It was a beautiful night. The stars streaked across the sky, piercing through the light pollution of Seattle, Washington, a city usually shrouded in clouds. Even though the recent drizzle—refreshing but slightly depressing—left a misty taste in the city air, the stars lent an air of perfection to the scene.

I had just left an underground vaccination and pharmaceutical facility funded by a renowned tech tycoon billionaire at midnight, knowing I'd return in seven hours. It was a sobering reality, but I didn't mind. It was because I was rational—too rational.

I was born with hyperthymesia, a condition people desire until they possess it. It allows me to recall almost everything I’ve ever experienced with photographic detail. No, it’s more than that. I can remember the hideous tie my boss wore the day of our interview, his repulsive coffee breath, and how much I hated my life as he outlined the job duties.

That's the problem with hyperthymesia.

People take for granted the ability to forget. Sure, they won’t forget a betrayal, being cheated on, and the like. However, the emotional significance of these events gradually fades. They forget the feeling of being abandoned, rejected by a crush, or used by someone for personal gain.

I don’t.

I remember.

I remember it all.

The pain and torment.

The words they hurled at me.

Everything. I remember everything.

This extraordinary ability made me a pariah among children. I was terse and unforgiving of minor transgressions, making them avoid me like the plague.

So, I turned to books and articles, mostly non-fiction. Fiction mirrored my life too closely with its tales of betrayal and heartbreak. Reading became my solace until I decided one day to make a difference in other people's lives using my vast knowledge.

That was a mistake.

Not in general. There’s nothing inherently wrong with helping others. However, when you're antisocial, have trouble dealing with people, and grapple with social problems, people just exploit your goodwill. My life, already devoid of pleasure, became even worse.

Instead of becoming a helpful friend, I turned into a mere tool—a calculator, a machine. Not a literal one; it's not like I lacked a personality and a human mindset. But that's how people treated me and the way I learned to interact with them. 

Now, I'm a chemist who is four times more productive than any of my coworkers. But I'm underpaid, I've been reprimanded for my social issues enough times that they can fire me at will, and here I am, leaving a facility at midnight. What a miserable life.

I despise this disorder.

If I could wish for anything, I'd want a second chance at life. A life with a normal memory, free of trauma, and capable of feeling emotions.

I just want to be normal.

However, life hadn't given me that. So when I saw a seven-year-old dash in front of a bakery truck, I merely shifted away, thinking: “Wow, that sucks.”

That was my only thought. So, when the truck driver finally noticed the child and swerved off the road to avoid him, thereby changing its trajectory to me, I thought: “Wow, this sucks.”

BAM!

That was it. What a shitty, illogical way to die.

But hey, at least I never did anything wrong in my life. With ninety-hour workweeks confined to the library and my workplace, I never had the time to hurt anyone. That's the explanation being given to me at the moment.

"Woooooooooooow!" gushed a blonde with an uncannily symmetrical face, examining a sheet of parchment. Her bright blue eyes and stellar body were encased in a white cross-over dress that emphasized her perfectly proportioned body.

Her symmetry was strangely satisfying and appealing. If only she weren’t suffering from an intense case of Beckyism, she’d be a true goddess. Instead, she made me wonder if it was possible to die twice.

"Honestly, Vincent—your record is more flawless than this dress," she said, glancing at her cleavage rather than her dress. “Isn't it adorable?”

My eyes glazed over, and I sighed. “Yes, it looks perfect, Aphrodite.”

Aphrodite is the Greek goddess of love, beauty, and desire. The Roman equivalent of Aphrodite is Venus, from which the planet gets its name. Needless to say, I had no clue why she would be responsible for my post-death evaluation.

“Reaaaaaaaally?” Aphrodite squealed, her fists trembling with excitement. “Does that mean you find me perfect?”

“No,” I replied. “You’re physically attractive, but your personality is like swallowing a razor blade.”

“Hyrumpha!” she harumphed. “What does that even mean?”

“It means that you’re inextricably unpleasant, yet I can't help but pay attention to you,” I replied. “Congratulations.”

Aphrodite’s eyes sparkled as she grandly lifted the parchment. “Ahem. Despite your gloomy circumstances and somewhat dreadful tastes, you have the purest soul among the eligible candidates. It seems there are benefits to holing up in a library and never leaving your workstation.”

“Candidates?” I furrowed my brows, disregarding her backhanded compliment. “For what?”

“Saving Solstice, of course,” she replied, waiting for me to ask.

My eyebrow twitched. “Could you please give me all the information I need in the fewest sentences possible?”

Aphrodite puffed out her cheeks, clearly feeling swindled out of her fun. “Solstice is a magical world that’s destined for an apocalypse exactly one century from now,” she explained. “You will reincarnate there and save it.”

“The hell I will!” I scoffed, standing up. “What insult do I have to throw for you to permanently end my life? I refuse to endure a century playing the hero.”

“I can do it for free~,” she shrugged. “Buuuuuuuuuu~t! If you agree, I’ll gradually alleviate your hyperthymesia and slowly imbue you with emotions. Or rather, 'unlock' your emotions because they're already there; they're just... poisoned. So 'cure' is a better word."

My eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I presume you want me for my hyperthymesia, so what good would I be without it?” I questioned. “That’s all people have ever needed me for.”

“No, they’ve needed you for the knowledge in your head,” Aphrodite tapped her temple. “That, and your quick retention rate. Memorization isn’t the same as comprehension. If it were, you wouldn’t need to read the books you memorize while lying in bed. Or am I wrong?”

“No, you’re right,” I sighed. “So, what information do you need from me? It’s hard to imagine you'd pick an antisocial chemist over a professional fighter, mafia boss, or a business tycoon.”

“Ah~,” she smiled, leaning back. “The thing is, I’ve tried all sorts. Samurai, Daoist martial artists, business tycoons, and military generals from countless eras. However, they all failed for the same reason.”

“And what's that?” I asked in a monotone voice.

“They didn’t know how to recreate modern society,” Aphrodite responded with a smile. “Imagine people’s frustration when they returned to the Middle Ages, ready to invent gunpowder, only to realize they didn’t know what its made of?”

I smiled at the thought. “So you prioritize someone who has that knowledge?”

“Cor~rect,” she chimed.

“While that’s logical, how will you ensure my survival?” I asked. “I’m not a fighter.”

“You’ll reincarnate as an aristocrat with resources. You’ll have mana to learn magic and tutors to teach you everything you need to know,” Aphrodite explained. “Most importantly, I’ll give you the power to separate molecules, synthesize them, and endow them with magic at different stages of your journey. Just as an incentive to keep you working towards saving humanity."

My eyes widened in awe. “That’s possible?”

“Yeeeeeeeee~p,” she smacked her lips. “So, are you ready to call me amazing yet?”

“Not until I know the catch,” I replied.

“There’s no catch,” Aphrodite asserted with a smile, blinking twice innocently. “Why would you think that? Aren't legendary magic, wealth, and reincarnation enough?”

“Not when the goddess who's reincarnating me is known for sex and lust, not reincarnation,” I retorted. “I know there’s something you’re not telling me.”

The goddess narrowed her eyes in amusement. “I see, I see. So you’re not a fool,” she smirked. “I wanted to spare your fragile ego, but I can't take your memory away just yet, or you won’t succeed in time given that terrible personality of yours.”

I took a deep breath. “Is this a carrot and stick approach?” I asked. “Because I don’t appreciate being toyed with.”

“No~pe,” she replied. “I’ll gradually alleviate your memory and slowly cure your poisoned emotions. That will give you time to learn as much about this world as possible. After all, books are exceedingly rare. So you’ll only get so many chances to read them.”

My eyes widened in surprise as I processed her logical and almost agreeable reasoning. “Still, that will taint my relationships forever,” I reasoned. “I’ll remember everything they say and do until I die.”

“I’m implementing a mandatory, one-time forgiveness and unnecessary trauma spell once you cross the 80% memory reduction and 20% 'unlock' of your emotions,” Aphrodite replied. “At that point, you’ll magically forgive others for petty things. Naturally, you’ll never forgive betrayal, abuse, an enemy’s actions, or people hurting those you love. However, you’ll forgive people for minor squabbles and trivial matters like regular people. It won’t make you less rational, but it will make you more human.”

“I see,” I smiled. “So why don’t you cure my emotions first?”

“This world… is violent,” Aphrodite replied. “It’s best not to let emotions get in the way of dealing with that.”

Again, her point seemed reasonable.

“One last question before I decide,” I declared. “What happens if I don’t comply?”

“You’ll either die of old age or in the war,” Aphrodite shrugged. “As long as you make progress, I will grant you greater mana and healing abilities, and you can slay beasts to obtain near-immortality. However, no magic will save you from an axe to the skull, or the demon war that will annihilate humanity, so your peaceful immortality will be plunged into darkness. You need to overcome it to survive.”

“That’s logical,” I replied.

“That’s multiple ‘that’s logical’ approvals, so it seems like you’re good to go, so shoo,” she grinned, flicking her wrist and sending me hurdling through space and time abruptly. A split second later, I blacked out and finally got a full night’s rest. How ironic.

═─┈─═─┈─═

Aphrodite stared at the portal with a sigh. “I apologize for not explaining earlier why we specifically sought out someone pure,” she said. “However, after failing with 999 candidates, you could be our last hope.”

═─┈─═─┈─═

“Reincarnation blows.” That was my first thought as I woke up in a sea of blood and amniotic fluid, only to be hoisted out of the gruesome chaos by two hands belonging to a semi-nude giantess with red hair and vibrant green eyes.

As it happened, I was born underwater—a phenomenon that's possible because babies receive oxygen via the umbilical cord. Submerging their faces in water triggers what's known as the "mammalian dive reflex," causing their airways to close. Technically, I could've been left to marinate in that liquid for as long as they wanted to torture me for.

Fortunately, I have a mother who loves me, so she wanted me in her bosom, something I’ve never experienced.

“How depressing.”

That was my thought as I found myself nestled between her breasts. I'd never enjoyed such a sensation in my twenty-eight years on Earth. Despite being reincarnated, it seemed I was in the same predicament and getting a pity squeeze because I was a baby. Classic.

However, no one could hear my internal gripes because instead of articulating, "How depressing," I simply bawled out, “Ack! Waaaaaaaaaah!”

The next thing I knew, a large nipple was thrust into my face, and I had no opportunity to object.

I have very, very, very complex feelings about what’s happening.

***

The first year of my life was unbelievably boring. Aside from learning that my name was Ryker Alexander Everwood and that I was the son of Margrave Leonard Everwood, a margrave with a large estate, and his wife, Margravine Scarlet Everwood, I didn’t know much else.

Normal babies cannot crawl until they are at least five months old. I tried to crawl on my first day, but my bones were like jello, and my neck seemed perpetually on the verge of snapping as my parents' servants manhandled me, all while dressed in traditional French maid outfits. I've never felt so uncomfortable.

Speaking of discomfort, have your parents ever performed seances and magic on you, hoping you would start crying? Mine did.

I suppose it's not normal for babies not to cry, but I didn’t know how. So instead of crying, I’d just scream, making my parents and maids believe I was possessed. A holy priest even suggested my execution before my father cut him down with an arming sword.

Needless to say, I like my dad.

After all, he was rational. Any priest whose first impression of a baby is to suggest burning them at the stake deserves what he gets. That man would have probably fetched his cult out of fear that I was the reincarnation of the demon lord or some other nonsense. My father knew that outright, so he preemptively summoned the man at night—spur of the moment—and ended his life before fertilizing the crop fields with him.

Talk about efficiency. I’m truly impressed.

I really tried learning how to cry after that. As Aphrodite claimed, these people were violent. So, I was careful not to give them a reason to execute me.

Thankfully, babies learn to use words at around nine months, and I started with the “mama” and “dada” approach at six months to establish myself as a genius without getting executed. And well, I’m still alive, so things worked out.

That was also a good time to start walking, so I did that, building my muscles in secret.

Now, after nine months, it’s finally time. Today, I’m pulling off a bookshelf heist.

Despite living in a lavish setting adorned with art, royal furniture, and candle chandeliers, my room only contained a window, my crib, and a bookshelf. That’s it. An empty room with a bookshelf.

I can’t even think of anything more offensive. I've been staring down my destiny for a year—a goddamn year—and I can’t get near the third shelf. It’s the worst.

Therefore, I’ve meticulously planned to get myself a book. I started by stealing and hiding things in a crawl space. Vegetable boxes. Pillows. Toys. Basically, anything that could be used to build a staircase.

Then, I dragged small boxes with both hands into the room, one after the other. It was back-breaking labor, but it was honest work.

Now, this isn’t your everyday task for a baby. At two and a half feet tall, weighing a hefty twenty pounds, I was the size of a small watermelon and half as juicy. There was nothing safe about attempting to construct a staircase.

That’s why I never planned to risk my life climbing the death trap I was making!

I had another plan:

“One, two, three!” I yelled in Skylandish—the common tongue—hoisting myself onto the first step. Once standing on it, I reached for the shelf, two levels above me, acting like I was trying to get to it. And, on schedule:

“I really heard it, Leon!” my mom exclaimed from the second floor. “I heard Ryker talk!”

My little lips curved into an evil baby grin as she opened the door. ‘That’s right, Scarlet,’ I thought. ‘Please rush in here right now.’

The moment my mom burst into the room, she panicked, seeing me on a remarkably stable—yet precarious looking—farmer’s box, reaching toward the bookshelf. I was conveying danger, holding the second shelf and purposely swaying.

“RYKER!” Scarlet cried out, swiftly scooping me into her arms.

-

-

“Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” I screamed with pleading puppy dog eyes, feigning panic and seeking sympathy as I stretched for the third shelf in her arms like I was a mother being separated from her children.

“H-He’s crying!” Scarlet shrieked, her vibrant green eyes trembling. “Real crying!”

‘Am I that unbelievable?’ I silently lamented.

“What?” my dad bellowed, rushing into the room. The athletic man had long brown hair tied in a ponytail. “He’s normal after all?”

-

-

My tiny baby arm became limp and motionless, and my mischievous baby grin faded into a dejected expression, leading me to abandon my quest for the bookshelf with a sullen face.

“Well, not exactly, Leon,” Scarlet replied, glancing at the staircase. “He really wants the books.”

“Gimme,” I requested as cutely as I could, pouting with my cheeks puffed out, pointing at the bookshelf indignantly.

My mother’s eyes sparkled like stars. “See!” she shouted. “He’s talking! That’s my genius!”

‘Yes, praise me more,’ I thought. ‘But whatever you do, hand me that book!’

“He’s been talking for a while now, hasn’t he?” Leon scratched his head. “He’s been saying mama and dada for months. It’s strange he hasn’t said more.”

My eyes deadened.

“Most babies say ‘mama’ and ‘dada’ at nine months,” Scarlet retorted. “This is monumental!”

‘Yes, she gets it!’ I silently celebrated.

“I guess,” Leon replied with a frown. ‘But it’s kind of intertwined with wanting to read books, isn’t it?”

‘And he also understands….’ I sighed internally.

“Be happy!” Scarlet huffed, randomly picking up a book. “If he were the demon lord’s reincarnation, he wouldn’t be reaching for lower-rank magic spells and history books. So be a good father and read to him.”

“I never implied there was anything wrong with it,” Leon grumbled, taking the book and carrying me to the living room.

Even though we resided in a large estate bustling with maids and frequent guests, all adorned in posh peacoats and ostentatious white ruffles in their collars, I seldom left the spacious living area we traversed. It was a vast room featuring a fireplace and a table where the maids served meals, extensive couches facing each other with a tea table in the middle, and a deck.

Everyone seated themselves on the couches, and my father opened the leatherbound book, revealing images of maps labeled with symbols that were foreign to me but I could still decipher as language.

“Honey, are you certain you want to read him the book with maps?” Leon sighed. “Can’t we wait until my little man’s a bit more mature before allowing him to strategize his takeover… fine.”

Scarlet gave him a glare that could kill a mortal, and he acquiesced. However, that wasn’t before he gave me a cheeky smile and wink, proving he was just riling her up. My dad was a piece of work.

“There are five continents in the world of Solstice,” Leon began, pointing at each one. “We’re in Veredia on the continent of Novena.”

On the map, he pointed to a large area in the middle, surrounded on all sides by oceans reminiscent of Australia. It was adorned with symbols of trees, rivers, and large mountain peaks, with a marking for our home.

“Next to us is the capital, Verdanthall, which boasts large buildings and music in the streets,” he said. “There’s street performers and unbelievably beautiful women—”

“Give me that,” Scarlet huffed, snatching the book and putting it in my lap. “If you’re not going to read it, I will.”

“Books are boring,” he grumbled. “We’ve been to these places.”

“Oh, hush,” she snapped. “There are five continents in the world of Solstice. Among them are Novena, Delphira, Antigua, Valencia, and the demon continent of Eudoria.

Each one is home to fearsome beasts like dragons and lycans and amazing wonders like the floating Elysian Garden, suspended in the sky, and the Timeless Plateau, where time slows to a crawl. If this world proves anything, it’s that magic is limitless.

There are many races, including humans, beastkin, elves, fairies and pixies, dryads, demons, and other mystical beings.”

For the next few hours, my mom read me the violent histories of this world and the country of Veredia in Novena, where we lived. From the pictures, it appeared to be a picturesque land of rolling hills, dense forests filled with exotic flora and fauna, and clear streams.

It was only a three-day carriage ride from the Redfield Kingdom in Verdanthall, which governed over a fourth of the continent.

“Don’t forget Ironfall,” Leon reminded, pointing to the south. “We’re at war with them, so—”

“No! I’m not going to teach him about our war,” Scarlet huffed.

“Then how is our little genius going to vanquish their forces?” he frowned. “Besides, he’s a baby. He won't understand if he’s not a little demon lord. So what’s the harm?"

After some huffing and puffing, my mom gave in and explained that Veredia was at war with Ironfall over the Elemental Nexus, a spirit vein that supplied rich elemental mana used for magic that could charge artifacts and crystals and assist people in improving their magic.

I learned that there were grades of mages as well. However, they weren't very relevant to a one-year-old, so I tucked them away for later until I learned magic.

After they were done, they placed me into my crib. I felt content for the first time, having gained a little understanding of my strange world.

***

On the eve of my first birthday, something peculiar happened. Whenever I closed my eyes, I saw a status video game screen.

═─┈─═─┈─═

Molecular Separation

Description: Magic that separates and isolates molecules.

Usage: Silent cast by touching what you want to separate, internally declaring what you’re separating, and then thinking “separate.”

Stage: 1

Requirements for the next stage:

Unique usages for Molecular Separation: (0/100)

Rewards:

Increased healing

Increased mana

Increased range

Inspect skill

═─┈─═─┈─═

When I opened my eyes, it disappeared and then returned when I closed my eyes and thought about it.

‘I see, so this is what she meant,’ I pondered. ‘If I follow her path, I’ll be rewarded with healing and the ability to synthesize and endow molecules with magic. If I don’t, I’ll die of old age.’

After considering it, I sighed. ‘I’ll obviously do it. However, I’ll have to wait until I can go outside. If I declared cellulose, hemicellulose, and lignin, this wooden crib could dissolve, and I’d be remembered as a demon lord for life. What a drag.'

***

Another year passed by with my overprotective mom monitoring my every movement in the courtyard when I was outside, constantly cooing and beaming, while my father watched me like a hawk, trying to determine whether I was genuinely a demon lord.

While he was joking—he wasn’t joking.

In truth, it was very rational; either way, he didn’t seem to mind. It felt like he was preparing to protect me from the Holy Church in Verdanthall, which housed the preacher my dad had killed.

I was quite fond of my dad.

“Swing it like you’re showing off!”

That was my dad’s way of describing swordsmanship, and the maids genuinely loved it. Since I was deemed a “genius,” he began teaching me swordsmanship in the courtyard when I was two. I was just flailing around a stick, but he treated me like an adult, and I behaved like one, albeit with silent nods. I found that silence lessened the likelihood of exposing my reincarnation.

I’m unsure what people who read stories think, but people approaching thirty can’t act like a child again. If it weren’t for constantly referencing my childhood memories to practice speech and behavior, I’d be out of luck when it came to acting like a kid.

I didn’t whine or complain; I wasn’t picky and was easily pleased if someone gave me a book. It was a cringe-inducing experience trying to act young. Still, I did my best, and somehow it worked out.

Now, my mom reads to me nightly, and my dad and I practice swordplay in the courtyard.

Speaking of which, we lived on a vast estate. I couldn’t see it all, but the grand manor was as imposing as a castle. Its sturdy stone walls, lined with climbing ivy, glistened under the sun. The grayish-blue slate roof was dotted with elegant chimneys.

The courtyard had a large manicured garden with thousands of exotic plants that my mother, Scarlet, had imported from around the world. There were vibrant flowers of every conceivable color, arranged in geometric patterns and interspersed with marble statues and water fountains. An ornate gazebo situated at the center of the garden added a charming touch to the serene scene.

That’s where we practiced daily.

Combined with constant pampering by maids who reveled in my “cute” shyness, it wasn’t a bad life.

***

I was three when my family finally gave me some space, which was ironic because they filled my time with other people instead.

Dad and I still practiced daily, with me mock battling him with a tiny wooden sword and doing practice swings, and I read my own books while my mom gushed over my reading ability. However, besides that, I was busy with lessons. The maids taught me etiquette, and tutors provided a formal education on history, mathematics, and other sciences, which were categorically incorrect and filled with large gaps explained by: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: Magic :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

It made sense. There was no need to learn advanced filtration systems in a world where kingdoms could hire water mages to produce clean water. As for the poor, they didn’t get any formal schooling, so people never taught them science.

It was a grossly inefficient and economically stagnant society that bothered me.

In addition to tutoring and etiquette lessons, I attended court, formal events, and meetings to learn about governance, administration, and diplomacy. No one expected me to learn at my age, but all children of margraves, dukes, and other high-ranking nobles were taken. We were all taught from a very early age to be present and engrossed in the world and culture we’d soon inherit.

Lastly, my father decided it was time for another major event—hunting.

“Today, we’re hunting in the Glimmerwood forest,” Leon informed me, donning the charcoal gray noble garb of the Everwood family. “Be on your best behavior, and take note of these people. Do not kill them when you’re older—these ones are genuinely good people.”

“Yes, father,” I rolled my eyes. “When I resurrect my fallen army and reclaim the Novena continent, I’ll spare these noble people for you.”

“Good boy,” he smiled, ruffling my hair and leading me out.

I didn’t enjoy hunting the tiny woodland creatures in the forests near the house, as they weren’t dangerous. It wasn’t an ethical issue—just dull. However, I’d tie my boots and touch rocks or run my hand along a tree. Every time I did, I’d silently make a declaration.

‘Sandstone—silica, clay, iron oxide,” I thought, touching a red stone in the forest. While no one was looking, the rock crumbled into sparkling silver, red, and white piles. ‘Excellent. We’ll be able to make plenty of glass here. It’s incredible I can make iron from sandstone as well. Let me check my progress.’

═─┈─═─┈─═

Requirements for the next stage:

Unique usages for Molecular Separation: (7/100)

═─┈─═─┈─═

‘I didn’t get another again,’ I mused. ‘I wonder if it’s a use case instead of the separation because I’ve separated a dozen things. If so, do I actually have to intend to use it?’

I pressed my finger against the bark of a large gray tree I was passing. ‘I’ll use the power to create a trail to return here, much like a trail of breadcrumbs,’ I thought. ‘Periderm, cork cambium.’

With my internal declaration, only the upper layer of the tree bark disintegrated, which wasn’t very noticeable because there were multiple layers of tree bark. As a result, it was subtle yet still noticeable. I didn’t plan to use it to leave a trail, just as a use case for doing so.

As I expected, it updated:

═─┈─═─┈─═

Unique usages for Molecular Separation: (8/100)

═─┈─═─┈─═

‘This must be her way of saying that this power is far more versatile than using it for simple chemistry,’ I inwardly chuckled. ‘Challenge accepted.’

—

[A/N: Welcome to my story! I post MWF, but I'll be posting daily for a little bit. My Patreon is 24 chapters ahead as of this posting (5-6k word chapters, so ~500 pages), and will soon be at 30, so it's highly bingable. There's also spicy content starting in Chapter 22 (once the characters are of age). So check it out! https://www.patreon.com/Traxler]