Waking up in the morning had become a game of "What strange thing will my parents obsess over today?" One day, it was the curtains being a millimeter off. The next, it was a "mysterious" smudge on the floor that Mom insisted was plotting to destroy our household peace. Today, it was me.
[WOMAN SPEAKING FOREIGN LANGUAGE]
Mom's voice was cheerful but carried that familiar undertone of determination. She stood over my crib, her hands on her hips, and her cleaning cloth tucked into her waistband like a knight preparing for battle.
"Uh-oh. What now?" I thought.
Dad peeked in from the hallway, holding a fresh set of baby clothes. His expression screamed, I don't want to get involved, but I'm here for backup if needed.
[MAN SPEAKING FOREIGN LANGUAGE]
Mom gave him a sharp nod before reaching down to pick me up. I was expecting the usual baby routine—cuddles, coos, and maybe a quick inspection for stray crumbs (because apparently, I'm a crumb magnet). Instead, she turned me around and held me out like a prized artifact.
[WOMAN SPEAKING FOREIGN LANGUAGE]
Her tone was thoughtful, almost analytical, as she studied me from head to toe. Dad stepped closer, squinting like he was trying to spot some microscopic detail I couldn't see.
"Okay, what's going on here?" I muttered internally. "Do I have a stain on my onesie or something?"
Turns out, it wasn't about stains. It was about me.
Mom started talking faster, her gestures growing more animated as she pointed at me, at Dad, and then at a small wooden table in the corner. Dad's eyes widened, and he immediately grabbed a notebook from the shelf, jotting something down like a madman.
"Wait, are they... are they taking notes about me?"
[WOMAN SPEAKING FOREIGN LANGUAGE]
She nodded decisively, holding me closer now, her face beaming with pride. Dad glanced between us, then scribbled more notes before turning to face me with an approving smile.
Oh no.
They think I'm some kind of prodigy, don't they?
I should've seen this coming. After all, I'd been leveling up pretty consistently, and my actions—though subtle—were probably odd for a baby. Smiling strategically, waving at villagers, and "accidentally" dodging a falling spoon with near-perfect reflexes? Yeah, that might've tipped them off.
But the thing was, I wasn't a prodigy. Not in the way they thought. I was just a regular guy with a weird system and the mental advantage of being 18 years old in my past life.
That didn't stop Mom and Dad from launching into what could only be described as a parental brainstorming session. Dad held up his notebook like it contained the secrets of the universe, while Mom gestured wildly at the wooden table. At one point, she mimed lifting a weight, and Dad gasped like she'd just solved a centuries-old riddle.
They were planning something, and I had no idea what.
By mid-afternoon, the mystery was solved. Mom had cleared a space in the middle of the living room, and Dad had set up what looked like a homemade obstacle course. There was a tiny ramp, a set of wooden blocks arranged in a zigzag, and—because of course—everything had been scrubbed to a mirror-like shine.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
[WOMAN SPEAKING FOREIGN LANGUAGE]
Mom crouched beside me, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She pointed at the starting line of the course, then at me, and then at Dad, who was standing at the finish line holding a toy rattle as if it were the Holy Grail.
They wanted me to crawl through the course.
"Okay, fine. I'll play along. But don't expect me to win any medals."
At first, I went slow, pretending to struggle as I navigated the ramp. Mom and Dad cheered me on like I was competing in the Baby Olympics. Dad even clapped when I managed to knock over one of the wooden blocks.
But as I got closer to the finish line, I couldn't help myself. The system rewards were too tempting.
I leaned into my natural agility, dodging the remaining blocks with ease and practically sprint-crawling up the final ramp. The rattle in Dad's hand glowed in the afternoon sun like a trophy, and I grabbed it triumphantly.
[SYSTEM ALERT: Agility +1!]
Dad's jaw dropped. Mom gasped. For a moment, the room was silent, save for the faint jingle of the rattle in my hand.
And then they exploded with joy.
[WOMAN SPEAKING FOREIGN LANGUAGE]
[MAN SPEAKING FOREIGN LANGUAGE]
Mom scooped me up, spinning me around like I'd just solved world hunger. Dad was furiously jotting down notes, muttering to himself and occasionally glancing at me with an expression of awe.
I tried to look humble, but inside, I was laughing. They thought I was some kind of baby genius, but really, I was just gaming the system. Still, if it made them happy, who was I to ruin their fun?
The rest of the day passed in a blur of Mom cleaning (to celebrate my "accomplishment") and Dad sketching what looked like plans for an even bigger obstacle course. I lay in my crib that night, staring at the ceiling and wondering what tomorrow would bring.
Would they start teaching me advanced math? Enroll me in a prestigious baby academy? Who knew? All I could do was roll with it and hope the system had my back.
As I drifted off to sleep, one thought kept me smiling.
If being a misunderstood genius meant more stats, then bring it on.