Mornings had a way of ambushing me in this world. One second, I'm blissfully dreaming of all the food I miss from Earth, and the next, I'm face-to-face with Mom's determined expression as she plans my latest "training."
[WOMAN SPEAKING FOREIGN LANGUAGE]
Mom stood over my crib, holding a freshly polished rattle like it was a weapon forged in the fires of Mount Doom. Her eyes gleamed with purpose, and that never meant good news for me.
Dad was in the corner, doing his usual fold-and-smooth routine with a set of baby clothes. He glanced at Mom, then at me, and gave a slight nod that screamed, Good luck, kid.
"Yeah, thanks for the support, Dad," I muttered internally. "Real inspiring."
Just when I thought I was about to endure another round of crawling through a homemade obstacle course, there was a knock at the door.
The door opened to reveal the baker, her smile as bright as always, with her signature basket of bread in hand. But standing next to her was someone new—a red-haired woman with sharp eyes and an air of confidence that said, I own this room.
She was gorgeous, in that intimidating way that made you unsure if she was about to flirt with you or crush your spirit. Her figure was... let's just say it wasn't built for modesty, and the way she carried herself didn't help matters.
"Who's this? Miss Hotshot 101?" I thought, instantly alert.
[BAKER SPEAKING FOREIGN LANGUAGE]
The baker gestured toward me as she spoke, and the redhead's gaze locked onto my crib. Her smirk widened slightly, and I swear the air around her got colder.
"Oh no," I thought. "She's trouble. Big trouble."
[WOMAN SPEAKING FOREIGN LANGUAGE]
Mom invited them in with her usual warmth, completely oblivious to the redhead's energy. The baker set the bread down, but the redhead wasted no time walking straight to me, her heels clicking against the spotless floor.
She leaned over my crib, her sharp eyes scanning me like she was evaluating a piece of merchandise. I couldn't tell if she was impressed or disappointed, but her smirk didn't waver.
[REDHEAD SPEAKING FOREIGN LANGUAGE]
Her voice was low and confident, with a hint of playfulness. She reached out, poking my cheek lightly, and chuckled when I flinched.
"Okay, lady. You've crossed the line," I thought, narrowing my eyes at her.
I mustered my best baby scowl, which only seemed to amuse her more. She tilted her head, her smirk growing wider, and spoke again, her tone dripping with amusement.
[REDHEAD SPEAKING FOREIGN LANGUAGE]
Oh, she was teasing me. The nerve.
But then she leaned in closer, and my brain short-circuited for a moment. Look, I may be trapped in a baby's body, but my mind is still 18, and she was... well, distracting. It wasn't my fault! She had that smug, confident thing going on, and I was weak against that.
"Focus, Andreas. Focus. She's just another villager. A ridiculously attractive, smug villager."
[WOMAN SPEAKING FOREIGN LANGUAGE]
Mom's voice snapped me out of my daze. She was watching the redhead curiously, as if trying to figure out her intentions. Meanwhile, Dad stood in the corner, his arms crossed and his expression unusually serious.
The redhead finally straightened up, her smirk softening slightly as she turned to Mom and said something that made her laugh. Dad didn't join in. He was watching her like a hawk, his sharp eyes flicking between her and me.
"Okay, now I'm really curious. Who is this lady, and why does she feel like the final boss of this village?"
After a few minutes of chatting, the redhead reached into her bag and pulled out a small wooden toy. It was a beautifully carved bird, painted in bright colors with intricate details. She held it out to me, her smirk returning as if to say, Your move, kid.
"Oh, so this is a test?" I thought. "Fine. Let's see who's got the better game."
I reached out slowly, pretending to struggle a little for dramatic effect. When my fingers finally closed around the toy, I gave her my best toothless grin and shook the bird playfully.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, and she let out a low chuckle.
[REDHEAD SPEAKING FOREIGN LANGUAGE]
Mom clapped her hands, clearly thrilled by whatever the redhead had said. Dad, however, still looked suspicious. He said something to the redhead, his tone polite but firm, and her smirk faded into a more neutral expression.
As the women left, the redhead glanced back at me one last time, her eyes sharp and calculating. It wasn't a hostile look, but it wasn't friendly either. It was a look that said, I'll be watching you.
"Oh, great," I thought. "She's not done with me yet."
Mom and Dad sat down at the table, their expressions unusually serious. They spoke in hushed tones, occasionally glancing in my direction. I could tell they were worried about something, but they weren't about to share it with the baby in the room.
I lay back in my crib, staring at the ceiling and replaying the encounter in my mind. Who was that redhead? Why did she feel like a rival before I'd even done anything? And why did I feel like she'd just declared war on me with a wooden bird?