Time passed again.
I'm now a whole one and a half years old.
And yes, it's just as weird as it sounds—being mentally older than all the adults combined while living in the body of a toddler. At least now I can speak in small sentences. Still simple, broken... but enough to hold real conversations with my mother.
Which, as it turns out, is hilarious.
The first time I said "I love Mama," she lost her mind.
Literally.
She gasped so hard I thought she swallowed her breath, spun around the room like a tornado, tripped on a pillow, and knocked over a chair with her knee.
I just sat there giggling.
Then she froze mid-dramatic spin, turned her head slowly toward her infamous parenting book, and snapped it open like a legendary grimoire.
I swear I heard a choir.
Her eyes scanned the pages with the speed of a hyper Beedrill, and then she let out a squeal that echoed off the ceiling.
"You're not supposed to be able to say full thoughts until you're two!" she shouted, pointing at the page. "You're barely one and a half! You're doing it early!"
Then, softer, glowing with pride:
"My little genius..."
That name stuck whenever I did something she considered advanced. She still calls me her little star most of the time, but when I show off my speech or do something clever?
"My little genius~" she'd say while booping my nose.
I love her, but seriously—she has no chill.
Thankfully, I now have full control over my bodily functions. Thank the void for that. For the first several months of being a baby, I had to mentally retreat into my mindscape every time my body needed to, well... relieve itself.
Total humiliation avoidance.
Now, though? Clean. Controlled. Dignified.
Still, the most relaxing part of my day—surprisingly—is bath time.
Not because of the water.
Because of her.
My mama loves playing with my hair.
For some reason, my hair's grown long—way longer than most toddlers. It has deep purple highlights streaked through the black strands, almost glowing under certain light. Even my mom was confused at first, but she didn't seem to mind.
"I love your hair," she says every time, brushing it gently with her fingers. "So soft... so shiny~"
I'd complain, but... there's one problem.
When she brushes it—I purr.
No joke. I actually purr.
The first time it happened, she jerked her hand back and stared at me like I'd evolved into a Meowth. Then she laughed for a full minute before scooping me up and kissing the top of my head.
Ever since, she's developed this habit of playing with my hair constantly.
Which means I now purr constantly.
Like a baby dragon hatchling.
It's so embarrassing.
Especially because she's taken to pinching my cheeks when I do anything remotely cute. And with how soft they are? Yeah. She's obsessed.
Sometimes I swear she's actually younger than me—mentally, at least in this body of I had not reincarnated . She bounces between "playful chaos gremlin" and "wise, careful mama" like she has a toggle switch hidden in her pocket.
And speaking of toggles...
The other day, I asked her a question.
"Mama. You have Pokémon?"
She blinked in surprise, then smiled.
"Yes, I do, little star. But you won't see them yet."
"Why?" I asked, puffing my cheeks.
"Because I want to wait until after your growth spurt. When you turn two. I want you to be strong enough to be around them safely. Even the gentle ones can be overwhelming for a tiny body."
Growth spurt?
I blinked up at her, then nodded slowly. "Okay..."
But my curiosity burned.
So when I had time to myself again, I returned to my mindscape, sat down on my mental throne beneath the void-lit sky, crossed my arms, and muttered:
"Well. Let's see what this sassy system of mine says."
The stars above were gently pulsing with threads of void-light. My legs dangled over the edge as I leaned back on my palms, waiting.
A flare of violet-black light pulsed beside me, and the familiar sass of my system's voice echoed through the air.
[Well, well, well, look who came crawling back for answers. You miss me already, Host?]
I rolled my eyes. "I never said I missed you. I just have questions."
[Mmhm. Sure. Let's pretend your curiosity isn't just a desperate cry for my divine knowledge.]
"System," I said flatly.
[Alright, alright, fine. You want to know about your upcoming growth spurt, right? Good! Buckle up, baby dragon. It's time for some science—Void Dragon System™ style.]
I sat up straighter, already regretting this.
[So! Back to the maturing of the human body. There are differences—big differences—compared to the maturing process back on Earth. And you can thank the lovely energy everywhere on this planet, Terra.]
I blinked. "So... like, the air or the energy actually affects development?"
[Bingo. To be perfectly honest, the whole process reminds me more of the way Saiyans from Dragon Ball mature.]
"Wait. Are you saying I'm gonna be like a Saiyan now?"
[Emotionally? No. Power-wise? Potentially. Developmentally? Definitely.]
The air shimmered as a massive diagram appeared, floating above me. Charts. Timelines. Glowing age bars. The system was really getting into it.
[Here's the breakdown, little genius:]
⸻
[From birth to 1.5 years old:]
Babies on Terra mature physically just like babies on Earth. But mentally? They develop up to the level of a 2-3 year-old Earth child.
[From 1.5 to 2 years old:]
This is where it gets wild.
Terran babies rapidly grow and begin to look like 4-5 year-old children. Their mental maturity jumps as well, matching that age group.
I stared at the projection, watching my little chibi body stretch into something that resembled a kindergarten-ready version of myself.
"...I'm going to look like a preschooler in half a year?"
[Yup. You'll even get a little boost in your coordination, speech, and perception too. Congrats! You're evolving.]
I shuddered.
[From 2 to 7.5 years old:]
Terran children remain looking like 4-5 year olds, but mentally, they continue maturing—reaching the equivalent of 12-13 year-old Earth kids.
That's 5.5 years of slow, internal growth packed into a tiny body.
"...That explains a lot."
[Oh, we're not done.]
[From 7.5 to 8 years old:]
Another spurt. Physically, Terran kids jump to looking like 10-11 year-olds. Mentally, they reach about 13-14 Earth years.
[From 8 to 13.5 years old:]
Terran children look 10-11 the entire time, but mentally they develop into young adults—the equivalent of 20-21 Earth years.
My eyes widened.
"No wonder Ash never looks older..."
[Exactly. But wait, there's more.]
[From 13.5 to 14 years old:]
Terran teens rapidly grow again to look 16-17. Their mental age caps around 21 Earth years.
[From 14 to 17.5 years old:]
They stay looking like teens, but internally? They mature to the equivalent of 25-26 year-old humans.
[From 17.5 to 18 years old:]
Final growth spurt. Physically, they now look 20-21. Mentally, they become 27-28 year-old adults.
[From 18 to 40:]
Terran adults continue looking like they're in their early twenties. Their mental growth from here on out depends entirely on life experience, not age.
I sat in stunned silence, processing everything.
"...So that's why Ash's mom doesn't age either."
[Boom. Logic cannon, fired.]
"...I can't believe I almost lived through all of this without knowing. Thank void I asked."
[You're welcome.]
"No seriously—thank you," I muttered, sighing in relief. "Also thanks for unlocking my speech at one year. That helped a lot."
[Oh, now I get gratitude? Be still my artificial heart.]
I groaned.