Times New Roman

-January 2000-

- ?

​Far be it from me to complain about the sea, especially after living next to it for the last three decades. But having to cough up a liter of salt water after going through the wildest rollercoaster of my life isn't exactly my idea of a good time.

One moment, I'm having a great time, walking around the Forum Romanum, taking pictures, and being the perfect tourist. Next, I step under a crumbling gateway, and suddenly everything shifts. And what do you know, I'm free-falling through time and space, summer and winter. How does someone even fall through seasons?

I wash ashore in what seems like freezing salt water while definitely being a few sizes smaller than what I remember.

"This sucks." Understatement of the century, by the way.

At least I got this cool-looking stick out of it. That's definitely not hypothermia speaking. But seriously, this is the worst whiplash I've ever experienced. Maybe this is all just a dream. No, a nightmare. Maybe one of those rocks fell on me, and I'm bleeding out. Or perhaps this is that "life flashing before your eyes" thing I've heard and read about.

"Quick, the kid looks like he's on his last legs. Bring the blankets and get him to the hospital!"

Ayup, I'm hearing voices. And I'm not a kid, idiots.

"Kid, hang in there! We've got you."

And now I'm being carried in some giant dude's arms, no less. Well, at least the blankets feel pretty good.

"He's ice blue and definitely in shock. He still reacted to the blankets though, so he's still with us. We're racing to the hospital now. Over."

Alright, looks like I'm being saved by these giants. They don't seem to be planning to eat me, so that's a plus. Hopefully, it's warmer wherever they're taking me. I could really use a nap.

Oh, shit. My stick! Nooo… you will be missed.

"Bloody hell, he's losing consciousness. What kind of tosser loses their kid on New Year's Eve? Once I get my hands on that wanker, he'll be in a world of pain."

-Sometime later-

-?

​"We haven't been able to identify his parents nor find any record of him in our databases. No missing person report, nothing. Aside from his clothes and necklace, he had nothing with him," some disembodied voice says, straight out of a detective series.

What? I don't even watch detective series.

"His pendant has the word 'Archen' on it. That might be his name."

The hell? That's not my name.

"We've checked, no matches."

Wait... what is my name?

"At this point, we're hoping he can tell us more when he wakes up."

"Mrgle-grglle."

That has to be my most eloquent first impression ever. Those lights are way too blinding, and the bedside manners are terrible. Two out of ten, would not recommend.

"Happy eighth birthday and new millennium, kid."

What the fu... what is this dumbass cop with the weird fucking hat talking about?

"Whadyoumean?"

Wow, my throat is bringing me untold amounts of agony.

"Oh, sorry, Archen. Can I call you Archen? That's all we have on you, along with your birthday. First of January, 1992."

Yep, this is a nightmare—stuck in the past, before smartphones existed. This is hell. Don't even get me started on being eight years old. How do I process this? Yeah, that sounds like a problem for future me. I'm just going to take another nap.

"Bugger, look at what you did. I told you not to overwhelm him when he woke up," the doctor said with exasperation.

"Yeah, yeah. My bad."

Just more dreams of shifting sands and strange concepts. Far preferable to whatever this is.

"Zzz."

-The next day-

- Archen

​Ugh, I'm incredibly thirsty.

My kingdom for a glass of water. I'd get it myself, but sadly, the spirit is willing while the flesh is spongy and bruised.

Luckily, they've dimmed the lights a bit, so I'm not immediately hit with vertigo when I open my eyes this time.

As I survey the room, it's clear I'm either in the past or someone has gone to great lengths for a practical joke. I haven't seen TVs that big since my childhood. The rest of the room looks like a hospital ward straight out of an '80s sitcom.

Inhale, exhale. Take deep breaths and center yourself.

Taking stock of the situation: I've clearly been transported either to the past or an entirely different world. Hopefully, being genre-savvy will give me some kind of advantage. Fingers crossed.

I'm apparently an eight-year-old kid again.

Let's check, yes, still male. That's a relief. I'd rather not deal with body dysmorphia.

No mirror though, so I can't say what I look like now.

If this place follows my known timeline, I can definitely get ahead of the curve. Also, no more shoulder injury. Maybe, just maybe, I can pick up my old hobby again.

Yikes. Family... Yeah, let's repress that for another time.

Wait.

SYSTEM?

System?

Damn, I knew it. All those novels were a lie. You don't just get randomly handed infinite power when you're transported, isekai'd, reincarnated, or whatever this is. What's even the correct term for this situation? Am I a SELF-INSERT?

Deep breaths.

Existential dread aside, I'm still thirsty. That bottle of water over there looks incredibly tempting right now. Sadly, being a tiny kid in an adult-sized bed doesn't make it any easier to reach. If only I had something to reach it.

In a flash of light with the sound of air being displaced my faithful companion returned.

Holy shit.

Stick, it's you and me against the world. With you by my side, nothing can stop us. Our first adventure together starts now.

Like a man stranded in the desert finally finding water, I drank deeply, savoring every drop.

"Aah." That's better. Sadly, that sounded just like a young boy.

Well, at least that confirms I have some kind of power now. Summoning gnarly sticks could be useful. Maybe if I could summon a lot of them, I could start a wood-selling business. Unlimited Wood Works Inc.?

A sudden, rapid knock at the door echoes through the room, breaking the quiet and pulling me out of my deep musings.

With the same soft whisper of air being displaced, my stick fades from sight. I let out a quiet sigh of relief, grateful that I will not have to come up with an explanation for how it appeared in the first place.

Peeking around the door, a nurse steps into the room, her face lighting up. "Ah! It's good to see you're awake. Looks like you've already had a drink. Would you like some tea or maybe something to eat, dear?"

A low, insistent growl echoed from my stomach, breaking my silence.

Awkward.

Looking a bit embarrassed, I manage to say, "Yes, I'd love some."

Smiling warmly, she says, "Just take it easy, dear. I'll call the doctor and get you something warm, alright?"

The door closes softly behind her.

There she goes. Last chance to get my story straight. Name—Archen? Amnesia—check. Remember falling, sand, drowning. Don't remember anything else.

Yep, this can only end well.

-Half an hour later-

Staring at the mountain of food, the 'full English breakfast' as the nice nurse calls it, alongside a cup of tea with milk. Barbaric.

Just then, the same doctor, or maybe a different one—I can't remember—walks in.

Glancing at me, he says, "That's way too much and far too heavy a meal for someone who's just woken up. Give him some porridge and fruits instead, so he doesn't upset his stomach." While fair, fuck you too.

"Grrr," I growl, while pulling the food closer to me protectively.

This is 100 percent my nemesis. If this... this monster thinks he can take away all this glorious meat, he'll find me a formidable opponent.

"Come off it, Dr. Mayson. The kid's barely been unconscious for a day. I understand it's probably safer, but as you can see, he's been even more responsive since the food arrived," the nurse says.

My former nemesis glances between her and my defensive stance, then says placatingly, "Yes, that seems to be the case. All right, you can keep your food, little lion."

"While you eat, I'll fill you in on what we've found so far and ask a few questions. Think you're up to the challenge?"

I nod.

They're treating me like a child, but not as if I'm stupid. Very professional. I'll try to be as helpful as I reasonably can in this situation.

"As you've probably noticed, you're in a hospital. Specifically, the Royal Victoria Hospital in Folkestone. You were found on Folkestone Beach by some officers early in the morning on the 1st of January, year 2000, while they were checking for stragglers from the New Year's party the night before. Incredibly unlucky that you had to go through such a harrowing experience. But hey, you're the first patient admitted here in the new millennium while also being the first footer of the house. Maybe that'll offset your bad luck," he chuckled.

Tasting the posh crime against beverages that is this tea, I have to admit—it's actually pretty good.

"Once you arrived, we managed to warm you up quickly enough to prevent any visible signs of lasting damage. You even woke up fairly quickly, which was a good sign. And judging by how voraciously you're eating, I'm fairly certain you'll have no lasting effects from your time in the sea."

As I munch on some toast and beans, he continues.

"We found no identifying objects on you besides your pendant, which is in the drawer over there, by the way. You're not a known face in the community, and the police haven't received any missing person reports."

This marmalade is just jam. I'm immensely disappointed, you might even say that my day is ruined.

A sudden knocking sound interrupts our conversation and a new face walks in.

"Ah, Inspector Brown. Come in."

A somewhat lanky, black-haired man walks in, wearing a trench coat and a fedora. He doesn't wear it well.

"Hey, Archen. I'm Inspector Jonathan Brown. One of my officers found you yesterday morning on the beach. As the good doctor just told you, we've been working hard to find your parents or at least someone who knows you. Is there anything you can tell us to help?"

Shit. Showtime.

Swallowing my food, I stammer, "I... I don't remember. I just remember water and sand... a lot of sand... and being incredibly cold. Th-then I woke up, and someone called me Archen, b-but I don't r-really remember my name. It didn't feel right, but I don't know what it actually is."

And isn't that a mindfuck—what is my name?

The doctor and the inspector exchange a glance. The inspector looks incredibly sad, while the doctor frowns deeply.

"Retrograde amnesia, likely due to a traumatic experience. Probably the one that led to him being found on the beach in unsuitable clothes with nothing else," the doctor says, a hint of anger in his voice. "He has no trouble remembering new things, which is good. We can work with that."

"Is there anything the police can do for him?" The inspector asks.

"Keep looking for his family or any information about how he ended up there. Familiar things from his past might help trigger his memories. We'll need to keep him here for at least a week to thoroughly check for anterograde amnesia and determine if the memory loss is short-term."

"Noted. I'll call in for more support. This might be part of something bigger," the inspector says absentmindedly.

Turning back to me, he adds, "Kid, sorry for calling you Archen. I just assumed it was your name. But don't worry, we'll do our best to help you. And hey, if you can't remember your name, you've got the chance to pick the coolest name you can think of. Something like Augustin Tamare or whatever!" he says clumsily but with a jovial grin.

Honestly, it feels pretty good—all the care they're showing. I just feel a little bad about the lies I have to tell.

"Th-thank you," I mutter softly.

-Inspector Brown

​"Doctor, it's good to see you again. How's the little one been this past week?"

"Inspector, good to see you too. After a week of tests and observations, we can safely say he's able to form new memories without the risk of losing them. Sadly, he hasn't recalled anything noteworthy. Most of what he's forgotten seems to be familial, with some gaps in societal norms and knowledge of appliances. He's chosen to keep the name Archen since that pendant is his last connection to his old life. Have you found any information on your end?" the doctor replies, a bit melancholically.

"That's good news, at least. But no, we haven't found anyone matching his description or any reports filed that could be linked to him. There has been a strange uptick in missing children over the past few months. We thought we had a match when a white-haired child went missing in a neighboring town. Sadly, once we spoke to the parents, we realized they were talking about their daughter, Tosca. So, not the little lion... I mean, Archen."

This whole situation makes me incredibly mad. I've already seen two cases with the same modus operandi—kids disappearing without a trace. I've even warned my brother and sister-in-law never to let Penny out of their sights.

"If he's ready to leave the hospital, we've arranged for him to go to an orphanage in Wales. One of the best in the country, actually. You might have heard of it—Blackmore Orphanage. It's been well-established and has been open for over a thousand years. Once they heard about Archen's situation, they couldn't just leave him to a state-run facility."

The doctor looks surprised. "Blackmore?" he asks. "And you call this place dreary? Isn't Blackmore town named after the cemetery nearby?"

Chuckling, I reply, "That's the one, but 'nearby' is a stretch. It's at least half an hour's drive from the town. He won't just stumble upon it."

"Well, color me surprised. If they're taking him in, I can discharge him in good conscience. Their track record is stellar. Plenty of their alumni have gone on to become quite prominent in their fields," the doctor says, noticeably more cheerful.

"I can honestly say this brightens my week. The little lion, despite the circumstances of his arrival, has been a source of joy for the staff here. He's incredibly smart for his age. While he can be a menace, he's never obnoxious. The nurses adore him," the doctor adds wistfully. "We're definitely going to miss him."

Hah. This is what makes the work worth it—seeing good people a bit happier.

"Well, that's all from me. If you're ready to discharge him, the matron can send a chauffeur to pick him up in two days."

"All right, we'll get the paperwork done, and I'll inform the nurses they won't have to keep an eye out for a silly little goober running around anymore."

"Godspeed, Inspector."

I salute the good doctor and head out. I need to contact the matron for Archen's retrieval and reach out to the boys. This case stinks. It stinks to high heaven.

Godspeed, indeed.

-Archen

​"Remember to sleep on time, okay? Don't just wander around in the middle of the night," Nurse Anna reminds me. I roll my eyes.

"He's smart enough, Anna. He'll be fine," says Dr. Mayson. Big respect, incredible doctor. "Keep up those memory exercises. Even if they don't help you recall the past, they'll help prevent potential memory loss. Got it?" he adds, a bit sternly.

"Yes, I will, Doctor. I'll keep them up for the next month like you said!"

I'll actually miss this place a bit. I didn't expect them to be this kind to me, and they've unknowingly helped me deal with the shock of this whole new world situation. When I make a name for myself, I'll remember this place.

"Thank you, Dr. Mayson and Nurse Anna, for all your help." I definitely did not choke on those words.

With the emotional goodbyes done, I wave them off as the driver escorts me to a way-too-fancy car. Big alarm bells there. Why is the driver from an orphanage picking me up in an honest-to-God BMW? Whatever. The doctor did say it's a prestigious orphanage, so I guess this is normal?

During the drive, while my chauffeur wasn't exactly the chatty type, he still answered my questions, but there was no real conversation. If I were an actual kid, I'd probably be scared right now.

At least I've gotten a better picture of my next accommodation. The orphanage doubles as a primary school. There's a middle school in the same town, and I'll be expected to attend both in time. It doesn't seem like the kind of orphanage where they actively seek adoptive families for the kids. It's more like the matron adopts them herself.

Some good news: there are a variety of clubs around town, and since the orphanage has been a mainstay here, the kids there have easy access to all of them. The best news I've gotten is some intel on a HEMA club in town. Apparently, it's one of the biggest in the country.

This means my old passion is back on the table. Being able to hold a spear again is, all things considered, one of the most fortuitous parts of this whole debacle. With my 15 years of experience, I'll be able to go further than before.

I barely notice the drive coming to an end as I daydream about wielding a spear again. At least, until the driver calls out to me.

"Kid, we're almost there. If you look outside, you might recognize the road when you eventually get lost."

Fucking dick.

"I'll be sure to remember the road out of town," I reply with a sunny smile.

"Good."

Goddamn. That's not an orphanage—that's a palace. I can see different dorm buildings, a huge main building, and… "is that a track field?"

"Good eyes. It's multi-purpose. There are a few other training fields behind the main building," the driver adds.

Well, time to find out if I'm a sacrifice or a potential cult member.

Next to a massive fountain, an older, gracefully graying woman is waiting, flanked by two teens. I have no idea how they knew we were arriving now. Is texting a thing already? If those teens are fellow orphans, they sure don't look like it. They seem more like preppy college kids.

As the car comes to a stop, the driver quickly gets out and opens the door for me. That's a quick 180 in manners compared to how he acted in the car.

"Presenting Lady Igraine, Matron of Blackmore Orphanage, her son Tor, and daughter Elaine."

Lady? Isn't that some sort of noble-ish title?

"At ease, Charles," she says with a firm but gentle tone. So that's his name. "No need for such stiff formalities. You're making this more difficult than it has to be."

She walks up to me and crouches slightly until she's at eye level with my accursedly short stature.

"Hello, Archen. As you've just heard, I am Igraine, the Matron of the house. We're here to welcome you to your new home. I'd love to speak with you more, but I imagine you must be tired and hungry from the road. Tor will show you to your dorm and give you a brief tour of the important places. We'll talk more after you've settled in."

That sounds fair. They don't look shady… though it's a bit early to assume.

I nod slightly. "Umm, okay. Thanks."

She smiles kindly. "Run along."

"Hi, Tor Blackmore, at your service." He bows flamboyantly.

Definitely nobility-adjacent.

"Hi." I try to mimic his bow, which gets a chuckle out of him.

And off we go. This place is massive—exactly how I'd imagine a royal palace to look. According to Tor, their ancestors founded the neighboring settlement after some period of upheaval. The history of this place dates back over a thousand years. He tells me more cool stories as we make our way to my room.

My room is huge. It's bigger than the entire first floor of my old house. It's soundproof, he says, since a lot of kids practice their instruments in their rooms. It's pretty empty now, but if I achieve good grades, I can earn more stuff.

Well, I get it. They're taking in orphans and turning them into loyal assets. If that's all that's happening around here, it's not all that bad.

Here's hoping that's all there is to it.

"Dinner is served in the dining area at 19:00. Shared dining is mandatory, with exceptions for club activities. If you can't find your way, wait at the bottom of the entrance stairs, and someone will pick you up. I'll see you in a bit."

"Okay. See you."

That went surprisingly well.

-January 2001-

I just turned nine years old. Looking back, I've arrived at an incredibly auspicious date, namely the first day of a new era. It tingles my danger sense something fierce.

I fit into the orphanage fairly easily. With my more mature outlook, I've managed to upgrade my status to something of a prodigy. All kids get the basics, but there's a huge focus on competence. If you want nicer clothes or better furniture, you have to show marked improvement in something. That new standard then becomes the norm, and if you want more rewards, you'll have to grow once more. It's impressive how driven everyone is.

After proving myself responsible, I convinced the matron to enroll me in the Historical European Martial Arts club once I turned nine, which is today. I've spent the past year training my body in preparation.

I didn't expect to gain much strength or athleticism at my age. But surprisingly, it feels like training matters. If I just keep going, I'll get stronger with no diminishing returns. Not sure if that's a world trait or part of my powers, but it does give me a realistic avenue for progression. Combining body strengthening and weapon fighting is a tried-and-true method for gaining strength.

The second factor in my strength boost is discovering what my stick can do. It can't catch fire or replicate itself, so no infinite wood factory. But it does let me flash forward a few meters. I thought it was teleportation at first, but it feels more like time manipulation. Sounds incredibly powerful, right? Sadly, I don't know how to progress. Also, I always know the exact time. Which… yay?

Anyway, superpowers are cool and all, but I have no idea how to develop them. I tried meditating and all that spiritual stuff, but nothing stuck. The only real progress I've made happened by chance. Like when I was late for class, panicking about making it on time—bam! Mental clock unlocked. I really need a teacher for this kind of thing.

Weapon fighting, though—that I can handle. And today's the day. The New Year festivities are over, and I'm officially joining my first class.

The club here is massive, at least ten times bigger than my old local one. They offer a wide variety of classes. I had no idea it was such a big deal in the British Isles.

The head coach of the spear-fighting class, Mister Bedrydant, is pretty famous in the HEMA community. He's won a few national tournaments and had a good chance to be one of the world's best, but luckily for me, he's chosen to teach instead of compete.

I'm the youngest in the kids' group. One girl is ten, and the others are all at least twelve. She's been practicing for a few years already. She's going to be my first stepping stone to greatness.

After changing into my training clothes, I'm shown around the club: different sword-fighting groups, unarmed combat classes, and even an archery section. Mental note—find some kind of ranged option.

"Time to introduce you to the other youth spear-fighting division members," Coach says, patting me on the shoulder.

"I know kids from the villa need some encouragement to get the best results. Impress me enough in the next few months, and I'll let you start sparring early," he adds with a conspiratorial grin.

You son of a bitch, I'm in.

"I won't disappoint you, Coach. You'll see!"

-?

​Hmm. White hair and red eyes. Is he a vampire?

"Hi, I'm Archen. No last name yet." No last name? Probably another one from the mansion. "I'm here to join your group. Please take care of me, and I hope we'll get along!"

The newbie sounds way too cheerful. Feels fake.

Oi, oi, oi. Why is he suddenly staring at me?

"I'm sorry in advance, but I have no intention of being held back here. You're all my first opponents to defeat. Once again, please take care of me!" He says with a sunny smile.

I'm being targeted. This itty-bitty possible vampire wants to beat me. Not happening. Hmph. Once we're matched together, I'll show him.

"Hahaha, that's one spirited introduction. No sparring until you've been cleared on the basics. I'll pair you with your training buddy, and you can both do the warm-up while I instruct the older kids."

Oh no. I'm going to be his partner, huh? I don't want to. He's going to be terrible for a long time, and I really don't want to talk to him. I'm definitely not cut out to instruct someone else.

And… the coach is walking toward me.

"Since you two are closest in age and about the same height, you'll make a good training pair. You'll be the instructor for the warm-up. It might help with your shyness, eh?" The stupid coach stupidly winks at me with his stupid face.

Sigh. Teacher Bersac would want me to try my best at this.

"Hi. I'll be in your care. You can call me Gray. Gray Blackmore."