The Eyepatch chronicles

The white eye patch clung snugly to my face, and let me tell you—this was not part of the imaginary baby aesthetic I had envisioned. Sure, it was stabilizing my “excessive mana output” or whatever magical jargon Reine had explained, but it came at the cost of style. I had gone from mysterious newborn to looking like an extra in a low-budget pirate play.

Reine was still in the room, jotting notes into her journal. Every so often, she glanced at me like I was a rare magical specimen, the corners of her glasses glinting ominously in the firelight. Though I didn’t mind it. That is the same as saying she is interested this pirate infant.

Another realization hit me—Saki once said that in fantasy worlds, every girl you meet is always killer when it comes to looks. First, my mother, who somehow manages to look ethereal even when pouting at Fren. Then Celine, smug and sharp but undeniably charming. And now her younger sister, Reine, with her calm professionalism and youthful brightness. If nothing else, reincarnation had upgraded my scenery. I was blind but now my eyes are open to the wonders of the world.

Celine moved about the room with deliberate detachment, her blonde braids swaying as she adjusted her glasses and sorted through vials without sparing me a glance.

“Well?” Reine asked, not looking up from her notes.

“Well, what?” Celine replied, clipped and indifferent.

“You’re welcome,” Reine said dryly, adjusting her glasses with a flick of her finger.

Celine snorted, finally glancing her way. “You want gratitude for slapping an eye patch on a baby? Congratulations, you’ve invented fashion.”

I nearly cooed in agreement. At least someone understood my suffering.

Reine didn’t rise to the bait, her tone calm. “It’s an enchanted stabilizer, not a toy.”

Celine waved a hand dismissively. “Call it whatever you want. He looks like he’s auditioning for a pirate crew.”

Their exchange was oddly fascinating. Celine’s cold sarcasm clashed with Reine’s patient professionalism, and I couldn’t help but wonder how two people so different could be sisters. Then again, age probably played a role—Celine in her twenties, Reine still a teenager.

Rose entered with her usual grace, silver hair shimmering as she moved. “How’s he adjusting?” she asked softly, approaching me.

“He’s stable,” Reine replied, her professional demeanor returning. “The eye patch is working as intended. His mana levels are manageable now. Not like I can tell the actual figure. I’m just sensing it roughly though his stable state is fairly high for his age”

Fren leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, his grin faint. “So, does that mean we don’t have to worry about him turning into a walking explosion?”

“Not unless someone actively destabilizes the enchantments,” Reine said, casting a pointed look at Celine.

Celine didn’t flinch. “I’m not the one handing out magical accessories to infants.”

Rose stepped in before the tension could escalate. “Let’s all take a moment to breathe,” she said warmly. “Raizen’s progress is what matters most right now.”

Reine nodded, her tone softening. “You’re right. The eye patch is working well, but I’ll continue refining the enchantments to ensure there are no disruptions.”

Celine muttered under her breath, “Refining, huh? Maybe add a skull-and-crossbones motif while you’re at it.”

As the day wore on, the excitement faded into calm stillness. Rose sat beside my cradle, her hand resting gently on my forehead as she hummed a soft melody. Fren was outside, no doubt sharpening his sword for the hundredth time that week. Celine eventually retreated to her room, leaving behind the faint scent of herbs.

Reine, however, remained nearby, her journal open on the table as she continued her research. She glanced at me, her brown eyes thoughtful.

“You’re an enigma, Raizen,” she said softly. “But I think you’re going to surprise us all.”

Her words lingered in the air, a quiet promise of the adventures yet to come.