To a man who had spent his whole life studying, active, outdoor hobbies seemed out of the question. I therefore set my sights on the tried-and-true hobby of indoorsy people like myself—reading. From pure literature to mysteries, I doggedly sampled a range of genres I’d never read before. Obviously, reading the printed word had never been much of a problem for me, but if you asked me back then whether or not I was enjoying reading as a hobby, I would have said I wasn’t. Honestly, I just couldn’t figure out where the enjoyment was meant to come from.
Alongside fiction, I also started reading business and how-to books with titles like Practical Corporate Communication, Guide for the Emotionally Inexperienced, and Secret Strategies for the Popular Man. These were books that, in retrospect, sounded incredibly questionable...but before I realized it, I was attentively taking notes as I read along—I was incapable of distinguishing between my hobbies and studying. I stopped after realizing my diligent notes on those books hadn’t even remotely impacted my life regardless.
As though compelled to, I began watching all sorts of anime and playing all kinds of games—anything I could get my hands on, anything that was meant to be “fun.” And they were interesting, to be sure; but that sense of “fun” was ultimately too palpable, and I couldn’t shake off the resulting sense of guilt I felt, ingrained in me since my childhood.
It was then that I came across fantasy web novels. Maybe it was the fact that I was still reading blocks of text, but with them, I managed to shake off that nagging sense of guilt, even though the content was decidedly noneducational. Moreover, the otherworldly reincarnation genre, which was all the rage at that time, really scratched the deep, psychological itch I’d had to start my life over, a desire that had plagued me throughout those years. Thinking about that now, though, I could only laugh.
Wait, aren’t I being awfully calm considering the situation?
For someone whose memories of his past life had just returned, I was too calm. Somehow, my mind was clear enough that I was conducting a kind of robust self-analysis. At this point, a normal person might assume they’d finally gone mad from exam stress, and they might figure this was all just some bizarre hallucination. But these distinct, newly accessible memories—of words and customs from my past life, of things that didn’t exist in this world—allowed me to determine that this was definitely no dream.
For some reason, I wasn’t freaking out about it. My feelings were a bit closer to, Well, it is what it is. And although I couldn’t quite put it into words, I had a feeling I understood why I hadn’t been able to study in this lifetime. It had probably been some kind of subconscious reaction to the hell I’d gone through in my past one.
“I am saying that you need to have some sense of urgency, Young Master! This is no time to relax! You are barely attaining a passable grade as it is!”
Oh, shut up...
“For generations, it has been customary for the sons and daughters of this great house to undertake the challenge that is the Royal Academy entrance examinations. But not one person has been able to push the heavy doors to that institution open. Seven hundred years of painful longing! And you, Young Master—you would turn your back on that glorious future? You are not even trying! With your lack of effort, you besmirch the pride of this family: that its members push themselves to the utmost! If you were to fail, I would never be able to show my face to your father again. Nay, I would make amends by accepting my death!”
What is this? Is he trying to cast some sort of curse? Soldo had clearly started to go off the deep end a bit. Grimacing, I tried to placate the old man.
“Sorry, Gramps. I just got a bit lost in thought. I do have a sense of urgency, I assure you. Please, continue the lesson,” I said, raising my hand to try to halt his sermon and giving him a quick nod. Having finally received a response to his rambling, Soldo regarded me with a suspicious look.
“Well, as long as you understand,” he said after a pause. “Let us continue, then.”
With a slightly puzzled look on his face, he resumed his teaching. Honestly, I could understand his confusion. My response had been very unlike the Allen he was used to. Born into a noble family—and the youngest child at that—I’d been doted on since birth. Consequently, I’d grown into the epitome of a spoiled, selfish brat. And that was how I’d acted—up until about three minutes ago. Now, if I were still the old Allen, my response to Soldo’s sermon would have been something more along the lines of...
“Oh, shut up! I’m sick of studying from dawn to dusk! Even if I do become a knight, you know what skills I’d actually need to have? Discipline, strength, and the ability to go down to the tavern after work, make some noise, and find some friends I can trust to watch my back! Royal history? That’s not gonna be useful even once! The magical power conversion theorem? Do you really think I’m going to become a magical engineer or craftsman? Hell, you could tear off my arms right now so I couldn’t become a knight and I’d still never resort to that! Why should I waste my time memorizing stuff I’m never going to need just for some stupid exam? What’s the point in cramming all this useless crap into my head just so I can sit there all quiet-like and do useless things like an idiot? Seriously...”
Yeah, some childish response like that, stuffed full of those canned phrases study-weary kids love to parrot.
But enough of that. Right now, I had to think through my new situation.
First of all, just a few moments ago, I had regained my memories of my past life. For simplicity’s sake, we would just say that twelve years after my reincarnation, I had “awakened.” I still had the memories of the last twelve years of my life as “Allen,” but unlocking those additional memories had made an unmistakable impact on my current personality and mental attitude.
At the same time, it wasn’t like I’d been possessed by my past self; rather, it was more like the timid, swotty me of my past life and the carefree jock I had been until now had fused into some kind of hybrid. For some reason, the bright red sticker on the back of a bottle of household bleach flashed into my mind: “DANGER: DO NOT MIX.”
What happens when you mix a jock with a swot, anyway?