The rooster was punctual.
I wasn't sure whether to admire or sue it for harassment.
Its call cracked through the predawn stillness like a bugle announcing battle. My eyes snapped open, instinct already dragging me out of bed. The air was still cool, mist curling against the windows. For a moment, I considered pretending to be asleep again — but no, that never worked. Once I was awake, the old reflexes of my previous life took over. Early to rise, train, think, repeat.
Besides, today wasn't just another morning.
It was February 1st — my first day of school.
And before school, there was always training.
I rolled out of bed with the grace of a falling sack of rice and landed squarely on the mat I'd laid out for exactly that purpose. My muscles ached pleasantly — the kind of ache that meant I'd been working them well. After a week of daily practice, my body was starting to feel… alive. Responsive. The stiffness that had haunted my first few sessions was gone, replaced by a fluidity I could sense even when I moved to tie my shoelaces.
Shukra Sir called it "body memory."
I called it "proof I didn't die last week."
By the time I finished brushing and washing up, the eastern horizon was bleeding gold. Father's voice floated from outside.
"Abhay, ready?"
"Yes, Papa!"
The scooter ride was brisk, wind biting at my cheeks. I clung to him tightly as the trees and small houses of the village blurred by. Everything was still waking up — vendors setting up stalls, women sweeping porches, the faint hiss of boiling tea on stoves.
It was the kind of morning that felt alive.
When we reached Shukra Sir's compound, the retired commando was already there — stretching shirtless in the yard, because apparently, the man didn't know what winter was.
"Morning, Sir," I greeted, hopping off.
He gave me a curt nod. "Morning. You look less like a noodle today. Good."
"I aspire to be a spaghetti of strength," I said solemnly.
He blinked once, then snorted. "You talk strange, abhay"
Father chuckled. "He reads too much."
"Better than not reading at all," Shukra muttered, picking up a bamboo staff. "Come. Let's see if your bones still remember what I taught you."
The morning passed in rhythm — steps, pivots, breaths.
Each movement felt sharper, smoother. The forms I'd struggled with a week ago now flowed like water.
Every punch followed through perfectly, every stance grounded with weight and grace. I could feel my heartbeat syncing with the rhythm of motion.
"Good," Shukra barked, circling me like a hawk. "No wasted motion. Your center is stable now."
I grinned. "I've been practicing at home."
"Don't get proud. Pride makes the body rigid."
"Yes, Sir. Humble noodle mode engaged."
He paused, fighting a smile. "Less talking, more training."
I obeyed, cycling through drills until my breath came in steady bursts. The world narrowed to the scent of dust, the sound of my footfalls, and the pulse of effort in my limbs.
There it was again — that flow state, that merging of thought and action.
And within it, I felt something else too: that faint, invisible hum under my skin.
The System wasn't visible, but I could sense it — like static in the air. The gentle pulse that came when experience built up, slow and steady.
This past week had been full of such moments. My martial art had refined itself; my reading had improved from constant practice; my writing had matured through late-night sessions. And somewhere between the equations I breezed through and the stories I rewrote, I had begun to understand the pattern.
When I learned something new, my intelligence ticked up — barely. But when a skill matured, it wasn't just knowledge; it was mastery. That's when the real growth came.
> New skill → +0.1 INT
Skill Level Up → +0.5 INT(from1→2)+1INT(from level2→3) and likewise
New physical skill → +1 STR, END, AGL
Physical skill Level Up → +2 STR, END, AGL(from 1→2),+3 STG,END,AGL(from2→3) and likewise
It was simple. Logical. Consistent.
Like the hidden physics of my second life.
The knowledge rush each time a level rose — that sudden download of understanding — was addictive. When Martial Arts hit Level 2, I had gained a tapestry of movements, from Gorkha close-combat holds to ancient Indian kalaripayattu grace. When Reading advanced, the jumble of letters became music. When Writing leveled, I suddenly saw rhythm in sentences the way musicians see beats.
It wasn't overwhelming anymore. It was symphonic.
"Stop spacing out!"
Shukra's sharp tone snapped me back as a bamboo staff swung toward my midsection. I barely blocked in time, the clash vibrating up my arm.
"Better," he said, eyes narrowing. "You learn quick, but mind and body must move together. Focus."
"Yes, Sir."
We sparred longer. Each correction he gave, my mind filed away — patterns, posture, torque, control. Every few minutes, a new micro-adjustment clicked, and my body followed smoother.
When we ended, sweat plastered my hair to my forehead, and my breaths came out in gasps.
Shukra handed me a bottle of water. "You're progressing faster than most grown men I've trained."
I smiled weakly. "That's because most grown men don't have reincarnation perks."
He frowned. "What?"
"Uh — protein perks. I meant protein perks."
He stared a second too long, then laughed, shaking his head. "You're an odd one, Abhay. But I like that."
Father arrived soon after. Shukra briefed him on my progress, while I half-listened, pretending my soul hadn't just escaped my body.
As we left, Father looked proud but playful.
"So, future warrior, ready for school?"
I groaned. "Does school have physical training?"
"No."
"Then it's harder."
He laughed. "It'll be easy for you. You'll charm everyone."
"I don't want to charm them. I want to survive snack time."
---
At home, breakfast smelled like heaven — parathas, ghee, and the faint sweetness of jaggery. Mother was already fluttering about, iron in one hand, uniform laid out on the bed.
"Abhay! Eat quickly! We still have to fix your tie."
"Yes, Ma." I sat, devouring parathas like a starving monk. Uncle Rajiv lounged nearby, sipping tea with exaggerated calm.
"First day, huh?" he teased. "Try not to start a revolution before recess."
I chewed thoughtfully. "No promises."
He blinked. "Eh?"
"Depends how the snacks are."
Mother smacked my head lightly. "Eat properly, not philosophically."
Father entered, adjusting his watch. "sunita , where's my wallet?"
Mother groaned. "Check under your blueprints."
"Which pile of blueprints?"
"The chaotic one."
They bickered with the rhythm of a well-rehearsed play. I smiled quietly, feeling warmth spread in my chest. This — this normal, noisy love — was worth every hardship of my previous life.
After breakfast, I stood before the mirror in full uniform. The crisp white shirt, navy shorts, neatly combed hair — I almost looked like a normal child. Almost.
Inside, though, I was a storm of memories.
This was the same school where I'd once laughed, played, studied — and later, grown into someone who lost touch with joy. The same corridors where Amrita Kashyap's laughter had echoed, soft and bright.
I swallowed hard.
A new life, same paths.
This time, maybe I'd walk them better.
---
As I waited for Mother to finish packing my water bottle, my mind drifted to the week that had passed.
Two more trips to the library — both adventures in themselves.
The first time, I'd discovered a set of science experiment guides and a children's encyclopedia. Reading them filled my head with the kind of wonder I'd long forgotten — electricity, gravity, plants, stars. I could almost see the way knowledge stitched the universe together.
> [Science Lv.2 → Knowledge Base Expanded]
[INT +0.5]
The rush had come quietly, a gentle spreading warmth in my skull. Like puzzle pieces falling into place.
The second trip had been for languages. Grammar, sentence flow, stories. I'd picked up a thick English reader and a thin book of poems. By the end of the week, even my accent had softened, words flowing smoother.
> [English Lv.2 → Knowledge Base Expanded]
[INT +0.5]
Each skill built upon the last. I could now feel connections — science shaping logic, writing feeding expression, reading nurturing empathy. It wasn't just learning anymore; it was integration.
And with every session, I saw clearer — not only the world but the why of it.
---
"Ready?" Mother called, adjusting her dupatta.
I nodded, slinging my small bag over my shoulder. "Mentally, yes. Physically, no. Spiritually… debatable."
Father laughed. "You'll be fine. Just don't debate your teachers."
"No promises."
The scooter hummed to life, carrying me toward the start of something both familiar and new. The roads shimmered in the mild morning heat, children in uniforms walking with parents, school gates decorated with marigold garlands for the new session.
The sign above the main gate read:
St. Xavier's Convent School – Knowledge is Light.
I smiled faintly. "Then let there be light."
Mother parked near the gate, kneeling slightly to fix my collar. Her touch was gentle, eyes a mix of pride and worry.
"You'll do great, Abhay. Just be yourself."
That made me pause. Which self? The five-year-old or the thirty-year-old trapped inside him?
I nodded anyway. "I'll try, Ma."
She kissed my forehead. "Go on, my brave boy."
I stepped through the gate, into the chaos of first-day excitement — laughter, shouting, and the faint smell of chalk dust and new beginnings.
---
The classroom was bright, colorful, alive with chatter. Small tables arranged in groups of four, windows open to a sunny courtyard.
Kids ran around, some crying, some comparing tiffin boxes like miniature diplomats.
I found my assigned seat — second row by the window — and looked around.
That's when I saw him.
A mop of messy hair, big grin, and the same spark of mischief I remembered from long ago. Rohan Mehta. My best friend — from the other life.
He plopped into the chair beside me. "Hi! I'm Rohan. You new?"
I smiled, déjà vu tugging at my chest. "Sort of. Maybe old-new."
He blinked. "Huh?"
"Never mind. I'm Abhay."
"Cool! My dad says school is boring, but Ma says it's important. Who do you think is right?"
"Your mom. Always trust the one who makes food."
He nodded solemnly. "Good idea."
We both laughed, the sound strangely nostalgic — two children meeting for the first time again, unaware that they'd once been lifelong friends.
Then I heard a voice. Soft. Measured. Familiar.
"Excuse me, is this seat taken?"
I turned.
And there she was.
Amrita Kashyap.
---
Amrita took the seat in front of me — neat ponytail, bright ribbons, eyes sharp and curious.
In my previous life, she'd been the calm center of chaos, the friend who balanced my impulsiveness. Seeing her again felt like rediscovering an old song I used to love.
"Hi," she said softly. "I'm Amrita. You're new?"
"Yes," I replied, smiling. "Transferred from… home."
Her brows furrowed. "Home?"
"Long story," I said quickly, because "previous life" wasn't on the school curriculum.
She giggled. "You talk funny."
"I've been told I'm ahead of my time."
She blinked. "What's that mean?"
"That I should slow down."
Her laughter was light, easy. The kind that made other kids turn and smile too. I felt something inside me loosen — a warmth that had nothing to do with nostalgia and everything to do with living again.
---
The bell rang, shrill and commanding.
Our teacher entered — a tall woman with round glasses and an air of calm authority. Her nameplate read Mrs. Fernandez.
"Good morning, children!"
"Good morning, ma'am!" the class chorused, half the voices stumbling over the words.
She smiled. "Welcome to your first day of school. I'm very happy to see so many bright faces!"
"Some sleepy ones too," Rohan muttered beside me.
I snorted. She heard. "Would you like to share your joke, young man?"
"No, ma'am. It escaped already."
Giggles rippled across the class.
Mrs. Fernandez tried to look stern but failed. "All right. Let's start with introductions."
As one by one, tiny voices declared their names and favorite colors, I watched and listened — observing body language, tone, patterns. Old habits from a life of meetings and negotiations slipped unconsciously into my childlike demeanor.
When it was my turn, I stood. "Good morning, ma'am. My name is Abhay Bharadwaj. I like books, drawing, and early mornings."
A few kids groaned dramatically.
Mrs. Fernandez raised an eyebrow. "Early mornings?"
"Yes, ma'am. Productivity is highest before breakfast."
A beat of silence.
Then laughter.
"Very… mature answer," she said, amused. "You sound like a grown man."
Rohan whispered, "You sure you're five?"
I leaned closer. "In spirit, maybe fifty."
He looked confused. "What's a spirit?"
"A thing you shouldn't talk to if it answers back."
That earned a full laugh from him, bright and loud. For a moment, I wasn't the reincarnated soul of an overworked adult — I was just me, sharing a joke with a friend who didn't yet know what we'd once been.
---
English Class
After assembly and a brief recess filled with tiffin-trading diplomacy, English class began.
Mrs. Fernandez passed out colorful alphabet cards. "Today we'll start with vowels and consonants. Can anyone tell me what vowels are?"
A few hesitant hands rose. I didn't raise mine immediately.
Don't show off too fast, I reminded myself. Blend in.
She called on a shy boy named Kunal, who managed, "A, E, I, O, U!"
"Very good!" she said.
Then, noticing I hadn't moved, she smiled. "Abhay, would you like to add something?"
I hesitated just enough to look human. "They're the letters that help the other letters make sound, ma'am."
Her brows lifted slightly — surprised, impressed, but not alarmed. "Exactly right."
I nodded politely.
Inside, though, I felt that faint hum again — quiet, invisible, like the flicker of a heartbeat beneath the skin.
> [English – Experience Gained]
The letters on the page felt alive as I traced them, listening to the rhythm of words forming. Each exercise, each repetition carried subtle improvement.
By mid-morning, as we read simple sentences aloud, I noticed the words connecting smoother in my mind, pronunciation sharpening unconsciously.
> [English Lv.2 → Progress Increased]
The System wasn't loud; it was a whisper that accompanied learning, like an approving teacher you couldn't see.
---
"Hey, Abhay!" Rohan said as soon as the recess bell rang. "You brought parathas or sandwiches?"
"Parathas."
"Trade you one for my aloo chips."
"Deal," I said instantly. Childhood economics — simple and beautiful.
We sat under the banyan tree in the school courtyard, eating and talking. The conversation bounced from cartoons to cows to why grown-ups liked news so much.
"I think they just like shouting," Rohan declared.
"That's not news, that's debate," I corrected.
He blinked. "What's the difference?"
"One's louder."
Amrita joined us, her tiffin full of idlis. "Want some?"
"Yes, please," I said. "Equal exchange policy."
She giggled again. "You talk so formal. Like a news uncle."
"I've been watching too many debates," I admitted, deadpan.
They laughed harder. It was light, honest laughter — the kind that didn't judge.
For a while, I forgot about systems, stats, or second lives. I was just a boy eating parathas with his friends under a tree, sunlight warm on our faces.
---
Mathematics: Patterns and Patience
Math class followed — taught by a cheerful man named Mr. Mehra, whose chalk flew like a magician's wand.
"Two plus two equals?"
"Four!" the class shouted.
"Very good! Now, what's three plus five?"
Hands shot up. I didn't raise mine — until he asked a trick one.
"Five plus zero?"
Silence.
I waited, counted the seconds, then raised my hand. "Five, sir."
He beamed. "Correct! Most forget that zero doesn't add anything."
"Because it's shy," Rohan whispered.
"Because it's neutral," I corrected. "Like Switzerland."
"What's Switzerland?"
"A place with chocolate and peace."
He nodded sagely. "I like both."
> [Mathematics – Experience Gained]
The equations on the board were simple, but the way numbers danced together fascinated me anew. In my old life, math had been a tool. Now it was… elegant. Like music written in logic.
By the end of the class, the soft hum in my head returned.
> [Mathematics Lv.2 → Progress Increased]
---
Post-lunch classes were the hardest. The combination of full stomachs and warm air made everyone sleepy.
Art period arrived as a blessing. Crayons rolled across desks, papers fluttered like flags of imagination.
Mrs. Fernandez announced, "Draw something you love."
I hesitated. My fingers hovered over the blank page.
In the end, I drew the one image that had stayed with me since waking in this new life — a small family sitting under a mango tree, the sun filtering through leaves, laughter in the air.
When she came around checking drawings, she paused at mine.
"That's beautiful, Abhay. Who are they?"
"My family," I said softly.
Her expression warmed. "You have a good talent for art ,abhay"
"Thank you, ma'am. Observation is half of art."
She chuckled. "You sound like a little philosopher."
I shrugged modestly, though inside, the faint hum flickered again.
>[Drawing – New Skill Acquired]
[INT +0.1]
-
By dismissal time, the classroom was a chorus of chatter. Bags zipped, papers crinkled, goodbyes rang. I moved slower, absorbing everything — the smell of chalk, the warmth of wood benches, the way sunlight painted the floor.
It wasn't nostalgia anymore. It was gratitude.
Mother was waiting at the gate. "How was your first day?"
"Good," I said honestly. "Everyone's nice. Rohan's funny. Amrita's smart. Teachers are kind."
She smiled. "Made friends already?"
"I think so."
"That's my boy."
On the ride home, I watched the trees blur by, the golden sky deepening with afternoon warmth. The world felt wider somehow — every turn, every sound layered with possibility.
---
Evening Reflections
At home, I changed, washed up, and sat with my notebook. Not the childish one for scribbles — the one I kept hidden under my mattress.
A personal log.
Not for the world, but for me.
> February 1st – First day of school.
Martial Arts steady. English improving. Math almost effortless.
People kind.
Still feels strange being small again.
But maybe that's the gift — to start with love instead of loneliness.
But the diary has to be written carefully with no indication to the past only as a planner or recoder for my new life
I paused, smiling at my own words.
> [Writing – Experience Gained]
The system shimmered faintly, almost approvingly.
> [Writing Lv.2 → Progress Increased]
Outside, I heard laughter — Uncle Rajiv joking with Grandmother, Father calling from the veranda. Mother humming while she cooked.
Home.
The one thing I'd forgotten how to cherish before.
---
Later that evening, as I helped Father organize his tool shed, he handed me a measuring tape. "Can you hold that end, champ?"
I did. "Papa, if you cut this wood at a slight diagonal, it'll fit tighter when joined."
He blinked. "Where'd you learn that?"
"From you," I said instantly.
He smiled, eyes soft. "Clever boy."
> [Craftsmanship – New Skill Acquired]
[stg,end,agl+1]
Another faint hum. Another small truth added to the growing web.
---
Dinner was warm and loud, filled with teasing and stories. At one point, Father asked, "So, Abhay, what did you learn today?"
I chewed thoughtfully. "That letters talk, numbers dance, and friends share food."
Mother laughed. "That's poetic."
"It's also accurate," I said, dead serious.
Uncle Rajiv snorted into his curry. "The philosopher returns."
Grandmother smiled knowingly. "He's old at heart, this one."
I hid a grin. If only she knew how old.
---
After dinner, I sat by the window, watching the stars blink awake. The world outside hummed softly — crickets, distant laughter, the gentle creak of the old mango tree in the yard.
I thought about the day.
How ordinary it had been.
And yet, how extraordinary.
In my first life, I'd chased greatness and forgotten simplicity.
Now, I was learning again — how to find meaning in small things, how to laugh without agenda, how to love without fear.
And in that moment, as the night deepened, I made myself a quiet promise.
Not to rush this life.
Not to waste it trying to fix the past.
But to build something better — piece by piece, breath by breath.
A new beginning didn't need to be loud.
Sometimes, it was just a five-year-old under starlight, whispering to himself —
> "This time, I'll get it right."
The faintest glow pulsed in my vision, like a heartbeat echoing in the dark.
The stars seemed to shimmer brighter for a second, then stilled.
I smiled, closed my notebook, and lay down, the sounds of my family fading into dreams.
Tomorrow would bring lessons, laughter, maybe even the start of friendship stories I already knew the endings to.
But for now, I was content.
A small boy with an old soul, and a universe quietly cheering him on.
---
At the end of chapter 9
STATS:
STRENGTH: 33+1
AGILITY: 36+1
ENDURANCE: 41+1
INTELLIGENCE (IQ): 143.6+.1
CHARISMA: 40
LUCK50
SKILLS:
– Martial Arts Lv.2
– Reading Lv.2
– Mathematics Lv.2
– English Lv.2
– Science Lv.2
– Writing Lv.2
– Computer Knowledge Lv.2
– Drawing level lv1
– Craftsmanship lv 1