In a vast library bathed in golden light, you could see a young child sitting properly, listening attentively to a strikingly beautiful woman. Anastasia, with her elegant figure, her long black hair cascading over her shoulders, her magnificent face with delicate features and her piercing blue eyes filled with maternal tenderness, read story after story to her son.
Arthur patiently listened to his mother tell him these tales. Each story was more fanciful, more exaggerated, and more ridiculous than the last. Overpowered heroes, one-dimensional villains, guaranteed happy endings where everyone lived in eternal peace and harmony.
This is depressing…
He'd believed—naively, with the enthusiasm of an otaku discovering his personal isekai—that after unlocking his system, he'd gain extraordinary skills just by listening to stories. Like in those light novels where the protagonist learns spells or techniques just by reading grimoires.
He'd been wrong.
Dead wrong.
Since that very first book where he'd gotten [Absolute Linguistic Comprehension], nothing else had happened. No notifications. No new skills. Just… nothing.
Well, at least I have this system to kill some of the boredom, he consoled himself mentally.
"That's enough for today, sweetheart?" asked Anastasia, closing the book.
She noticed Arthur was yawning, his little eyelids heavy with fatigue.
"Are you sleepy? Come, mommy will take you back to bed."
Arthur nodded and let himself be carried by his mother, snuggled against her warm chest.
Two and a half years later…
Time passed, as it always does, inexorable and indifferent.
Arthur was about to turn three.
A lot had happened during those two and a half years. The most important thing? Arthur had finally figured out how his system worked.
The principle was actually very simple, almost disappointing in its logic.
Every time he practiced something new—not just by reading or listening, but by actually doing it—the system gave him either instant knowledge or innate talent in that discipline.
For example, one day, seeing his mother particularly sad after yet another icy visit from his father, Arthur had decided to bake her a cake to comfort her. With the clumsy help of a sympathetic servant, he'd launched into the culinary adventure.
And then, miracle.
As soon as he'd started mixing ingredients, dozens of ideas and techniques flooded his mind. Complex recipes, cooking methods, flavor combinations… Everything unlocked at once.
[New skill acquired: Divine Culinary Talent]
[You now possess an innate gift for everything related to cooking]
The cake had been a triumph. His mother had cried with joy, holding him in her arms for long minutes.
Ah, that smile… Worth all the effort in the world.
But all these discoveries couldn't hide an increasingly heavy reality.
Speaking of his father… It had been way too long since Arthur had seen him. The last time was several months ago. The man with white hair and scarlet red eyes had come, cast a cold, evaluating look at Arthur, given some curt orders to Anastasia, then left without another word.
Every visit followed the same icy pattern.
He looked at Arthur like inspecting a tool. He looked at Anastasia as if she was worthless, less than dust under his boots.
Growing up, Arthur had gradually understood his mother's true situation within this household.
Anastasia wasn't just a concubine—which was already humiliating enough in this medieval-fantasy world where social hierarchy was carved in stone.
No.
She was a commoner. A simple servant who'd had the misfortune of attracting the master's attention.
In this world where noble blood and lineage mattered more than anything, where every drop of aristocratic blood determined your worth in society's eyes, being a commoner's son was an indelible stain.
It didn't matter that Arthur had learned to speak earlier than any child in Berher family history. It didn't matter that he'd walked at six months. It didn't matter his exceptional talents.
To his father and the rest of the household, he'd always remain the bastard, the servant's son, the one whose impure blood tainted the prestigious Berher name.
That old man with his shitty mentality…
Arthur clenched his fists, sitting in his room.
One day, I'll make him pay. For every tear mom has shed. For every contemptuous look she's had to endure. For every humiliation.
His mother, Anastasia, was gentle as a spring flower. She was the light that illuminated his new life, the one who'd welcomed him with unconditional love he'd never known in his previous existence. She was everything to him.
I'll do everything to protect her smile. In this life, I'll never let her suffer alone.
A discreet knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.
"Arthur? Sweetheart, are you ready?"
Anastasia's singing voice rang out, tinged with barely contained nervousness.
Today marked his third birthday.
And in this world, in all noble houses, the third birthday was a crucial event. It was the day the child was officially presented to the entire clan, recognized as a family member—even if this status was sometimes more symbolic than real.
Today, I'm going to meet my so-called brothers and the rest of the Berher clan…
Arthur sighed internally.
I really don't want this charade. It's going to be long, boring, and probably humiliating.
The door opened and Anastasia entered, resplendent in a blue dress adorned with silver embroidery. Her face lit up seeing her son.
"Oh, Arthur! You're so handsome, my child!"
And it was true. Arthur had grown into a beautiful little boy. He'd inherited his father's scarlet red eyes—those piercing eyes that seemed to see through souls—and his mother's deep black hair. His delicate but already remarkably harmonious features promised breathtaking beauty in adulthood.
"Come on, my son," said Anastasia, arranging his embroidered tunic one last time. "You're finally going to meet your brothers. Be polite, okay? Don't be disappointed if… if things don't go as you hope. And above all, be nice to them, will you?"
Her voice trembled slightly on the last words.
Arthur looked up at her and declared seriously:
"I'll never disappoint you, mom."
Anastasia's face softened, her eyes shining with contained tears.
"No…" she murmured, stroking his hair. "You've never disappointed me, my child. Never."
She pulled herself together and held out her hand.
"Come with me."
At that moment, a servant rushed into the room, her face slightly breathless.
"Madam, the coachman has arrived. The family is waiting for you."
Arthur exchanged a look with his mother, then sighed mentally.
Here we go for a day of torture…
He took his mother's hand, feeling her fingers trembling slightly in his.
Hang in there, mom. I'm here.
Together, they left the room and headed toward their destiny.
Arthur stared at the translucent panel floating before his eyes, invisible to anyone but him.
[STATUS - ARTHUR BERHER]
Age: 3 years
Race: Human
Title: Child Prodigy
STATS:
∙ Strength: 4 (+2)
∙ Agility: 4 (+2)
∙ Endurance: 5 (+4)
∙ Intelligence: 30 (unchanged)
∙ Mana: 0 (unchanged)
∙ Magic Affinity: ???
SKILLS:
∙ Absolute Linguistic Comprehension
∙ Divine Culinary Talent
∙ Reincarnation (Passive)
∙ Memories of a Previous Life (Passive)
∙ [10 other acquired skills]
During those two and a half years, mana hadn't budged an inch. Still that frustrating zero mocking him. Intelligence had remained stable at 30—probably the maximum his young brain could handle for now, despite his adult memories.
On the other hand, his physical stats had practically doubled. Strength and Agility had gone from 2 to 4. Endurance had literally quintupled, going from 1 to 5.
I don't know if this is significant or not…
Arthur frowned, mentally analyzing his progress.
I have no reference compared to other humans in this world. No way to know if these numbers put me above or below average.
He clenched and unclenched his little hand, feeling the strength within it. Yes, he was certainly stronger than a normal three-year-old. His muscles, though small, were surprisingly defined. He could run faster and longer than any other toddler. He almost never fell, his balance nearly perfect.
Makes sense, given my secret training sessions in the garden. But is this the norm in this fantasy world? Or am I really exceptional?
He remembered his former life, his years of intensive fencing training. Back then, he knew precisely his capabilities, his strengths, his weaknesses. He could measure himself against other athletes, objectively evaluate his progress.
Here? He was navigating blind.
I hope I'll find out today.
Meeting his half-brothers and the rest of the Berher clan would finally give him points of comparison. He could observe, evaluate, understand this world's standards.
"Arthur?" Anastasia's soft voice interrupted his thoughts. "What are you thinking about, sweetheart? You look so serious."
He looked up at her, mentally dismissing the status panel. His mother was looking at him with tenderness mixed with worry, her fingers nervously gripping his hand.
"Nothing, mom," he replied with a reassuring smile. "I was just wondering… what my brothers are like."
Lie. I'm mostly wondering how much they're going to despise us.
Anastasia's face tightened imperceptibly, but she maintained her maternal smile.
"They are…" She searched for words. "They're strong. Talented. Your father has many remarkable sons."
She carefully avoids saying they're "nice" or "welcoming," I notice.
"You're remarkable too," she continued, stroking his hair. "Never forget that, my Arthur. No matter what others say or think."
Those words sounded like a disguised warning.
She knows exactly what awaits us there.
Arthur squeezed his mother's hand a bit tighter.
"I know, mom. And you're remarkable too."
Anastasia's eyes shone with contained tears. She leaned down and kissed his forehead.
"My little treasure… How did I get so lucky to have a son like you?"
If only you knew I have thirty-three years of combined experience… That would make it less impressive.
The carriage jolted forward, wheels creaking on the stone path. Through the half-open curtains, Arthur could glimpse the passing landscape—impeccably maintained gardens, sculpted fountains, marble statues probably representing glorious Berher clan ancestors.
All this reeks of money and shitty aristocracy.
He thought of his father, that cold man with red eyes who treated them like less-than-nothing. Of all those servants who cast contemptuous looks at his mother. Of this rigid caste system where blood and lineage determined your worth.
In my old world, it was talent and results that mattered. Here? It's just a genetic lottery.
His old orphan frustration resurfaced. Even in his previous life, people had underestimated him because of his origins. They'd only changed their minds after he proved his worth on fencing tracks, medal after medal.
Well, if that's how this world works…
His red eyes—inherited from that detestable father—gleamed with cold determination.
I'll prove it to them again. I'll become so strong they'll regret despising us.
The carriage slowed, then stopped. Muffled voices echoed outside. Anastasia's heart was beating so hard Arthur could feel her pulse accelerating through her hand.
"We're here," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Arthur took a deep breath—a reflex from his competition years, a technique to calm nerves before big matches.
Alright. Let the charade begin.
The carriage door opened.