?"Field Report: Day 45," Ren thought, staring blankly at the carved wooden ceiling. "I’ve been captured by a uniformed civilian. A Maid. My autonomy has been reduced to zero. My dignity? Flushed down the drain with the last gulp of milk. If my Sergeant saw me now, being carried like a sack of potatoes while Elisa makes 'whoosh-whoosh' noises pretending to be a flying gryphon, I’d be dishonorably discharged and sentenced to do push-ups until the next eclipse."
?The worst part wasn’t the lack of brute strength. It was the biological betrayal. Ren had the consciousness of a 27-year-old veteran, but his body was an unfinished engineering project. His hands, which once handled rifles with surgical precision and organized high-voltage cables on event stages, could now barely hold a silver rattle without accidentally smashing it into his own forehead.
?However, nothing compared to the greatest tactical and moral challenge of his new existence: feeding time.
?Whenever Marquise Iris took him in her arms and unbuttoned her dress, Ren’s mind short-circuited. On one side, the disciplined Sergeant screamed "SENTIDO!" (ATTENTION!), ordering him to maintain professionalism and respect for the maternal figure. On the other, the 27-year-old man, who had spent years immersed in geek culture and the street-smart malice of S?o Paulo nights, couldn't ignore his new mother’s stunning beauty.
?"Heavens, Iris is a goddess... what kind of genetics does this family have?" he thought, feeling his face heat up as he was pressed against her chest. "Keinji, you animal, focus on the mission! It’s just logistical supply! It’s biological fuel! Don’t you dare think about... oh, droga."
?The baby’s sucking instinct was involuntary, but the adult consciousness enjoyed every second of that warmth and comfort in a way that left him deeply ashamed and, at the same time, strangely satisfied. He tried to maintain an expression of angelic purity, but inside, his Jeitinho Brasileiro whispered: "If life gave you an Isekai with this level of fanservice, who are you to complain, recruit?" In the end, he always ended up "fainting" into a post-feeding nap—partly due to biological exhaustion, partly to escape the lingering Christian guilt that still resided somewhere in his mind.
?At six months old, while other babies were content trying to eat their own feet, Ren began his nocturnal TFM (Military Physical Training). As soon as the maids blew out the candles and silence dominated the noble wing, he started his clandestine routine.
?"One... two... one... two..." He tried to do crunches on the soft mattress. The problem was that a Valerius baby’s head seemed to weigh as much as a ballistic steel helmet. "Maldi??o! This body's core is pure mush. If a mercenary invaded this room right now, my only defense would be a 'crying strike' and hoping the stun lasts long enough for security to arrive. I need more protein in this diet."
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?When taken for a group bath with the other Maids of the mansion, Ren felt his moral resistance being tested to its limit.
?"Look... in Japan, guys would pay a fortune for this level of VIP treatment, and I’m getting massages and warm water for free just for being a 'cute baby'." He gave that mischievous smirk of someone who knows they’re taking advantage. "Since I didn't enjoy anything in my past life besides cold coffee and sleep deprivation in Tokyo, I’ll accept this luck buff. O que os olhos n?o veem, o cora??o n?o sente... and we’ll just tuck that Sergeant's conscience in a drawer for now."
?At twelve months, Ren finally mastered the art of not face-planting into the carpet while walking. He already perfectly understood the local tongue, which sounded like an elegant fusion of Latin and Japanese. He spent hours observing Marquis Arthur, trying to understand the flow of mana emanating from the man. Arthur was like a walking nuclear power plant, and Ren wanted the secret to that battery.
?One day, the Marquis and Marquise surrounded him in the nursery. The air was thick with expectation.
?"Come on, Ren!" Arthur encouraged. "Say... Da-da!"
?"Don't be silly, Arthur," Iris retorted. "He’s obviously going to say Ma-ma!"
?Ren looked at the two of them with profound boredom. In his mind, he was reviewing the mansion’s perimeter. He had noticed the guard in the east wing napped between 02:00 and 02:15. Major security flaw.
?"Tactics..." The thought escaped his lips, low but audible.
?The silence was absolute. Arthur and Iris froze. The maids in the background stopped what they were doing.
?"Putz... que vacilo monumental, Keinji!" He cursed himself mentally, eyes wide, making a face like someone who just accidentally fired a rifle in the mess hall. "One year in the army and nearly a decade in Tokyo event logistics for you to make a rookie mistake like this? Where’s your 'Recruit Zero' disguise?!"
?"Did he say... 'tactics'?" Arthur asked, his voice cracking with pride.
?"Don't be ridiculous," Iris shook her head in total denial. "He tried to say... 'Ma-ma', but his tongue got twisted!"
?The couple entered a heated argument that was only resolved with Rock, Paper, Scissors. Iris won with a ruthless pair of scissors.
?"See? He said Mama!" She celebrated, crushing Ren in a hug.
?"Yeah... if the high command of this world resolves conflicts with Jokenp?, I’m going to dominate this continent before I lose my baby teeth," he thought, resigned.
?By age three, Ren was already a hidden little prodigy. He realized he needed an accomplice. Elisa, the Maid responsible for him, was perfect: young, kind, and totally surrendered to his infant "charm."
?"Elisa..." Ren called, pulling her uniform skirt with his "Level 5 Baby Voice," a devastating psychological weapon. "Teach Ren to read? Ren wants to know the stories of heroes!"
?In reality, he wanted combat manuals and geopolitical maps, but "hero stories" was the perfect cover. Elisa, enchanted, began bringing books from the library every night. Ren devoured the content. While she read fairy tales, he mentally mapped his father’s political alliances and the locations of neighboring city-states.
?By the end of his third year, Ren Valerius was no longer just a baby. He was a 27-year-old veteran trapped in a small but functional body. He had the Brazilian malandragem, Tokyo’s logistical precision, and the patience of someone who survived bombings.
?He looked at the library door at the end of the hallway, feeling the tingle of mana in his chest. The tutorial was ending.
?"Alright." He snapped his tiny fingers. "I can talk, I can read, and I know who runs this house. Time to stop playing house and start the real infiltration. Operation: Library Invasion... authorized."
droga (damn), maldi??o (curse), and vacilo (screw-up) scattered in Ren's internal monologue. Since he's a Brazilian veteran, these are the words that come to his mind when he’s frustrated!