Mushoku Tensei - Rebirth into Cliff Grimoire

Chapter 1: Part 1: Today started the same way as all the previous ones — with a heavy awakening. I opened my eyes, and the first thing I felt was an icy touch of air. A blizzard was raging outside the window, and snow whirls were lashing at the windows, as if trying to break through. My two-story house, once filled with laughter and warmth, now stood in oppressive, dead silence. Only the creaking of old floorboards broke this silence, reminding me that I was not completely alone here. But it was bad company—my own thoughts. My parents died when I was eighteen. In an instant, the world turned upside down, leaving me alone with emptiness. Instead of lectures at the university, parties with friends, and hopes for the future, there are only endless shifts at a construction site, where your hands bleed and your back aches from unbearable weights. Part 2: The shift ended late. My legs were aching with fatigue, and my fingers were barely flexing after hours spent in frozen work gloves. I walked through the snow-covered streets, wrapped in a worn jacket that had not been able to keep out the cold for a long time. Out of habit, I decided to look into the shop near work, a tiny shop lost among the gray city walls. It didn't stand out in any way: a faded sign, worn linoleum, shelves with cheap canned goods. But this place was special to me. It always smelled of fresh bread and something homemade. And yet — a wonderful saleswoman worked here. An elderly woman with a wrinkled but surprisingly kind face. She always greeted me with a smile, encouraged me with a couple of warm words, and sometimes even gave me an extra bun. In this cold, cruel world, she was one of those rare people who still believed in kindness. Part 3: Today, as soon as I crossed the threshold, I realized something was wrong. Instead of the usual bell ringing, there are sharp screams. —Hey, bitch, give me the cash, hurry up!" A hoarse voice tore through the silence. A man in a black balaclava, with shaking hands, was pointing a pistol at Aunt Luda. His eyes were darting around, and his breathing was uneven, as if he hadn't expected things to go this far himself. — I'm not joking! I don't care about you, just give me the money! Aunt Lyuda stood there, pale as chalk. Her trembling fingers helplessly reached for the cash register, but fear hampered her movements. —I'm...I'm just..." her voice trailed off. The robber couldn't stand it. Shot. A deafening bang, a scream, the smell of gunpowder. The bullet pierced her arm, and she gave a strangled cry, clutching the wound. Blood. Red drops fell on the counter, mixing with the dust. Something inside me went wild. "Bitch! I grabbed at him, trying to pull the weapon away. We fell to the floor, the gun slipped out of his hand. There is wild horror in his eyes. Another shot. White light. The roar. Silence. I didn't feel any pain. Just a strange warmth spreading through my body. Then the darkness. And then... the light. Dazzling, white, endless. My whole life flashes before my eyes. The school yard. Mom's laugh. First love. Building. Cold. Loneliness. "How come..." The thought ends. Was this how it was supposed to end? Part 4: The first thing I felt when I woke up was the light. Dazzling, merciless, bursting under the eyelids like molten gold. I squeezed my eyes shut, my pupils constricted convulsively from the pain. Where am I? The last thing I remembered was the gunshot, the searing pain, the white silence that swallowed me whole. And now... this. When his vision cleared, the blurred silhouette above him turned into a woman's face. Healers? Her gaze was soft, but there was something more hidden in the depths—pity, sadness, regret. (Who... is she?) Her features were striking: long, jet-black hair falling to her shoulders, thin, chiseled features, full lips pressed into a tight line. Her figure was seductive but graceful, hidden under simple clothes that only accentuated her beauty. She looked like she had stepped out of the pages of a fairy tale, a painting come to life. And suddenly, without warning, her hands slipped under me. (Wait... what the hell?! I weigh 80 kilos! How is she?) But when she lifted me up without the slightest effort, a terrible realization hit my head. (Unless… I'm not in the hospital. Unless that bullet didn't kill me... but transported me somewhere. Before I knew it, she carried me into another room. My eyes darted around: the wooden bed, the straw mattress, the smell of herbs and blood. And on this bed… A dead girl. Pale, breathless, the chest is motionless. A chill ran through my body—or would have if I could have controlled this body. And then I saw the mirror. And there's a baby in it. With wide eyes, dark hair, chubby cheeks and tiny fingers. (Is that... me?) My mind shattered into pieces. (Rebirth? It's impossible! I believed in logic, in science! The universe doesn't work like that!) But the proof was in front of me. My new body—small, fragile, helpless—stared at me. Black hair. Pale skin. Brown eyes. Someone else's face. An hour later, I was lying in a wicker basket on the threshold of a large house with wooden walls. Next to it is a note, the ink is still wet: "His name is Cliff." And just like that… I became an orphan.