Re-In-Creation

Chapter 5 - First Step Alone

Sekar raised the broom with a casual twirl and smiled sweetly. “Good boy. Go have fun.”

“Like fun and fear can exist together,” Jaka muttered under his breath.

Small Timeskip.

The sun started to rise as Jaka walked happily toward the river, whistling his favorite song and carrying his wooden spear like a trusted partner.

"Ah, it's a nice day for fishing, ain't it?"

The river glistened under the morning sun. Jaka stood knee-deep in the cool water, scanning the surface. His homemade spear, carved from bamboo and sharpened with patience, glinted. His breath slowed. His eyes narrowed.

A rock shifted.

A ripple danced.

He raised his spear—

“JA-KA!”

He flinched, nearly slipping. His spear wobbled mid-throw, stabbing nothing but dirt as the fish darted away with a flick—mocking him.

Jaka turned around, already scowling. He didn’t need to guess who had shouted.

“Laksita…”

She grinned from the riverbank, cupping her hands like a loudspeaker.

“You look like a statue! I thought you died standing up!”

“I was focusing,” he muttered, annoyed.

She hopped closer, feet bare, plopping onto a warm rock nearby. “I brought guava! You get one if you tell me a story.”

“I’m trying to catch fish.”

“You can fish and tell stories. Your brain has two halves, right? Use them both!”

He sighed, but his lips twitched. “You’re irritating.”

“I’m fun,” she corrected proudly, holding out a guava like a hostage negotiator. “One story. About that motivated man again.”

Jaka stabbed his spear into the muddy bed, sat down beside her. “Fine. But if the fish swim away again, it’s your fault.”

“Deal.”

He began the tale of the a man was born beneath a blood moon, in a village where silence clung to the trees like mist. As a child, he spoke to shadows and walked where no footsteps dared remain.

When he came of age, he forged his blade not from iron, but from a fallen star, tempered in the tears of the dying. With that weapon, he cleaved truth from illusion, mercy from vengeance.

Kings feared him, ghosts followed him, and songs were sung not of his victories, but of what he had sacrificed to win them. For he was no hero—only a man burdened with a fate too heavy for gods.

“You’re lying,” she said when he finished.

He chuckled. “I am not.You wouldn’t know truth if it danced on your nose.”

“I know truth smells like wet fish and burnt rice,” she said, tossing him a guava.

He caught it, biting in. “Then it smells like your failed attempt at cooking.”

“HEY!”

The two laughed, their voices echoing across the water.

And with a faint chime in the back of his mind:

Charisma +5

[System Message]
You have successfully impressed your audience with storytelling. Laksita is in awe. Conversations with her will now yield better rapport.

Jaka smiled to himself.

That was another reason he kept her around. Not just because she was the only kid who didn’t think he was weird. Not just because she didn’t whisper behind his back.

But because being around Laksita… helped.

He grinded stats—Charisma, the most under feet stats he had, whenever she challenged his stories—but more than that, he learned how to connect. Joke. Tease. Laugh.

Things he never really got to do in his last life. Thanks to overwork—and a complete lack of vacation.

"Man," he muttered, stretching under the morning sun, "being reincarnated here feels like a vacation… with just a few extra steps combined with existential dread and child labor."

"Hm? What was that?" Laksita tilted her head, catching only part of it as she approached.

"Nothing..." he said quickly, eyes darting to the river, as if it could hide his slip.