Reincarnated as a Fisherman and a Dad Chapter 2
A man in his early twenties was scraping barnacles off the hull of a raised yacht under the scorching sun. With a metallic scraper attached to a long pole in his hands, he worked diligently to remove the stubborn, toxic barnacles that clung to the bottom of the vessel like parasites.
The barnacles gave off a foul odor. A nauseating mix of diesel, decay, salt, and sun-baked rot.
Karlos wiped the sweat from his brow using his shoulder, grunting from exhaustion. His arms were smeared with bits of barnacle shells and tangled seaweed that clung to his skin like glue.
The stench clung to him, too, foul and pungent enough to make even a stray dog back away. He knew he'd need a proper shower later, no matter how tired he felt.
"Looks like you're done. Here's some cold water and bread before you go."
"Thanks," Karlos replied.
A Western man approached and handed him a liter of chilled water with ice cubes bobbing near the surface, along with a freshly baked loaf of warm bread. Karlos offered a tired smile and wiped his arms with an old rag before taking his first bite.
It had been two years since Karlos was reincarnated into this world. He had died while trying to save a woman from an oncoming truck, never knowing it had been the legendary Truck-kun. His good deed had ended in tragedy.
After his death, he'd met the deities responsible for the reincarnation process. Their expressions flickered between guilt and indifference as they explained that Karlos had not been the intended target. He was just a background character swept into someone else's story. As a form of compensation, they offered him a second life in a different world.
Now, Karlos lived in a parallel universe that resembled Earth but was also vastly different.
This world was called Thera. A planet with its own history and culture, much of which fascinated and confused him every day.
"Here's your pay," the Western man said.
"Thank you, Mr. Smith," Karlos replied.
The man, whose pale skin was sunburned around the neck, handed him 150 pesos. It was 50 more than they had agreed upon. Karlos raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
"You cleaned the yacht quickly. I'm impressed. Also, take the rest of the bread. You mentioned you have kids, right?"
"Yes."
Karlos smiled, deeply grateful. His twins were starting to eat soft solids, though they still struggled with harder textures. Soft bread soaked in milk or water was perfect for them.
He packed the bread into his worn-out backpack, its faded fabric patched and zippers barely holding on. With a respectful nod, he said goodbye.
The smell of sun-baked barnacles and diesel clung to him, but Karlos didn't care. He had earned money today and that was what mattered.
He stood on the pier where hundreds of luxurious yachts bobbed gently in the tide like floating palaces. Thanks to his fluency in English from his past life, Karlos could easily communicate with the many foreign retirees who lived aboard these yachts. His accent was stiff, but it didn't matter.
This pier was filled with foreigners living out their dream retirements, sun, sea, and slow days. Compared to the locals, who struggled to make ends meet, their lives seemed far better.
Luckily for Karlos, the languages of Earth and Thera were nearly identical. He used that to his advantage, offering his services to foreign yacht owners such as cleaning, minor repairs, and odd jobs. The work wasn't glamorous, but the pay was decent.
At a nearby gas station, he took a quick shower to rid himself of the grime and salt sticking to his skin. Thankfully, these public restrooms near the pier were accessible to workers and even used occasionally by yacht owners when their desalinators broke or fresh water ran out.
Karlos sealed his dirty clothes in a plastic bag before tucking it into his backpack, careful not to let them mix with the clean ones. He changed into a fresh set, then gave himself a hopeful sniff.
The strong odor was mostly gone, though a faint trace of diesel still lingered. He'd probably need another rinse once he got home to feel truly clean.
He waited by the roadside for a bus, watching traffic crawl by under the heavy sun. After about ten minutes, a rusted bus screeched to a halt in front of him. Karlos boarded, and a few women glanced his way before looking away just as quickly.
He found a seat and stared out the window, letting his mind wander. Sometimes, he still felt like he was back on Earth just set in a different era. The scenery outside was similar, even if the names and places were different.
The ocean stretched to the far right, glistening under the sunlight, while the land to the left was a patchwork of green and brown, rolling gently like a painted landscape.
Soon, the bus arrived in the town where Karlos now lived. From there, he still had to walk for half an hour to reach his home at the town's edge.
The streetlights flickered on as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in warm hues of red and orange.
"Babe, I'm home."
Karlos stepped inside their bamboo house, his voice soft and warm. The faint hum of a radio filled the room, crackling with static and music. He removed his shoes and walked barefoot out of habit and respect for the floor.
Each step on the aged bamboo creaked like old bones. Some slats were soft with rot and needed replacing. One of these days, he would cut fresh bamboo by the river and repair the floor.
Their home, a traditional kubo, stood about one to two feet above the ground. Elevated to keep the bamboo dry, especially during rainy seasons. It was humble but warm, made from bamboo and nipa palm, typical near the shore.
"Hm. You're back."
Karlos saw his wife, Maya, nursing Arabella in the dim golden glow of sunset coming through the window. The baby girl's eyes were closed, but her mouth latched onto her mother's breast like it was her life's purpose.
Maya rocked her gently, smiling as she looked at her husband.
Karlos returned the smile and kissed her forehead, a quiet joy swelling in his chest. He leaned down and kissed baby Arabella with equal gentleness.
The little girl frowned slightly in her sleep but continued feeding without pause.
Next, Karlos approached the crib where their son was sleeping soundly, curled up like a kitten. He carefully picked the baby up and kissed his forehead.
"You're adorable," he whispered.
Two years had passed since he'd been given this second life, and finally he wasn't alone. He'd found his home, his purpose, his family.
"I brought fresh bread for them."
"They've had such big appetites lately, like tiny bottomless pits. Even formula isn't enough to keep them full," Maya said with a chuckle.
She gently placed Arabella beside her brother, tucking both into worn but clean blankets.
"I'll start on dinner. Watch the kids for a while," she added, stepping outside. Their kitchen was beneath a makeshift roof made of tarpaulin.
Karlos sat beside the crib, watching his twins sleep peacefully, side by side like mirrored souls. He smiled from the bottom of his heart.
Even on the hardest days, they gave him a reason to keep going.
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Illustration of Kubo