Not going to lie, I'm going to give you all at least 10 chapters before I transition to the new schedule, because I low-key did y'all dirty.
That leaves a bad taste in my mouth, so just be on the lookout.
*****
John slowly drifted back into consciousness. At first, there was only softness… warmth… then a faint ringing in his ears. As he forced his heavy eyelids open, white light flooded his vision.
He squinted.
'…Did it work?'
He took a deep breath.
'Wow… it's a lot easier to breathe… I guess the surgery was a success…'
But the moment his eyes adjusted fully, the world around him made absolutely zero sense.
He wasn't lying in a bed.
He was being held. Cradled. Wrapped in someone's arms.
And that someone was,
'WHAT THE HELL A GIANT!?'
The woman towering over him was enormous. Her arms were massive. Her face filled his entire field of view like a planet. Panic shot through him as he tried to wiggle out of her grasp, but all he managed to do was flail his limbs helplessly, and produce noises.
Baby noises.
His eyes widened.
'Was that… was that me??'
He tried again, forcing his body to push away from the woman, but something was wrong. His arms, his hands,
They were tiny.
'WHAT THE HELL, WHY ARE THEY SO SMALL!?'
His heart hammered. His thoughts spiraled. His mind raced through every possible explanation, from hallucination to anesthesia side effect to full-blown delusion, before a cold, creeping realization slid down his spine like ice.
The giant woman holding him stared down at him with gentle, maternal affection, smiling warmly at his squirming.
Another woman standing nearby, a wet nurse, leaned closer and spoke softly,
"What's his name?"
Her voice boomed like a speaker echoing in a stadium.
John froze.
Only now did he fully process it,
The room was huge.
The people were huge.
He was tiny.
He tried to speak, to ask what was happening, to demand explanations,
but only a soft, helpless baby coo came out.
And then it hit him.
Hard.
Like the Hulk punching him straight in the soul hard.
'Am I… a baby?'
The panic stopped.
Silence.
His tiny body froze in the woman's arms as the reality of his situation sank in fully.
Then the woman holding him looked down with soft, glowing affection, eyes full of warmth
She spoke gently, in a language he didn't recognize,
"His name is Hyoudou, Haruya."
*****
(1 year later, 1982 april 5th)
Haru sat at a tiny wooden table, one clearly meant for toddlers, scribbling with a fat crayon across a sheet of paper. His small legs dangled off the chair, not even close to reaching the floor.
On the paper was a crude doodle of a figure in red and blue, covered in messy black zig-zags meant to be webbing. The proportions were terrible, the colors weren't even inside the lines, and the head looked like a lopsided balloon…
But it was unmistakable.
It was Spider-Man.
Haru stared at it with mild pride.
Not bad for someone whose fine motor skills were still leveling up.
It was just another morning of killing time.
There wasn't much else a one-year-old could do.
Well…
Except being traumatized
he shuddered at the memory.
Being breastfed.
By his new mother.
Haru suppressed the urge to physically recoil.
That part of being reborn would haunt him until the day he died again.
Reincarnation itself wasn't new as a concept, he had read more fanfics than was probably healthy. But living it? Waking up in a baby body? Being cradled, cooed at, fed, bathed, and fussed over?
Yeah. That was different, Well kinda.
Still… he had to be fair.
He'd had loving parents in his old life. Ones he could never replace.
He wouldn't even try.
But these new parents… they weren't bad.
They were gentle. Caring. Normal, For now..
And he was stuck with them.
And they were stuck with him. No point crying about it.
So he decided, He wouldn't replace his old parents.
But he would give these new ones a chance.
Haru finished his latest masterpiece, or as close to a masterpiece as a one-year-old with developing motor skills could manage. With a tiny grunt, he slid off the chair, wobbling slightly as he made his way across the room on unsteady legs. He reached the low shelf, stretched his arms up, and carefully tugged down a small black box.
He popped the lid open.
Inside were drawings. Dozens of them. Crude, uneven, sometimes barely decipherable… but each one better than the last. His lines were getting steadier. Shapes were starting to look like actual shapes. Colors were becoming more intentional instead of chaotic smears.
He sifted through them carefully, like they were treasures.
Then he paused.
At the very bottom was that drawing.
A figure in blue and red, chest marked with a bright red "S" that was more of a squiggle than a symbol. The man in the drawing was smiling , standing behind a painfully lopsided sun.
'One day… ' he thought, gripping the page gently with pudgy fingers.
He smiled, a tiny, determined little smile that didn't belong on a toddler's face, but fit him all the same.
His hero.
His goal.
His promise, to himself, the same one he had made long ago, on his soul..
Even if he never got one of those famous "Golden Fingers" he'd read about in stories, he would still strive for it.
He would be like Clark Kent.
He would become a SuperMan.
*****
(4 months later)
Haru could be seen lying on the porch outside, stretched out directly under the sun's warm rays.
"Man… this feels so good.." he murmured, eyes half-closed in contentment.
After his first birthday, his parents had started letting him move around the house more freely. That meant he finally got to step outside, well, at least onto the porch of their backyard. And every time he did, standing or lying under the sunlight, it felt like his tiny body was being wrapped in the coziest, warmest blanket imaginable.
He didn't know why it felt so good. He didn't question it, he just let it fill him with a simple, unshakable happiness.
And over time, it became a little daily ritual. A moment to lie under the sun, soaking in warmth, feeling safe, and letting his tiny worries drift away.
For Haru, it was perfect.
Before he could even let his mind drift, someone suddenly grabbed him by the armpits and lifted him up.
Haru blinked up at the source of the disturbance, confused.
It was his mother, Miki Hyoudou.
Her eyes locked onto his, and Haru found himself staring back, not daring to squirm or fall.
"What did I tell you about laying down on that porch, young man?" she said, voice firm. "You'll get your clothes dirty."
Haru opened his mouth to protest. "But-"
She cut him off immediately. "BUT nothing, young man! You've had this conversation at least a hundred times in the last two months. Listen to your mother."
Haru just sighed.
Seeing this, Miki gently put him down on the porch, letting him stand on his tiny feet, before starting to walk back inside.
Haru then called out, "If I… cant lay down on the porch… need any help with Anything?"
Miki froze mid-step, surprised by the question. She hadn't expected such thoughtfulness from her one-year-old. A happy smile spread across her face as she looked back at him.
"Well… yeah," she said warmly. "I've got something for you to do."
Haru's face lit up with a small, eager smile.
Even if it was probably just some little house chores, it felt… nice. Familiar, almost nostalgic.
For a tiny moment, everything, the sun on his skin, the warmth of the porch, his mother's smile, felt just right.