Re-In-Creation

Chapter 5 - First Step Alone

3rd Person P.O.V

The morning mist hadn’t yet lifted when Jaka stood by the front door, gripping his wooden spear.

“What!?” Sekar shouted, rubbing her forehead. “You want to go spearfishing alone!?”

“Yes,” Jaka replied flatly.

After receiving the training clothes, the wooden sword, and the small bow with hand-carved arrows, Jaka had seemed more confident—like he believed he was strong enough now to venture out by himself.

At least, that’s what his parents thought.

And why wouldn’t they? He moved with purpose, tested the weight of his parent chores, checked the bowstring like he’d done it a hundred times before.

To them, it looked like a boy beginning to grow into himself—ready to take on the world, one step at a time.

But that wasn’t the whole truth.

Jaka wasn’t asking to go alone because he felt strong.

He just wanted space. Time without watchful eyes or worried questions. A stretch of freedom where he could train—really train—swing the sword without holding back, test his aim with the bow, move the way he remembered from another life.

Of course, he was over twenty, trapped in a ten-year-old’s body.

But he couldn’t say that.

So instead, he simply said he wanted to spearfish alone—and hoped they’d believe that was all there was to it.

Sekar stared at him for a long moment, then let out a heavy sigh. “Fine…” she muttered. “But only in shallow water.”

“And if there’s a crocodile or a snake,” Wirajaya added sternly, “don’t you dare try to fight them. You run. Understand?”

“Yes, Father.”

Sekar stepped forward and gripped Jaka’s wrist before he could leave. Her fingers were firm. “And don’t go too far into the river. You know the rules.”

“I won’t,” Jaka said quickly.

“And if you do…” she said, voice dropping into a dangerous calm, “I’ll know.”

Jaka blinked. “But how?!”

Sekar narrowed her eyes. “Let’s just say… the power of a mother’s sight.”

Then, as if summoned by ancient instinct, she reached behind the door and pulled out something long and wrapped in red thread, worn by years of justice: a Bamboo Broom.

Jaka’s breath hitched.

Not because it looked painful—no. The fear came from memory.

“Oh no,” he whispered. “Not again. Not in this life too…”

In his past world, his mother had wielded the dreaded Slipper Guided Missile—heat-seeking, lightning-fast, and frighteningly accurate from across the living room.

But here?

Here, she had something else entirely.

It wasn’t just a broom—it was the Broom of Justice: blessed by ancestors, swift as wind, and hitting like karma.

The sacred relic in the Typical Asian Mom arsenal: Version 2.0.

And Jaka? Just a mortal child.

“I’ll stay in the shallows! Promise!” he blurted, backing toward the door like a cornered animal.