Chapter 3: Capitalist Pigs
{A/N: How about we make a deal? You drop comments and power stones, and I'll drop extra chapters. Deal?}
Seven Years Later
In the scorching summer heat of mid-August, a boy no older than seven could be seen lugging a bucket around an absolutely enormous farm that stretched far beyond the size of the small village it surrounded.
The entire place was big enough to make you wonder if someone had ambitions of starting their own country.
And guess what? The kid was expected to water all of it. Alone.
First Person POV
"Fucking capitalist pigs!" I muttered under my breath, but, you know, kind of loudly.
Not that it mattered—there wasn't a soul nearby to hear me vent. Well, except for maybe some birds, but they're too busy crapping on scarecrows to snitch.
Honestly, I've hated my family since the day I popped out into this world. These people reek of CAPITALISM! And before you ask—no, it's not okay unless you're the one raking in the profits.
When you're the one doing all the labor like some medieval peasant? Yeah, it sucks.
Ahem.
Okay, maybe I got a little carried away there. Let me break it down for you. My family? They're a bunch of money-loving pigs. No offense to actual pigs—they at least roll around in mud for fun.
So, one day, this 500-pound behemoth of a woman—Mrs. Suzuki, our lovely neighbor—asks my family if she can "borrow" me to help out with her farm.
You know, just a bit of innocent child labor to keep her farm running.
And what do my oh-so-loving parents do? They freaking agree. Why? Because Mrs. Suzuki is filthy rich, and she's paying them more than minimum wage to rent me out.
So here I am, watering her colossal fields in this sweltering heat while she lounges in her air-conditioned mansion, probably sipping on iced tea and fanning herself with hundred-yen bills.
Capitalism, am I right?
Third Person POV
As Jashin finally finished watering almost all of the massive farm, he wiped the sweat from his brow, his small frame visibly weighed down by exhaustion.
He began trudging toward the western edge of the farmland, where the rundown village and his equally rundown family lived in their barely-holding-together house.
You see, Jashin wasn't your ordinary seven-year-old. He was special. Not in the "golden child" kind of way, though—more like extraordinary and cursed at the same time.
For starters, Jashin had gained consciousness while he was still a fetus, trapped in the fleshy confines of a womb he had mistaken for some cosmic prison.
But wait, it gets better.
Not only did he come equipped with the basic understanding of this world's language, but he also had memories. Memories of anime.
And...
Hentai.
Yes, you read that right. Our boy had somehow inherited the cultural artifacts of degeneracy before he even left the womb.
Then, after months of torment, during which he was almost driven insane by the claustrophobic darkness (and the world was nearly destroyed in the process), he was born.
Turns out the "fleshy prison" that tortured him for so long? Yeah, that was just a womb. Imagine the humiliation.
When Jashin finally emerged into the world, it became immediately apparent he was the odd one out in the family.
Not in a cute, quirky way—more like, "Why does this baby feel like he's silently judging us?"
Family Dynamics:
After his birth, most of his family treated him like dirt.
His only defender? His mother, Aiko, who doted on him and called him her "pookie" because he inherited her pale skin and his father's light brown hair and eyes.
To her, he was a walking reminder of her own father (yikes, but let's not unpack that).
His father, Hikaru, on the other hand, wasn't exactly winning any Father of the Year awards.
From day one, Hikaru doubted Jashin was his son, convinced Aiko had cheated on him. And to be fair, Hikaru's reasoning wasn't entirely baseless.
Because let's face it—how many babies can speak coherent sentences at four months old?(Funfact: Jashin decided to hold back and speak at four months old)
Hikaru wasn't buying that this was his bloodline at work. In his mind, there was no way someone as smart as Jashin could come from him or his family tree.
It didn't help that Jashin's presence constantly made Hikaru feel like a background character in his own house.
But alas, there wasn't much Hikaru could do about it. Aiko might have spoiled Jashin rotten, but at the end of the day, she was also a capitalist to her core.
Which is why, when Mrs. Suzuki offered money to rent Jashin as free farm labor, Aiko didn't hesitate to send her precious "pookie" straight to the fields.
Because, in her own words: "A little hard work never hurt anyone. Besides, we need the money."
As Jashin neared the village, the horizon was swallowed by twilight, and the encroaching darkness painted the landscape in deep shadows.
The sun had dipped below the horizon, and though the night pressed in, Jashin walked unfazed. His eyes, sharp as ever, pierced through the gloom effortlessly.
Because, well, Jashin's built different.
And when I say built different, I don't mean he's just some kid with decent night vision. No, this kid is so extraordinary that even he doesn't fully understand it yet. Nor do you, dear reader.
As he trudged forward, muttering about capitalism and sweatshop labor, something unusual caught his attention. He stopped in his tracks, squinting at a shadowy figure ahead.
"Hmm… What's that?" Jashin murmured, his tone tinged with curiosity but also wariness.
Before him stood a man whose appearance was anything but ordinary.
The figure wore a purple-and-black hexagonal-patterned nagagi kimono layered over black umanori-styled hakama pants, both tied neatly with a white uwa-obi.
The attire was traditional, sure, but it was the sword at the man's waist that made Jashin's stomach churn.
The blade wasn't just metal—it looked alive. A fleshy katana, pulsating faintly under the dim light, had eerie, unblinking eyes embedded in the space between the tsuka ito wrappings of its handle.
But that wasn't all.
The man also had six eyes.
Damn… Someone's cooked.
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