Time kept flowing, and without realizing it, I had completely sunk into this learning obsession—like a diver who forgot the way back to the surface.
Lately, something was different.
Mom no longer called me "Aria" secretly like before. I don't know when it happened, but that affectionate nickname disappeared, completely replaced by "Seraphina" or "Sera" or "Sweetheart." The change happened so naturally—like leaves falling without noise, or seasons changing in silence.
I almost didn't notice it until one day, maybe a week or two ago, I realized that the name "Aria" hadn't been heard from Mom's mouth in a long time.
I observed the change with mixed feelings. There was warmth spreading in my chest, but also a strange sense of loss.
It seemed there was a silent agreement between Mom and Dad. A compromise they never discussed in front of me, but I could feel from the subtle changes in how they interacted.
Maybe Mom finally accepted Dad's decision fully, letting go of the name she used to whisper with longing. Or maybe they agreed not to confuse me with two different names.
I never asked about it. Some things were better left unspoken, kept in understanding silence.
Anyway, I had completely become "Seraphina" in both their eyes now.
No more awkward pauses, no more doubtful looks. Just one name. One identity. And somehow, that made me feel more whole, more real in this world—a puzzle that finally found its last piece.
...
That shift in identity seemed to open a new door within me.
Every morning, I woke up earlier, impatient to start my learning sessions. Like a runner waiting for the starting shot.
Every night, I begged Dad to read more stories, my eyes refusing to close even though my eyelids grew heavy and my body ached with exhaustion.
"One more page, Dad! One more page!"
That became my nightly mantra, until Dad laughed tiredly and said, "Tomorrow again, sweetheart. Dad needs sleep too."
Even during the day, when Mom was cooking or tidying the house, I would sit alone in the living room, practicing the letters I'd learned. Over and over. Until my hands ached and my fingers cramped. Papers scattered around me, covered in letter scribbles that were still shaky but kept improving day by day.
Sore but satisfied.
My muscles were working hard for something meaningful.
There was a special satisfaction in seeing small progress each day. The letter "S" that used to look like a sprained snake now flowed more smoothly.
One day, after successfully writing one complete sentence without help—letters still shaky but readable—extraordinary satisfaction exploded in my chest. I stared at that writing with sparkling eyes, like an artist seeing their first painting completed.
This wasn't just about learning to write.
This was my first step toward accessing information in this world independently. The key to unlocking the giant library that had been sealed all this time.
Because I knew that in a more advanced world like this, there must be electronic devices I could use to find out more about everything.
And those devices had been right in front of my eyes from the start.
Mom and Dad's phones. Those objects were windows to a wider world, and I couldn't wait to peek inside.
My eyes sparkled every time I saw Mom using her phone skillfully, her fingers dancing across the screen with quick and precise movements. A sleek device with a touch screen similar to a smartphone, only its design was thinner and lighter.
When inactive, its screen was truly transparent like a thin sheet of glass. Almost see-through.
Dad also had a tablet for his work, which he carried everywhere—like a guard with his sword.
Both looked like ordinary modern communication devices, not too different from what I remembered from my previous life. Only, there were small details that reminded me this was a different world. A world with technology that had stepped slightly further ahead than Earth.
If I could read fluently, I could use those devices to search for information without having to keep asking, without having to wait for answers that were sometimes incomplete or simplified.
That thought made me so enthusiastic that I sometimes forgot to rest, forgot to eat, even forgot to play.
This obsession even made Mom a bit worried.
...
"Sera, sweetheart. The sun's almost set, you know."
Mom approached with a worried expression, finding me in the living room where I sat surrounded by several storybooks scattered around me—like a small island in a sea of paper. The red-golden evening light began breaking through the curtain gaps, signaling that the day was almost over.
"Don't you want to play outside a bit? Mama's worried your neck hurts. Your legs must be numb too. Sitting too long isn't good for the body, dear."
Her worry felt soothing, though it also slightly disturbed my focus.
"Later, Ma."
I turned the page with wet fingers. Oops—my own saliva that had unknowingly stuck because I was too focused and forgot to close my mouth. I quickly wiped my finger on my clothes.
"Sera still wants to learn. There are still words Sera doesn't understand. Still so much Sera doesn't know."
My voice sounded slightly hoarse, maybe from lack of water. But I didn't care.
My eyes remained fixed on the words I was trying to understand—like a puzzle begging to be solved.
Mom approached with slow steps, then stroked my hair tenderly. Her hand's touch was comforting. Present like a balm in the middle of my focus.
"Promise, okay? Mama knows you're very determined, but that book won't run anywhere, dear. The brain needs rest too. It needs to refill its energy. If you force it continuously, it'll break instead."
"Yes, Mama."
I nodded slightly, though still not diverting my attention from the page in front of me. Those letters pulled my gaze strongly.
"Sera promises to play later. After this page is done."
"'This page' continuously, then another page after that."
Mom laughed gently while shaking her head, a small sigh escaping her lips.
"When Mama's child focuses, the world could collapse and she wouldn't care. The earth's core could shake and you probably wouldn't even notice."
I grinned, realizing that was indeed the case.
But I couldn't stop. Not yet.
Mom's worry was valid, of course. Even I sometimes felt my body protesting—back aching, neck stiff, eyes stinging. But there was something inside me that kept pushing forward, urging me to learn more, not to stop until I mastered all the letters, all the words, and...
Something that had been bothering my mind for some time.
...
Besides learning to read and write, which took up most of my time, there was one more thing I didn't forget.
Something that had been troubling my mind for a while, since the incident when Dad told the history of this world so enthusiastically.
Talent.
Or more precisely, the strange ability I felt at that time. I called it "Immersion" in my heart. A name I chose myself because it felt like sinking into an ocean of invisible information.
Even though I tried many times to bring it back in various ways and at different times, it still didn't work like the first time.
Making me doubt—was it just coincidence then?
Hallucination? An overactive child's imagination? I rubbed my temples, which suddenly felt dizzy. Or maybe I really was losing it? This still-childish brain of mine couldn't handle memories from my previous life and was starting to break?
I shook my head firmly, dismissing that doubt.
No.
I couldn't give up too quickly on something that might be my power, the only advantage I might have in this world besides memories from my previous life that weren't even very clear. I had to try harder. I had to prove it was real.
So I started testing this ability deliberately. More systematically. Like a little scientist conducting experiments.
Every time there was a chance, I tried to 'guess' something based on intuition or feelings that suddenly appeared from nowhere—from dark corners of thought usually untouched, from places deeper than normal consciousness.
...
One morning, when I was sitting in the living room with a storybook, the morning sun streaming through the window, suddenly there was a strange sensation creeping up my neck.
I tensed.
Like a rabbit smelling a predator. Like a deer hearing a broken branch.
Not fear. Not cold. But a kind of soundless whisper. A warning without words. Something was forcefully pulling my attention, demanding I be alert to something that hadn't happened yet.
I slowly lifted my head, my nose twitching, alert.
No burning smell, not yet. But that feeling kept disturbing me—like an itch that couldn't be scratched.
"Mama."
I stood quickly, my steps heading to the kitchen hurriedly, my heart beating faster than usual.
"Mama, the bread in the toaster..."
"Hm? Dear, Mama just put it in..."
Mom's voice cut off when the timer sounded.
TING!
Thin smoke began billowing from the toaster gap, forming gray lines in the air.
"OH NO!"
Mom hurried to open the cover with panicked movements, her face instantly pale. Her hands trembled slightly when she reached for the tongs. The bread inside was already brownish-black on the edges, almost past the point of being edible.
"My goodness, lucky you warned me... wait."
Mom looked at me with raised eyebrows, half amazed, half puzzled. Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to understand something odd.
"But... how did you know, dear? You were in the living room just now. You can't see the toaster from there. Plus Mama just turned it on a few seconds ago. It wasn't burnt yet. There was no smoke either."
I shrugged with a small movement, still feeling remnants of that strange sensation slowly fading—like fog thinning in the morning.
"I don't know, Ma. It felt like... just a hunch. Suddenly Sera felt she had to go to the kitchen now. Right now. If not now, it'd be too late."
"Hmm..."
Mom sighed softly, then smiled while ruffling my hair affectionately. There was warmth in her gaze that made me feel comfortable.
"Mama's child really has something unique, huh. Sharp intuition. Lucky you're here, Sera. Mama promises to buy you snacks later as thanks. Any snacks you want."
I smiled widely.
But in my heart, I knew this wasn't just ordinary intuition.
This was Immersion.
Ordinary intuition felt like lucky guesses, intuition that arose from experience—like 'it seems like' or 'maybe.' But this was different. This felt like being told by my subconscious, not feelings I made up or processed myself.
This was something more.
Something I had to understand and control.
...
That small success gave me new determination.
I started paying more attention to the strange sensations that appeared, trying to recognize patterns, trying to trigger them deliberately.
Another time, I tried guessing what Dad would say before he said it.
Next experiment.
"Dad."
I called him when he was reading his tablet with a serious expression, his brows furrowed, his lips pressed thin. There was a strong "don't disturb" aura around him, but I still approached.
"Dad wants to say... work's a lot today, right? And you can't play with Sera."
Dad quickly lifted his head, his expression surprised, his eyes widening briefly.
"Yeah, Dad was going to say that. How did Sera know? Did you hear Dad talking to himself? Or did you peek at Dad's messages?"
I shrugged casually, though my heart was pounding fast with joy.
This worked again!
"Sera just... knew. Like there was whispering in my head. A voice without a voice. But clear."
"Wow, Daddy's princess can read Dad's mind?"
Dad laughed heartily, his voice filling the room, then tickled my stomach with his fingers until I giggled uncontrollably.
"Then try guessing what Dad's thinking now?" Dad leaned forward, his eyes sparkling mischievously. "Come on, prove it! If you're right, Dad will give you a gift!"
I closed my eyes dramatically, pretending to focus. Both hands at my temples, imitating psychics on TV I'd seen in my previous life.
Though actually, I wasn't feeling anything this time. No strange sensation. No whispers. No information flowing. I tried 'feeling' harder, focusing my mind like I usually did, but all I found was silence.
Completely empty.
Like a dead radio.
"Dad... is thinking about... what to eat for lunch?"
"Wrong!" he exclaimed, far too enthusiastically. "Dad was thinking about how cute his princess is!"
He pinched my cheek gently, his smile wide and sincere. An affectionate but gentle pinch.
I smiled with sparkling eyes, like small stars lighting up, even though I'd guessed wrong.
Finally!
There was some progress! I wasn't losing my mind! This was real!
...
However... I celebrated too soon.
Reality wasn't as easy as I'd imagined. The world didn't easily give me an advantage.
Not all my guesses were right. In fact, most missed by far—like throwing arrows in darkness: sometimes hitting the target, but more often missing completely.
One day, I felt absolutely sure it would rain that afternoon. Based on a strong, heavy feeling pressing in my chest, I even told Mom with full confidence to bring an umbrella when she wanted to go shopping.
"Sera's sure it'll rain?"
Mom looked at the bright, clear sky without clouds, the sun shining brilliantly without disturbance. Perfect blue.
"Yes, Ma! Sera's very sure! This afternoon there'll definitely be heavy rain! Thunder too! Mama must bring an umbrella!"
My voice was so full of confidence that I almost believed it completely myself.
"Hmm, okay then. Mama believes Sera's intuition."
Mom smiled with sincere trust while putting a folding umbrella in her bag, though her expression was slightly doubtful.
But it turned out that all day, there were no signs of rain at all.
The sky remained clear and perfectly blue. The sun even shone brighter than usual. Mom came home without getting rained on. The umbrella was still neatly folded in her bag, perfectly dry, untouched.
"Looks like Sera's weather prediction missed this time."
Mom laughed lightly, her voice not mocking at all, then stroked my head affectionately.
"But it's okay. Mama's still proud that Sera cared about her. That's what's important. The good intention is what matters."
I stared at the perfectly blue sky until my eyes hurt, as if waiting for one cloud to fall from there.
Nothing.
My cheeks puffed up on their own, and the corners of my eyes felt hot. I kicked a small pebble toward the fence.
"Liar..." I mumbled softly. "It felt so strong earlier."
That confusion grew worse.
Another time, I tried guessing whether Dad was lying when he said he didn't bring home snacks for me. I felt something was off with his tone.
I pointed at his work bag with a trembling index finger, certain I was right.
"Dad! There's a chocolate smell from that bag! Dad definitely brought snacks for Sera! Sera can smell it! Sera knows!"
"Hm? Really?"
Dad raised his eyebrows with a too-perfect innocent expression, too smooth to look natural.
"Definitely! Sera's sure! Dad's lying! Sera doesn't believe it! Sera knows Dad is lying!"
"Alright, if Sera doesn't believe..."
Dad opened his bag with dramatic movements, like a magician about to reveal a trick.
But when Dad opened his bag... there was nothing there except coffee packages and some novels.
No chocolate. No snacks. Empty.
"See? Dad wasn't lying, right?"
Dad smiled teasingly, though there was gentleness in his eyes.
I gaped, my world seemingly collapsing for a moment.
Why again?!
This was the most confusing part. The sensation was just as strong as the bread incident! I could swear I'd smelled a faint chocolate aroma and felt 'wrong' vibrations from Dad's tone. I bit my lower lip, holding back the stinging in my eyes. Why did it feel so strong but turn out wrong?!
"But..."
My voice trembled, nearly crying.
"But Sera really felt something... Sera's not lying... Sera's not making it up..."
"Maybe Sera's just hungry, dear. That's why you're imagining chocolate."
Dad laughed while ruffling my hair, his hand comforting.
I pouted deeper, my bottom lip jutting out.
Frustration began piling up in my chest.
A strange and confusing pattern began forming from the series of experiments I conducted. Sometimes my intuition was perfectly right, even amazing. I exhaled slowly, trying to calm my thoughts. But other times, it was totally wrong, even embarrassing. There was no consistency I could predict. No clear pattern.
Like a lottery with odds that kept changing without rules.
I was starting to get genuinely frustrated.
Was this 'Immersion' of mine really a talent? Or just coincidence I was exaggerating? I returned to my initial doubts. I looked down, staring at my fingertips stained with ink. Was I really losing it?
Was this child's brain starting to give up under the burden of memories it shouldn't have to bear?
What confused me more was that sometimes I could sense whether someone was lying or not, but it wasn't always accurate. It felt like something was hissing in my ear, but the voice wasn't clear. There were times I felt Mom was lying when she was being honest, and vice versa.
There was interference disrupting my signal.
I held the storybook tightly, my head dizzy, temples throbbing softly from overthinking.
After several days of observation that nearly drove me crazy and filled my notebook with unclear scribbles, I realized something interesting.
My Immersion was often correct if it concerned small things happening very soon—like burnt bread, or sentences Dad was about to say in a few seconds. I tapped my finger on the book cover. But strangely, my guesses were always wrong if they concerned big things, complex emotions, or long-term predictions—like weather, or the contents of Dad's bag, or someone's feelings.
There was a range limit or complexity limitation I could reach.
I sighed deeply, rubbing my face tiredly. It felt like I'd just finished a difficult exam.
This was an open information channel, but the connection was very poor. Like a radio with a weak signal constantly disturbed by static.
Was this an 'Intuition' talent like others had? Or maybe a talent related to the more complex concept of 'Time'? I closed my eyes briefly. Or actually something completely different that had never existed before?
Those questions spun in my head like a whirlpool that never stopped, making me dizzy but also curious.
But one thing was certain—I had to keep trying to understand this ability.
If this was really a talent possessed by people in this world that Dad often talked about, then I had to learn to control it. I couldn't give up.
Because this might be my only advantage in this new world.
With strengthening curiosity, I continued my daily routine. Days filled with exhausting learning, frustrating failures in testing my abilities, and warm laughter with Mom and Dad passed quickly.
Time flowed on, bringing day after day without stopping.
I often fell asleep on my storybooks from exhaustion, my body surrendering to accumulated tiredness, only to wake up with blankets already covering me and gentle kisses on my forehead from one of them.
My heart always warmed when that happened.
That feeling of being loved and cared for made me feel cherished, even though sometimes I felt I didn't deserve it.
...
Without realizing it, time kept passing in its own way.
I remember when I first successfully wrote my own name with still-wobbly letters. I was so happy I ran to Mom while shouting with a voice full of pride, "Mama, look! Sera can write her name! Look, look!"
I waved the paper in the air like a victory flag.
I even remember how it felt when Mom invited me to bathe together... I was so embarrassed even though I'd bathed with her for three years from this small body's perspective. Memories of my adult thoughts trapped in a child's body made me awkward, though I knew it was silly.
I shook my head softly, firmly dismissing that thought.
Not important now.
I remember quiet afternoons in the complex park, sitting on a bench while watching colorful-haired people passing by, their hair sparkling under sunlight. This world was full of colors I'd never imagined before.
Though I was used to seeing it because I was also one of them.
I almost forgot to count the days, because every day felt full and meaningful. No more strange feelings bothering my chest like in the beginning.
This world slowly became my home.
This family slowly became my true family.
Until one morning, something different happened.
Knock knock knock.
"Seraaa~ Can Mama come in?"
Mom's voice sounded cheerful from behind my bedroom door, with a tone slightly higher than usual.
There was unusual joy there.
"Come in, Ma!"
I lifted my head from the book I was reading, still in a cross-legged sitting position on the floor with books scattered around me like a small fortress.
"But don't step on Sera's books, okay? Sera was studying earlier. Be careful with your feet."
The door opened slowly with a familiar creak—a sound I'd memorized by heart—and Mom entered carefully, her eyes immediately scanning the book-filled floor.
"Hehe, yes, yes."
Mom laughed softly while stepping carefully between the piles of books, her feet navigating the minefield.
"Wow, there are so many books scattered on the floor. What are you studying so early in the morning? It's still morning. The sun just rose."
"Learning to read a story about a lost fish."
I pointed at the book on my lap with an index finger still wet with ink from a leaking pen.
"But the fish is silly, Ma. It circles around the coral reef even though that's its own home. It's funny but sad. Sera doesn't understand why it forgot its own home."
"Hihi, well, it's called a fish, not genius Sera."
Mom sat beside me with graceful movements, her long skirt neatly spread, an amused smile on her beautiful face.
"Heee, Sera's not a genius yet."
I puffed my cheeks in annoyance at myself.
"I still often misread things. There's still so much I don't understand. Letters 'b' and 'd' still get mixed up."
"But Mama's proud."
Mom stroked my head gently, her fingers combing through my slightly messy hair.
"You learn so quickly. Even faster than Mama imagined. Mama thought it'd take much longer."
"Really proud?"
I looked at Mom with sparkling eyes, seeking certainty in her gaze.
"Very."
Mom nodded with a sincere smile, her eyes radiating warmth that filled my chest.
"But today, there's something more important than studying."
"What?"
I tilted my head curiously, the book on my lap already forgotten.
Mom's tone made me feel this was something special.
"Try guessing."
Mom smiled mysteriously, her eyes sparkling with a small secret she wanted to reveal.
"Hmm... Mama wants to go for a walk?"
I guessed enthusiastically, my voice rising an octave from excitement.
"No."
Mom shook her head slowly.
"Mama wants to make pudding?"
My eyes sparkled with sudden hope.
I really loved pudding.
"Not that either."
Her smile grew wider.
"Hmm... Mama got lots of money?"
I grinned with a mischievous expression I'd learned from Dad.
"Hey! Where did you learn to talk like that?"
Mom stared at me with wide eyes, but there was a smile at the corner of her lips that told me she wasn't really angry.
"From Dad."
I answered innocently, smoothly shifting responsibility. Honest without guilt, as if I knew nothing.
Forgive me, Dad. I tried my best to hold my tongue.
"Oh my."
Mom shook her head while laughing softly, a sigh escaping her nose.
"Okay, one more guess. Last one. Last chance."
"Sera gives up."
I raised both hands dramatically, like surrendering to the police.
"What is it, Ma? Sera's curious! Sera can't stand it anymore!"
Mom took out something from behind her back with slow movements, like a magician pulling out a rabbit—a small cake with pretty decorations and one candle in the middle, a candle still unlit but already waiting to be lit.
"Happy birthday, dear."