The central tension in that setup isn’t just the protagonist adapting their old skills. It's the dissonance between a hyper-competent, emotionally detached adult mind trapped in a child's developing body and social role. The suspense often comes from the disconnect. They might have the tactical foresight to neutralize a threat, but the physical limitations of a ten-year-old frame make the execution perilous. A missed step, a lack of reach, a moment of adult-like focus that seems unnatural to observers—these become genuine sources of danger.
Then there's the psychological whiplash. The best assassin operated in a world of clear contracts, moral ambiguity perhaps, but defined parameters. Reincarnated into a noble family or academy setting, the threats are layered with emotional blackmail, political nuance, and social expectation. They can't just eliminate the scheming duke; they have to navigate his web of influence, protect naive family members who don't understand the game, and maintain a facade of normalcy. The suspense is less about whether they can kill, and more about whether they can restrain themselves, strategize on a longer timeline, and protect newfound connections without their cold efficiency destroying everything they're trying to build.
That facade itself is a constant vulnerability. One slip, one moment where the mask of a cheerful child drops to reveal the calculating predator beneath, could unravel everything. The paranoia of being discovered, the strain of the performance, and the dawning realization that this new life might be changing them in ways their old self would deem a weakness—that's where the real, slow-burning suspense lies.