Five years have passed since I killed my father. Things turned out well, although I noticed Officer Anderson didn't seem fully convinced that it had been an accident. Still, after a month of questioning my mother and asking me a few things, they eventually closed the case.
At six years old, I started elementary school. I didn't have a choice—I had to act like a normal kid. It was boring, and I often fell asleep in class. Even so, learning what they taught was far too easy for me. They didn't get mad about my naps; whenever they woke me up to answer something, I did it effortlessly. I made no friends. I'm not interested in interacting with kids that immature, and I'm used to being on my own.
Over time, they began seeing me as "the weird kid" at school, but I didn't care. One day, a couple of boys two years older tried to bully me. They were the ones who ended up crying on the floor, begging me to stop. After that day, no one dared bother me again.
I've been training my body for five years now. I asked my mother to get information on proper early-age training. Before my father died, she barely had any contacts since we almost never left the house. At first, she couldn't find anything, but a year later she met a physical education teacher who sold her a book about childhood training. That's when I stopped doing only push-ups, squats, sit-ups, and running. I started doing calisthenics—first with my own weight, and then, as years went by, with equipment and extra load.
At ten years old, my body isn't like other kids'. I'm still a child, but every muscle in my arms and legs is hardened from years of running until my feet went numb, doing push-ups, squats, pull-ups… all since I was five. I'm not big or muscular like an adult, but there's strength and density in every movement. My shoulders are slightly broader than normal, my arms and legs are firmer, and my hands… they aren't for playing. They can grip, push, and endure things other kids wouldn't imagine. My legs have become particularly strong thanks to all the training.
My face looks like a child's, yes, but my eyes don't lie. Every movement, every decision, is calculated. People see a kid. I see possibilities.
Food gives me energy. Training gives me endurance. And all of that makes me… different. I can run farther, jump higher, and move my own weight without effort. Even if my body is small, my ability to use it is enormous.
Seeing the progress I've made in five years makes me proud. All this effort is necessary: in my previous life, I died because my body was weak. I won't let that happen again. If I had been just a bit stronger, I would've escaped that trap.
By the way, the town is called Derry. It sounds familiar, but I stopped thinking about it after a while.
My mother found a job as a waitress in town. She seems happier lately; it looks like my father's death was a relief for her. Even so, she still fears me the same way she did the day she saw me kill him. I plan to keep it that way. I'm not interested in bonding with someone who, for as long as I can remember, hit me mercilessly. Whenever she tries to redeem herself, I remind her why she's afraid.
These days, something strange is happening to her. She wakes up in the middle of the night screaming my father's name. Maybe nightmares.
People in this town are strange, too. They often ignore kids bullying other kids. There's also a house nearby where I always hear a woman shouting about demons and God. I prefer to walk faster past it; she annoys me.
Right now, I can only focus on my goal: living a comfortable, peaceful life in the future. I'm thinking about investing in companies I know will become multimillion-dollar giants, even if I don't remember exactly how or when they grew. Knowing they'll succeed should be enough.
I can't wait for technology to advance so I can watch anime, movies, and play the games I never got to try in my previous life. Sadly, there's still a long way to go. This time I was born too far back—it's only 1985.
Today, I was walking home, thinking about the last five years, when I heard shouting and a girl crying, mixed with the laughter of others. I got closer and saw what was happening in an alley: five girls were bullying a thin blonde girl around twelve years old. They pulled her hair and mocked her.
For a moment, I wondered if I should intervene or not. But then I remembered the people who tried to help me in my previous life and ended up injured or dead because of me. Maybe this could balance things… as long as it wasn't too much trouble.
I entered the alley, walked toward them, and calmly said:
"You. Stop bothering her."
The girls froze and turned around, surprised. The leader, a tall blonde, frowned.
"And who are you? What are you doing here, shorty?"
"It doesn't matter who I am. Just do what I said and leave her alone," I replied coldly.
The leader hesitated for a moment, then, irritated, stepped forward to slap me. I stepped back and caught her wrist midair.
"Let me go, you damn runt!" she screamed, trying to pull away.
I didn't loosen my grip. I squeezed harder.
"Ow! Ouch! Stop! That hurts!" she whined.
Then I let go abruptly. Since she'd been pulling, she lost her balance and fell to the ground. I stepped closer and slapped her across the face.
Slap.
She started crying. I didn't care.
"Leave," I ordered.
The leader stopped crying, stood up trembling, and ran away with the other girls.
I turned to the girl they'd been bullying. Up close, she looked strangely familiar.
She stared at me through tears, shocked. She'd been suffering this bullying for a year.
I offered her my hand.
"Get up. They're gone."
She hesitated for a few seconds, then took my hand and stood up.
"Th-thanks…" she whispered, unable to look at me for long.
"You're welcome," I replied.
"You're weak," I continued. "That's why they do this to you."
She lowered her head, embarrassed.
"If you don't change, it'll keep happening. Learn to defend yourself. And if they bother you again… tell me."
Her eyes widened, surprised.
"Why… would you help me again?"
I stayed silent for a few seconds.
"If I start something, I finish it. And I like things to end the way I want."
She watched me for a moment before gathering the courage to ask:
"What's your name?"
"Liam. And you?"
A small smile appeared on her face.
"Carrie," she said with shy happiness.
That moment, my mind trembled. That name… I knew it. The protagonist of a horror movie in my previous life. A girl abused until she broke mentally and killed everything around her with telekinetic powers. I liked that movie a lot. I always wondered what it would be like to help her and change that fate… but it was just fiction. Or so I thought.
Just when I started to think I had reincarnated into a horror film, a sound echoed in my head.
"Ding"
Conditions met. Activating system.