bring other surprises...
Just like that, I officially became Seraphina Elveira, and somehow it was celebrated like a small victory.
When I cried, my father just smiled widely, then raised his glass; small laughter and back-patting filled the room as his colleagues toasted. They looked so happy—as if there was pride sparkling from that decision while I, with caught breath, felt every cheer like needles piercing me.
...
Just like that... The days after that naming felt different in a way I couldn't explain.
There were subtle changes in family dynamics that even as a baby, I could feel.
I heard my mother call me "my little Aria" or "my dear" secretly when it was just the two of us, as if rejecting the totality of Dad's decision and still holding onto her own name preference.
There was a small rebellion in the way she called my pet name, and that gave me some relief.
Conversely, every time Dad looked at me he would always say with almost excessive pride, "Seraphina. My strong little princess."
His tone was full of conviction that he had made the right decision, even when my mother clearly disagreed.
I could feel that small tension was still there between them.
Not to the point of open fighting, but there was some kind of difference of opinion hanging in the air like storm clouds ready to rain.
Week after week passed, and I began to get used to hearing people call me Seraphina.
That name stuck to me like a second skin that couldn't be removed.
I hated it at first... every time I heard it, part of me rebelled.
But gradually, my developing and easily adaptable brain began to accept without resistance.
Though in my heart, I still mumbled softly like a mantra, "I'm not Seraphina. I'm still me. I'm still an adult man... This is just a name, not my true identity."
But even that protesting voice in my heart grew dimmer over time, like whispers slowly buried under piles of new days.
And that was the most frightening thing.
My days were filled with this new identity crisis. While my nights were filled with a different mystery.
...
That night, as usual, I heard strange sounds from my parents' room. moaning and the sound of a creaking bed that made the thin walls vibrate softly.
At first I was confused by those sounds, but quickly my adult mind logically concluded: they must be wrestling or maybe playing smackdown like I used to watch on TV.
Yeah, that was the only sensible explanation for those weird sounds.
But tonight, after those sounds stopped, I heard something that caught my attention more.
I was pretending to sleep, a technique I'd perfected for listening to secret conversations... when Mom and Dad started talking in the next room. Their voices were soft and careful, but clear enough for my ears which turned out to be sharper than I thought.
"Are you sure that name is enough to hide it?" Mom asked, her voice full of unusual anxiety. There was a fearful tone I rarely heard from her.
"I'm sure," Dad answered with conviction that sounded forced. "As long as we take good care of her, others won't realize. But sooner or later, her 'Talent' might start showing."
I froze completely in my baby bed.
'Talent'? What did they mean? And why did they sound like they were discussing something dangerous?
"I just want her to live normally," Mom's voice trembled with held emotion.
"I don't care about the outside world or anyone's expectations. I just want her to be happy and safe, like other children in general."
"I want the same thing for our daughter..." Dad said, but his tone sounded tired and burdened.
"But you have to be realistic. You don't need to worry excessively, she might not necessarily inherit abilities like mine. I hope not." There was a long pause before he continued, "But... you know how dangerous it would be if those 'Symptoms' really appeared in her."
A long, suffocating silence filled the room.
I could hear my own heartbeat racing. Even my small breathing felt too loud in the middle of that silence.
Symptoms?
Talent?
Dangerous?
What was really happening in this world?
And more importantly, what was really happening with my father?
I squeezed my eyes shut, pretending to sleep, but my mind was spinning wildly.
Seraphina.
I used to hate that name. But now, that name was no longer important.
Far more terrifying questions now echoed in my head.
What "Talent" were they talking about?
And what would happen to me if those "Symptoms" appeared?
It seemed in the future I would have to learn more about the talent my parents were discussing.