Killua lost his first tooth before he said his first word.
He didn't cry. Didn't panic. Just pulled it out, stared at it like it was a disappointing weapon, then flicked it at the wall. It bounced off with a little ping and landed in his blanket. He didn't bother looking for it.
I think he was offended that it came out without permission.
It was his top left incisor. I only noticed because he grinned at me afterward, all smug and blood-speckled, like, "Bet you didn't see that coming."
I nodded, very solemnly. He nodded back.
Neither of us said anything. Because neither of us could.
Talking, as it turns out, is hard.
You don't realize how many muscles are involved in speech until you're reincarnated as a baby with a working adult brain but a mouth that flops like an overcooked fish.
Language was in my head—fully formed, crisp, maybe even a little overeducated.
But physically? My tongue and jaw were still on strike.
I tried a few times in private. Mouthed words silently while no one was watching. Just to see if I could form a vowel or two.
"Kill... uah..."
Nope.
All I got was drool and the smug disinterest of a silver-eyed twin who clearly had no time for vocal weakness.
Still, I practiced. Not for their sake.
For mine.
Because I needed control. Over my body. Over the timing. Over everything. I was in a murder-house run by professional liars. I wasn't going to hand them a single extra variable if I could help it.
---
We'd been moved again. This time into what they probably called the early development wing, which, functionally, was a giant playroom designed by someone who thought babies enjoyed chrome and latex.
There were no toys.
Just "assessment objects."
Padded cubes that changed texture under pressure.
Blank picture books full of confusing images—knives, fire, rain, eyeballs.
A half-wall mirror that wasn't a mirror.
And, in one corner, a tower of rings—each made of a different material. Wood, glass, iron, paper, meat.
Yeah. One of them was definitely meat.
Don't ask me how I know.
---
Every morning, they let us loose in the room.
Not "loose" as in unsupervised. Just… off-crib. Ground time.
The floor was padded and sealed and definitely sensor-rigged.
I knew because the first time I lay down to take a fake nap, it hissed softly and recorded my body pressure.
Killua immediately tried to climb one of the nurses. She dodged with butler-level reflexes and didn't even blink when he spat on her sleeve afterward.
Good. He was consistent.
I took a different approach.
I observed.
Movement patterns. Timing. Reactions to specific cries. Room dimensions. Escape points. Weaknesses.
By the end of the week, I had a full mental map.
And by the end of the second week, I had my first success:
I stood.
Just for three seconds. Long enough to take a step. Fall. Grunt.
They were watching.
=========
Zodiac Core System
📌 System Note: Milestone Logged – "Upright Motion"
Level: 1 (Exp 20/100)
=========
Still dormant. Still sealed. But not silent.
Every movement I made now seemed to register. Every test. Every time I didn't lash out. Every time I did.
The screen updated like it was keeping a journal I wasn't allowed to read all of.
Except for the numbers.
Exp 20/100
That was new.
No context. No usage hints. Just Exp bar. But it was mine.
A resource. A seed.
Whatever this system was, it wasn't leveling me up for no reason. I was being watched. Measured. But not coddled.
It didn't just give points for survival. It gave points for control.
---
Killua walked a day after I did. Show-off. But I beat him to speech.
Sort of.
One afternoon, during a solo session with a nurse who smelled like industrial bleach and lilac, I sat up straight on my mat, looked her in the eye, and said—"Wa."—She froze.
I kept eye contact.
"Wa... ter."
The vowel was messy. The consonant barely there.
But it was a word. And she knew it.
Her fingers tightened around the clipboard. She looked toward the mirror. Waited. Then, slowly, wrote something down.
I didn't speak again for three days. Let them wonder.
=========
Zodiac Core System
System Note:Linguistic Progression Triggered
Level: 1 (Exp 30/100)
=========
I smiled. A real one this time.
Killua didn't speak. But he watched everything I did after that.
Studied my face. My mouth. The shape of the word.
Then bit the leg of the mirror and snapped a tooth off with a sickening crack.
They replaced the mirror with titanium the next day.
He was pleased.
- - - - -
One evening, we were brought to a different room. Cooler. Dimly lit. A strange smell hung in the air—copper and incense. I didn't like it.
Killua liked it even less.
He tensed the moment we crossed the threshold.
The floor here was stone. The walls were dark. There were no toys.
Only people.
Six of them. Sitting in a semicircle. Dressed in identical gray. All watching.
One spoke.
"Begin."
Begin what?
The nurse stepped back.
Killua and I were left alone in the center of the room.
No instructions. No timer. Just an audience.
I looked at Killua. He looked at me. And smiled.
Then he lunged.
He wasn't trying to kill me. I think. Probably. Maybe.
He tackled me, rolled us both into a clumsy pile, and started trying to pin my arms like he was reenacting a baby UFC match.
I could've screamed. I didn't.
I twisted under him, used my elbow—yes, my baby elbow—and rolled him sideways with our combined momentum.
We both hit the ground. He hissed. I giggled.
The room was silent.
Then the same voice said, "Enough."
A bell rang.
Killua let go.
I stood up—wobbly, but upright—and brushed imaginary dust off my shirt.
He sat down cross-legged like nothing happened.
========
Zodiac Core System
System Note:Combat Reflex Logged
Core Stimulus Detected:Rat, Ox, Snake (Low Resonance)
Level: 1 (Exp 95/100)
========
Three names. No explanations.
But I felt something shift under my skin—just a shiver—A ghost of something heavier. Hungrier.
I stored the feeling away and filed it under.
Not Yet.
---
The room dismissed us. No praise. No criticism.
Just silence and soft footsteps as the gray-robed figures vanished through doors that weren't there before.
Back in our cribs, Killua stared at the ceiling and whispered his first word.
"Fight."
No one else heard it. But I did.
I looked at him. And nodded.
---
We weren't babies anymore. Not to them. Not to each other, and not to the system.