"AHHHHHH WHY DID I SAY THAT?! THAT'S SO EMBARRASSING!" Romian screamed into his pillow, rolling back and forth in shame.
He didn't know why he'd said that to Phillia, and he immediately regretted it.
"Didn't I swear off doing illegal things? Why did I say that? NO! Something must've possessed me—or was it a mimic?! Where's my EMF meter?!" Romian's thoughts spiraled into nonsense again, but he tried to reflect on himself, determined to leave the ugly parts of his past behind.
The past of his old life.
What happened next…
"You're right, the night sky is extraordinarily beautiful… but it doesn't compare to yours."
Silence fell, and the temperatures of both skyrocketed. That brief pause between them felt like floating in space, losing all sense of time.
"WH-WHAT DID I JUST SAY?! Let's—let's calm down! We can fix this somehow, right?" Romian was at his wit's end, unable to think straight. He scrambled for a solution to dig himself out of this mess but found nothing.
Phillia stared at him with wide, glassy eyes. Her face was as red as a lava mask, utterly overwhelmed and shocked.
"Ah—uh—um—" she stammered, unable to form a sentence. Her brain was racing like a Formula 1 car, overheating from the effort. ,,Why would he say that out of nowhere?! I can't process this… Romian, why can't you act your age? Then maybe I wouldn't be this mortified!''
Both froze, stuck on standby, until Romian finally broke the silence. The atmosphere felt heavier than Obi-Wan and Anakin's duel.
"Uh—it just slipped out! Happens to everyo—" Before he could finish, Phillia suddenly stood up, walked to the door, and mumbled shyly, her eyes glued to the floor.
"I-it's gotten kinda hot… I think we should stop training. I'm going to bed. G-goodnight, young m-master." She dashed away at light speed and locked her door.
"Seriously?! I didn't even get to finish! Ugh, so embarrassing~! Am I on Mustafar or something? Why am I burning up?!" Romian flopped onto the grass, staring at the sky. "She didn't say anything… Does she just want to pretend this never happened?"
He eventually stood and trudged back to his room, pausing to glance at Phillia's door. "This is SO EMBARRASSING!!!!"
The Present…
Romian hadn't slept a wink all night, leaving him looking like a dead zombie.
"Romy, come down! Breakfast is ready!" his mother called from downstairs.
"Yeah, coming… ugh—" Romian stood up and replied loudly, his voice dripping with irritation.
His already weak body felt even weaker, so he vowed to himself that he wouldn't train today.
Dragging his feet, he shuffled downstairs with the lifeless posture of a corpse.
His parents noticed immediately and grew concerned.
"Romy-dear, are you okay? Did you sleep poorly?" his mother asked.
His father glanced around, realizing someone was missing.
"Honey, where's Phillia? She's usually the first one up," Paul said monotonously, still scanning the room.
"Maybe she's in the village or— Romy, correct me if I'm wrong, but I distinctly heard doors opening last night. Not just one, but three. And two of those should've been downstairs," she said with a smile that jolted Romian awake—it was terrifying.
As she spoke, a disheveled Phillia emerged from her room, still in her nightclothes.
"And there's my confirmation," his mother said, gripping Romian's shoulder. She sighed hopelessly, massaging her temples. "Let me guess… you two were outside training again?"
"N-not exactly! We trained a little, but she couldn't sleep because of… the incident. So she just… ran off," Romian scrambled for words, choosing his phrasing carefully. "Maybe we can promise it won't happen again? Please forgive us this time!"
Romian pleaded in a faux-guilty tone, batting puppy-dog eyes at her.
"If you're sincere, then it's fine. Phillia, I recommend changing your clothes," his mother said, ruffling Romian's hair.
Paul frowned worriedly and whispered to Letizia.
"Dear, she looks exhausted. Shouldn't we let her rest? She deserves a day off. We did promise," he murmured.
But Romian, standing nearby, overheard and asked, "What 'promise'?" A single theory flashed in his mind.
"Alright, given those worried looks… Phillia, I insist you take the day to relax. This little runt kept you up, after all," Letizia said warmly.
Phillia glanced between the parents and Romian, but the moment their eyes met, she looked away, her cheeks flushing.
"I-it was my idea! I'll deal with the consequences. Just because I'm tired doesn't mean I can skip my duties—" she tried to argue with conviction but trailed off.
"No. You're resting. If I catch you training with your sword or cleaning anything, there'll be trouble. Just enjoy yourself," Paul said sternly, ending the discussion with a gentle smile.
"Is it possible he treats her better than me?" Romian shot a suspicious glare at his father.
But whenever he glanced at Phillia, even he felt a flicker of warmth.
"Dammit, this body must be to blame. It's definitely not me—I know my own intentions," Romian muttered, deflecting the fault onto his physical form.
But was it really about his childlike body? Maybe. He retained memories from his past life, but otherwise, this was just a normal kid's body in this world… except it wasn't. He wasn't.
The true Fifth Hero. The one destined to wield special powers to defeat the Demon King. Yet here he was, struggling to even fight a slime.
A weak child born in the middle of nowhere, with talented parents and a… maid? Sister? Just another person tied to him.
As Romian shuffled to the table, Phillia retreated to her room and shut the door.
Before he could sit, a wave of drowsiness hit him like a truck. He clenched his fists, fighting to stay awake.
His head drooped slightly, but he jerked it back up. His eyes were bloodshot, but his parents were busy fetching breakfast from the kitchen.
"Can't I just… stop this from happening? Maybe some 5-minute life hack? No—useless. I'm in another world with no phone or Wi-Fi," Romian brainstormed absurd ways to combat microsleep, all while slumping deeper into his chair.
His parents returned with food. Romian sat rigid, posture so stiff he could've been mistaken for a statue—not that it helped.
"Romy-dear, you can go sleep if you need to. Eat later," his mother said gently, her tone laced with concern.
"No, no, I'm fi—WHOAH!" Romian's head snapped forward, nearly face-planting into his plate.
His parents exchanged amused smiles but let it go. He'd learn the consequences of his choices eventually.
Romian grabbed bread and smoked bacon, seasoning it with shaky hands. The effort felt more grueling than last night's… incident with Phillia.
"Wait, that phrasing sounds so wrong! Ugh, rephrase!"
Sword training with Phillia had been exhausting. Then came stargazing… and that line he'd blurted out.
"It's still so damn embarrassing. Heh~," Romian accidentally said aloud, sighing heavily.
His parents blinked at him, confused.
"What's embarrassing?" his father asked, grinning like a puzzled cat.
Romian wanted to bite into his bread but stopped just before it reached his mouth, staring wide-eyed.
"Uhh, what— ahh, I just tripped up in front of Phillia!" he said with a forced smile. ,,Dammit, I don't feel tired anymore, but am I an idiot?!'' Romian panicked inwardly.
His parents noticed his slip-up, and his mother cheerfully pressed further.
"Aha~ Come on, spill it! What's so big you can't tell us?" she teased, twirling her fork playfully.
Romian shot his father a pleading look, but Paul kept eating, silently signaling, You're on your own.
,,You useless bastard! Fine, I'll stick to the lie.'' Romian doubled down. "There's nothing to tell. Let's just eat."
His mother smirked, outmaneuvering him like Frank Abagnale scamming the IRS.
"Could it have something to do with Phillia~?" she sang, adopting a Sherlock Holmes-esque tone.
Romian choked on his breath, confirming their shared sleepless night was anything but innocent.
Paul leaped from his chair, bread still in his mouth, and staggered backward, eyes wide.
"NO!!!! STOP THINKING THAT! I'M FREAKING FOUR!!!!" Romian yelled, reading his father's scandalized expression.
Paul spat out his bread, shouting in baffled horror.
"HOW WOULD THAT EVEN WORK?! YOU'RE LITERALLY FOUR!!!" he stammered, pointing a trembling finger.
Letizia glared at him, equal parts confused and appalled.
"How did you jump to that conclusion?! He's FOUR! They trained, he said something dumb, and they stayed up awkwardly avoiding each other! They didn't— you know— in bed!!" she screeched, loud enough for the neighbors to hear.
The door flew open. Phillia, flushed and bewildered, burst into the dining room. "Wh-what's… happening?!" she stammered, eyes darting between the chaos.
"Wh-what are you t-talking about?!" Phillia stammered, her face redder than a dwarf star.
"See? You woke her up while she was sleeping. How'd you even reach that conclusion, Dad?" Romian said calmly, chewing his food like this was the most boring conversation ever.
Letizia shot him a puzzled look, mirroring Phillia's flushed confusion.
"Uh—uhh, maybe you… used an aging spell? Y'know, magic that alters your physique and appearance! I've heard you're talented at magic theory! Maybe we have artifacts lying around that do that—not that I'd know!" Paul rambled, digging himself deeper.
Romian smirked, twirling his finger like a professor about to drop knowledge.
"You do realize illusion magic only alters how others perceive you—it doesn't actually change your physical appearance. If we're talking about magic that truly reshapes your body and bone structure, that's legendary tier magic. It requires mastering spells at the level of a grand sage, and even learning it is near impossible. You'd first need to find relics capable of altering your physiology—which you'll never stumble upon, because only a handful of people in recorded history have ever wielded such power. Sure, maybe there are more unknowns, but those are just myths. Even if we entertain the idea of a magical artifact existing, they're so rare and exorbitantly expensive that it's laughable to think we'd own one. And even if we did, its effects would be temporary, and you'd revert to normal. So no—acquiring such an artifact is practically a fantasy."
The room fell silent, stunned by his four-year-old savant rant.
"can't you not just being nor—" Paul tried, but SMACK—Letizia slapped him so hard, Mike Tyson in his prime would've nodded in respect.
"CAN'T YOU JUST SHUT UP?!" she roared.
Before Romian could process it, instinct screamed RUN! He grabbed Phillia's hand, bolting outside to escape the dumpster fire.
Romian was all too familiar with this scenario—his body reacted instinctively, as if this happened daily.
Phillia yanked her hand back at the door, stumbling a few steps away.
Only then did Romian realize what he'd done. His face flushed crimson, and he stammered, "L-let's just… g-go outside."
He pointed to the door, avoiding her gaze as his fingers trembled slightly.
,,Dammit! How old am I again? Older than her, I think…'' He fought to steady his racing mind. Act your damn (mental) age!
"Okay," Phillia whispered, and they stepped out.
Inside, voices rose in argument. Romian glanced away nonchalantly, but a flicker of sorrow darkened his eyes.
"Again… I'm just causing trouble. Like always."
He knew he couldn't act "normal." How could he? A 41-year-old psyche trapped in a four-year-old's body—every interaction felt like a pantomime. He tried, but his efforts always fell short.
Phillia heard his muttered words. She studied him, her gaze piercing, then took his hand with a gentle smile.
"Young Master… I know you're hurting. But you don't need to change. Stay true to yourself. The others will… understand in time."
Her words aimed precisely at his insecurities, a practiced comfort.
Romian offered a bitter smile. "Phillia… I value you. Deeply. Your opinion means everything. But let's not pretend. I'm not normal. I'm… a glitch. And it terrifies them. I've barely spoken to anyone outside our trio. I'm antisocial, and for a child, that's… unnatural."
He didn't sugarcoat it. To her, he mattered—but he was an anomaly. A paradox wearing a child's skin.
Norm. Norms shaped by society—everything the majority deems acceptable is "normal," a virtue. What they dislike becomes "abnormal," rejected. From appearance to personality, even body language, society dictates what fits and what doesn't.
Romian knew his behavior was unwelcome, abnormal. To belong, he'd have to change—lie to himself, wear a mask. That's what it took to avoid being cast out again. He hated it… but survival demanded it.
Yet this self-deception wasn't new. He'd considered the lone wolf's path, manipulation—crafting unique masks for every person. But even with a mind aged 41, he didn't act like someone who'd lived half a lifetime. Sometimes childish, sometimes a teen trapped in an emo phase: cynical, self-blaming, drowning in guilt.
Still, 37 years in his first life taught him adulthood's façades. But had he unlearned it a little… or had he truly forgotten?
Could his body be the culprit? Even mentally 41, maybe his physical age played a role. He had two loving parents and another trusted companion. He acted mature—but wrongly. Maturity twisted into something alien.
As Romian overthought and Phillia fumbled her reply, she yanked her hand back, flushing crimson. She clasped her own hands, staring at him like he'd uttered something unforgivable.
The noise inside had quieted. The silence between them now brimmed with warmth—kindness, even love.
What kind of love?
Good question. Next question.
Romian wondered what would happen if he closed the distance. Would he blurt another cringe-worthy line?
"Would this end well? She's strong—too strong. She might kill me?!" His inner voice spiraled, fatalistic. ,,Whatever. Let's roll.''
They stood outside the door. Phillia leaned against it; Romian hovered beside her.
He stepped closer, took her hand, invaded her space.
Phillia trembled, vision blurring red. She didn't—couldn't—react.
He leaned in, lips grazing her right ear, and—