The room distorted as Raphael walked out. Darkness consumed everything again, swirling into the familiar black void.
"Do you want to see more?" Ray asked me, his voice echoing within the emptiness.
"No… it's fine. I'm starting to remember everything I said."
The void began to crack like shattered glass as consciousness pulled me upward.
I awoke in the bed, the soft warmth of the blanket contrasting the cold clarity of my returning memories. Next to me lay my newborn baby brother, breathing gently in his sleep.
"If I'm remembering correctly… he isn't a transmigrated soul, right?" I asked, my voice still hoarse from sleep.
"Yes," Ray replied simply.
I turned to the baby and watched his tiny hands curl. "This child… he's going to be one of the love interests of our main character," I whispered. "But he never got love back from them, and he died young."
"He is cute, isn't he?" Ray said, intruding on my thoughts with a soft chuckle. "Do you want to make him face that terrible fate again?"
"I don't want to interfere with this world," I said flatly.
"Do you remember what happened to Susan?" Ray pressed, voice laced with quiet judgment.
I flinched hearing the name. "She wasn't my real sister," I replied, though the words tasted bitter.
"I know," Ray said, cutting me off, "but you could've dodged that fate. She could have had a family, you know."
I fell silent.
"I'll ask you again," Ray said, voice firm. "Don't you want to save him?"
That's when it struck me—what he was doing, what this was about.
"You… want to recreate that novel," I said slowly, realization blooming like fire in my chest.
"Whatever the case," Ray said, "what is your reply?"
"…Fine. I'll recreate it," I said at last.
I gently touched my baby brother's cheek, smiling faintly. It sure will be interesting, I thought. My body was already developed enough to walk and talk with innocent charm. Mimicking a child was easy now.
"Easy for you to say," I muttered at Ray.
From that day, I started raising him myself. I fed him, bathed him, and held him when he cried. The maids said nothing, but their eyes brimmed with silent admiration.
By age eight, I was granted full access to the library, a treasure trove of knowledge. But I was also enrolled in swordsmanship training.
Mother protested the decision, but Father was resolute. "He needs to learn to protect himself."
I didn't argue. A swordsman arrived a few days later.
Unlike my younger brother, who would eventually attend the Royal Academy, I had to study from home within the confines of our mansion.
At the back of the estate was a large open ground—once off-limits, but now accessible. That was where I met my instructor.
He stood tall and composed, a sharpness in his eyes despite his relaxed demeanor. Raviel… it's him, I thought, studying his features.
Being the youngest, I bowed with formality and said, "Greetings, respectable teacher. I am Roy Jenorva, your new student."
"Huh. Well-mannered, are you?" he said with a smirk. "I am Raviel Garde Raeus. I'll be the one sharpening you into a fine sword."
Training began with physical exercises—pushups, stances, body control. That continued for months. I wasn't even allowed to touch a sword.
But I understood. Sword accidents happen when swords are placed in incompetent hands. If I wasn't trained properly, one mistake could cost me dearly.
My younger brother often watched from a distance, eyes wide with curiosity. My older brother only visited once a year.
Finally, the day came.
"I think you're ready," Raviel said. "Today, you wield your first sword."
He handed me a wooden training blade.
I tried mimicking a few moves under his guidance, but my body resisted. I fumbled more than I succeeded.
Ray's laughter echoed in my mind.
"Shut up. If I had Deep Learning, I wouldn't be struggling like this—wait…"
A realization dawned.
"Teacher," I said, raising my hand. "Can I try something on my own?"
"I told you, don't call me that. Raviel is fine. Go ahead, just don't hurt yourself," he said, sipping tea nonchalantly.
"Alright."
I closed my eyes, reaching into the remnants of my past life. Memories flickered—countless duels, stolen skills, honed techniques.
Right… I used Deep Learning to copy sword styles back then, Ray murmured.
[Skill: Multiface Technique - Sword Slash activated]
My body shifted, feet light and precise. I dashed forward. The wooden sword curved gracefully through the air—like a dancer on stage—and sliced clean through the training dummy.
The tea cup slipped from Raviel's hand, shattering on the ground.
The maid beside him dropped her tray, mouth agape.
"…Uhh," I blinked. "I think I went too far."
"Too far?" Ray snorted. "You just showcased a Swordmaster-level technique."
Then it hit me.
Aftereffects… My body isn't ready…
Breathing grew difficult. Pain flared in every joint. My arms and legs trembled under the strain.
[Skill: Endure activated]
Disable it, I muttered internally, trying to hide my skill and show that I am in pain.
[Passive skills can't be disabled]
"…F," I whispered weakly.
Raviel approached calmly. The maid looked like she was about to scream.
"He's fine," Raviel said. "No need to panic."
He didn't say another word to me. Instead, he picked up my wooden sword and examined it. Then he turned to the broken dummy.
"A metal dummy, cut cleanly… with a wooden sword," he muttered. "Only a high-ranking Swordmaster could do this. Even then, the sword would splinter. This one… has scratches. Meaning that was no ordinary attack. That was a Sword Slash."
He turned to the maid. "Call his father."
"Y-yes!" she replied and rushed away.
"This is getting serious," Ray murmured in my head.
"Can you help me instead of just observing?" I groaned.
"Fine, fine. But first… pretend you're unconscious—oh. You're actually going unconscious."
My vision blurred. The world spun, then faded into black.