Time passed, and I grew. The rhythm of life in that time was different, slower, but no less intense. Little by little, I began to better understand the dynamics of that family. My father seemed to be an aristocrat, people often addressed him by his title of Prince, so we probably came from an ancient lineage of daimyos. He dealt with powerful figures, and the conversations I overheard indicated that he had influence in matters I still couldn't fully grasp. But there was something more. Something I felt but couldn't quite put into words.
And then, one day, something happened.
I was already a few months old and began exploring the surroundings with more curiosity using my eyes. My senses were becoming sharper, and I could perceive nuances in the behavior of the people around me. It was on a late afternoon, as the sun began to set, that something caught my attention. There was a group of men gathered in the main hall of the house, speaking in low, urgent tones. I was lying in a crib in the corner of the room, and though I was just a baby in their eyes, my ears caught every word.
They were talking about the future of Japan, about the changes that were coming. "The Meiji Emperor's era is in full swing," said one of the men, in a deep voice. "The country is transforming, but not everyone is ready for it." My father nodded, silently agreeing. I didn't fully understand what was happening, but I knew it was important.
I could not have chosen a better era to be reborn. The Meiji Era, with all its tension between tradition and modernity, had always been one of my favorite periods in Japanese history. I spent years studying the details of this transformative moment when Japan's ancient culture collided with Western advances in such an intense and dramatic way. It was like witnessing two worlds clashing, and now I had the privilege of experiencing all of it firsthand.
Every day, I wondered if it was real or just an elaborate dream. After all, I had been reborn into a clearly privileged family. And, on top of that, I already knew that the country would soon undergo historic changes. But during the first few weeks of life, the excitement I felt was constantly overshadowed by a sense of guilt. My thoughts kept returning, repeatedly, to Brazil. More specifically, to my parents.
"How are they now? How will they cope with my absence? Will they send my body back to Brazil? I did not even give them a grandchild." These thoughts tormented me in the first few weeks. It was a suffocating guilt, hard to process in a baby's body. The image of my aging parents on the farm, alone, without any descendants to continue the family's legacy, weighed heavily on my heart.
As the days went by, however, I began to accept my new reality. It was something far beyond what anyone could imagine. In a way, I had been blessed, or perhaps cursed, with a second chance. Now, the best I could do was hope that my parents would have a peaceful life without me. Time gradually softened the pain, and curiosity about my new life began to take up more space in my mind.
Even in a baby's body, my mind was still that of an adult. So, I began to pay attention to every detail around me. From the conversations I heard, I managed to understand some crucial points about my new reality.
The name of my family was Shimazu. This brought me some comfort. The Shimazu clan had a rich and powerful history, known for its loyalty and courage. Being part of such an influential clan was, without a doubt, a huge advantage in a Japan that was rapidly modernizing. Additionally, I discovered with relief that my father was not just a member of the clan but its leader. He held the hereditary title of Prince, granted by the Japanese monarchy.
Although the title of "Prince" did not grant real power, Japan of the Meiji Era was no longer a feudal monarchy, it represented immense honor. My father received the title for his loyalty to the Emperor and for his efforts in the country's modernization. It was a title equivalent to that of a Duke in the British monarchy. It did not grant land or armies but allowed me, in the future, to attend the imperial court without restrictions and maintain direct contact with the imperial family. Knowing that I would one day inherit this title made my heart race. But, for now, I could not do much besides observe and listen.
My days, for the most part, were tedious. I spent hours being carried from one place to another or lying in a luxurious crib, with little control over what happened around me. If there was a positive side to it, it was sleep. Babies sleep a lot, and I would nap for long periods, waking up hours later to find a new scene but the same routine. These periods of rest were interrupted only by moments when I, with great effort, tried to gather as much information as possible. Despite the boredom, I knew that this phase was temporary. I just needed to be patient.
My baby phase passed, and although my body grew a few centimeters, the process was slow, tedious, and sometimes awkward, especially when the wet nurse fed me with her breasts. If I had the chance for a third life, I would undoubtedly wish to be reborn as a young adult.
I was a precocious child, in my second first year of life, I was already speaking and walking relatively well. My Japanese from my past life wasn't perfect, it always carried a strong accent due to my native language, Portuguese. This, surprisingly, ended up serving as a disguise because, as a baby still learning, my imperfect pronunciation didn't raise any suspicions. Over time, I became fluent, and at that moment, I was sure that I would have made my real, deceased grandfather proud.
My true education began when I was five years old. That was when my father decided to hire tutors to instruct me. Speaking Japanese fluently wasn't enough for him, so one of the people hired was a British woman named Ethel Howard, tasked with teaching me English. Of course, it wasn't new to me. In my past life, I had already learned the language by watching movies and reading books.
In the first month, I pretended to be unaware and behaved like an ordinary child, trying hard to learn the basics. Gradually, I allowed Mrs. Howard to realize that I was absorbing the language faster than expected. In no time, I began conversing with her in English, and to everyone's surprise, I was already communicating fluently in just a month and a half of lessons. Mrs. Howard considered me a prodigy, and her teaching approach changed. Instead of continuing with conversational practice, she focused on grammar, and once again, I surprised her with how easily I grasped the rules. Over the next five months, I refined my penmanship of that era and developed the British accent that Mrs. Howard emphasized so much.
My father was impressed with my progress. The idea that I was a genius began to take root in his mind, especially after the results achieved with Mrs. Howard. In just six months, I had not only mastered English but also spoke it as if it were my native language. All this before I was fully literate in Japanese. That, indeed, would be the real challenge.
My understanding of the Japanese alphabet was basic, and the complexity of the language became evident in the multiplicity of writing systems: Hiragana, Katakana, and Kanji. My father hired a specialized tutor, and the learning process was indeed slow. I couldn't apply the shortcuts I used with English, and my progress wasn't as impressive. As a result, I saw a slight trace of disappointment appear on my father's face when he received reports about my progress.
Even so, this slowness ended up being a relief for me. It helped reduce the excessive expectations he had of me, allowing me to learn at my own pace.
At the age of 7, I finally achieved full literacy in Japanese. It was a longer process than I expected, but once I mastered this skill, a new range of subjects opened up for me. Mathematics and science became part of my study routine, and, to be honest, I did incredibly well in all of them. It was as if all the knowledge from my previous life had just been waiting for the right moment to manifest.
I had several siblings, but Chikako, who was seven years older than me, was the most prominent among them. Her name sparked a strange sensation the first time I heard it. There was something about it that felt familiar, as if I should remember something, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't associate that name with anyone. Over time, however, I set that feeling aside.
Chikako was 14 years old, and despite being a teenager in a phase full of changes, there was something about her that made me notice the glaring difference between us. I was a genius compared to her. Not that my sister lacked intelligence, far from it, but the knowledge I carried from another life gave me an immense advantage. I understood concepts that were difficult for her, and in terms of maturity, I seemed to be light-years ahead.
In addition to Chikako, I had other brothers and sisters, all children of my father's concubines. Despite sharing the same blood, they always seemed a little distant, both emotionally and physically. Perhaps it was due to the hierarchy within the household or the fact that, as the son of the official wife, I held a more privileged position. Nonetheless, Chikako remained the sibling I interacted with the most.
This contrast between us did not go unnoticed by my father, Prince Shimazu Tadayoshi. As his eldest son with the official wife, he gave me the name Tadashige and placed all his hopes for the family's future on me. To him, I was the embodiment of the perfect heir, which only reinforced the favoritism he showed toward me, to the detriment of the other siblings. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't deny that I enjoyed the feeling of being admired and recognized, but I also couldn't avoid feeling a certain discomfort at seeing my sister increasingly relegated to the background.
As much as I knew some information about my family history and who I was now, what I knew about Tadashige, the "original me," was little. I knew that he was the last head of the Shimazu family to hold a title and that he served as an officer in the Imperial Japanese Navy, but the details of his life remained obscure to me. And the truth is, that made me uneasy. After all, what kind of future awaited me?
There was one detail, however, that I could never forget. My father, the man who now looked at me with such admiration, would soon die. According to my memories, he had only four more years to live. But the way he would meet his end was a mystery I couldn't unravel, a fragment of information that slipped from my mind every time I tried to retrieve it. Perhaps, at that moment, I wasn't ready to face the reality that, even with all my knowledge, there were still things beyond my control.
I liked my father, although his presence was imposing and demanding. He valued tradition, always wearing his chief attire, a true daimyo from times past. In contrast, I wore Western clothes, representing the future in an era of transformation.
During those years, my father betrothed my sister Chikako to a prince from the imperial house, further uniting even more our family with the Emperor. This alliance brought us closer to power, and I felt the significance of this political move.
However, time was relentless. The four years passed quickly, and my father's vitality began to fade. When I realized that the end was near, I was able to be by his side in his final days. On his deathbed, he held my hand and, with a weak voice, asked me to continue dedicating myself to my studies and to be the pillar of the family when the time came. I promised to fulfill his wish with seriousness and devotion.