Shen's last memory of his old life was the hum of fluorescent lights and the taste of instant coffee. The monotony of office work, endless meetings, and the relentless grind of daily life—it had all been unbearably dull. Yet, somehow, it was gone.
He opened his eyes to sunlight streaking through a paper-screen window, warm and soft, painting stripes across a small wooden room. The smell of fresh flowers and polished wood filled his senses. Shen blinked, instinctively raising his tiny hands.
His fingers were small, pudgy, delicate… not the adult hands he remembered. A wave of confusion hit him.
"I… I'm a baby?" His voice was silent, for he could only think the words, but the thought was sharp in his mind.
A soft rustling drew his attention. Before him stood a pair of hands, gentle and warm, scooping him up. A woman's voice, high and melodic, cooed over him.
"Shen! My precious little master!"
Shen's mind groaned. Of course. Born into some noble family. Probably doomed to fail at everything too.
The figure was his mother, Meiling. She fussed over him with exaggerated care, adjusting his blanket and smoothing his tiny hair. Shen's mental age was nineteen, but his body was five. He tried to shift, to protest, to assert some autonomy… and promptly toppled over again.
"Why is my body so useless?" he thought, glaring at his pudgy limbs. "I have the mind of an adult, but the agility of a sack of rice."
Before he could dwell on his plight, another figure appeared—tall, composed, with eyes like polished jade. His father, Hiroto, sighed.
"He has the Hoshikawa blood," Hiroto said, voice calm but carrying weight. "Potential… though right now, he's… fragile."
Shen's inner monologue sneered. Potential, huh? I can barely crawl without knocking over the vase. Sounds legit.
Finally, Grandfather Genzo entered, dramatic as always. He clapped his hands loudly, making the wooden floorboards echo.
"Hoshikawa Shen! Born under the starstream bloodline! The world shall witness your greatness!"
Shen's tiny brow furrowed. Already being called the hope of the clan… barely five minutes in, and the pressure starts. Great.
---
Days passed—or at least, Shen's perception of time did. Every movement of his tiny limbs felt awkward, every attempt to grasp a toy or crawl across the room resulted in minor disaster.
His first "training" attempt was a display of unintentional chaos. The elders had set up a small Qi practice mat for him, designed for children his age. Shen, in his excitement and curiosity, tried to focus his energy. He imagined the flow of Qi, remembered the cultivation novels he had read in his past life, and attempted to channel it.
A tiny spark flared, fizzled… and then his small body lurched forward uncontrollably. He toppled onto the mat, sending the practice dummy rolling into the corner. Water from a nearby vase splashed across the floor, narrowly missing him.
"Well… first attempt: disaster," he thought, blinking at the chaos around him.
His mother laughed nervously. "Oh, he's trying so hard…"
His father's sigh carried the weight of years of patience. "He's… stubborn, I'll give him that."
Shen, meanwhile, mentally rolled his eyes. I remember every cultivation technique from all those novels… yet here I am, flopping like a fish out of water.
---
The comedy didn't end there. Explorations of the estate quickly became Shen's specialty. He wandered the halls, climbed on furniture too high for him, and tripped over shadows. He collided with servants, pets, and the occasional visiting noble child, leaving minor chaos in his wake.
One incident stood out. Shen, fascinated by the glimmer of sunlight on a polished sword in the corner, crawled toward it. His tiny hands grasped the hilt… and promptly knocked the sword across the room. A servant shrieked as the blade clanged against the floor, spinning harmlessly before coming to rest.
Shen, from his position on the ground, blinked at the scene. It's supposed to be my first heroic moment. But I guess gravity disagrees.
---
Even so, hints of his latent talent began to show. Tiny sparks of Qi, faint but unusual for a child his age, flickered around his hands whenever he reached for something with intense focus. A candle's flame would flicker, a small leaf would levitate for a moment, and the family's cat would hiss at the inexplicable movements.
The elders noticed. "Did you see that?" one whispered. "Even in such a tiny body… the aura…"
Shen, oblivious to their whispers, continued crawling, thinking: I'm still trash, but maybe… just maybe… this body has a mind of its own.
---
Even mundane tasks became comic misadventures. Meal times were perilous. Chopsticks, bowls, and small plates flew across the floor as Shen attempted to feed himself. Every attempt at walking with grace ended in tumbling into furniture or accidentally spilling soup on his mother's robes.
Through it all, Shen's mind remained sharp, sarcastic, and observant. He noticed patterns in servant routines, predicted when the dog would chase him next, and even figured out how to climb onto the couch without immediate disaster—most of the time.
---
As the sun dipped behind the distant mountains, a faint stir of energy brushed through the Hoshikawa estate. Shen paused, tiny fingers clutching a toy horse. A faint glow traced along his arms, barely perceptible but enough to make the elders gasp.
"The aura…" one elder whispered. "Even a child… could this be?"
Shen blinked at the glow in confusion. Why is my hand sparkling? I didn't do anything… did I?
The little toy horse wobbled, then floated a few inches before settling back down. Shen's eyes widened. Okay… definitely not normal.
---
He looked toward the sky through the open window. Somewhere, far beyond the mountains, the air seemed to shimmer with an unknown energy. The estate, usually calm, felt… alive.
Shen hugged his toy horse and muttered under his breath: Well… this is going to be interesting.
And, for the first time since opening his new eyes in this world, he smiled—tiny, mischievous, fully aware that life as the "trash young master" of the Hoshikawa Clan had officially begun.
—End of Chapter 1—