But even though the man in front of him was Kafka—unmistakably him—there were differences so drastic that for a split second he almost wondered if he was hallucinating.
Well, for one…the other Kafka was plump.
Not a little plump but properly, pleasantly round.
He had a soft belly that noticeably pushed against the buttons of his formal shirt, like he'd had one too many late-night dinners after overtime.
His cheeks were chubby enough to give him a gentle, almost adorable softness. His arms were thick, not with muscle, but with the kind of comfortable weight someone gained after settling into a stable office job with good snacks and too little free time.
His hair was cut short—neat, clean, professional—and the outfit he wore screamed 'corporate employee' right down to the tucked-in shirt, ID card on a lanyard, and stiff black trousers.
Honestly, he looked like a dad.
A slightly overworked, well-fed, desperately-in-need-of-a-vacation dad.
A huggable teddy-bear version of Kafka.
Kafka blinked several times, stunned at the contrast between them.
He himself had a powerful, sculpted physique. So seeing another version of himself who looked…domesticated was really confusing and he didn't know how to feel.
Yet…the eyes, the aura, something beneath the surface, it was still him.
Another him. The Kafka of other world, the original one. The one who never became a god, never went through divine trials, never seduced gods or became king of the world.
But instead became what seemed to be a ordinary office worker.
Kafka felt his throat tighten slightly, a weird mix of curiosity and nostalgia forming in his chest.
And then reality hit him.
This meeting…Evangeline's timing…everything lined up.
He remembered asking her one day after telling his feelings to his mother:
"Where is the original Kafka? What is he doing? Can I meet him? And do Abigail and Olivia know the truth?"
But Evangeline had simply shaken her head.
"It is not time yet…You will meet him when the moment is right."
He pushed further, asking about Abigail and Olivia, whether they knew he wasn't the original son, whether they suspected anything—but once again, Evangeline had only given him a sly smile and said:
"No. They believe you are the origina and always werel. I twisted the truth, reshaped a few memories, nudged a few perceptions. And because of that, they think any mention of 'another Kafka' is just a misunderstanding or rumor. Nothing more."
Kafka had no idea how she had managed such a thing—but knowing Evangeline, it wasn't surprising.
So now…it was time.
He was finally meeting the 'other' him.
Kafka then realized he'd been staring in silence, and it was starting to look rude or awkward. Probably both.
So he quickly shook his head, stepped forward, and held out his hand in the most polite, gentlemanly way he could manage.
"Ahem…I'm Kafka." He said.
The other Kafka blinked as well like he was also in a daze, then smiled nervously as he shook his hand.
"Yeah…my name's Kafka too. What are the odds, right?"
Both of them let out an awkward chuckle—two versions of the same man, equally unsure how to handle meeting…themselves.
Then the other Kafka leaned back slightly, giving Kafka a slow, once-over like he was checking him out and Kafka caught it immediately.
"W-What?" He smiled awkwardly. "Why are you looking at me like that? Don't tell me fashion changed in this world and what I'm wearing looks weird."
"No, no, it's nothing like that." The other Kafka shook his head quickly, waving his hands. "I was just thinking…" He rubbed his belly sheepishly. "If I actually exercised properly—you know, did an actual workout for the first time in my life, maybe I'd look like you."
He poked his round stomach.
"But yeah, as you can see…I'm not exactly the same as you."
Kafka laughed at this before slyly saying,
"No offense, but I'm definitely keeping my routine. As fluffy as you look and you do look quite fluffy like a plush toy—I don't think I want a round belly."
"No offence taken." The other Kafka lifted his hands innocently. "Honestly, I get it…I'd prefer a eight-pack like you probably have over this belly I gained after too many beers and sweets treats."
Somehow, even with all the nerves and tension, they clicked without much effort.
Their banter flowed naturally—perhaps because no one understood Kafka better than Kafka.
But then the plump Kafka glanced toward the wall clock, a small, old-fashioned one ticking above the reading nook. His expression tightened.
"Actually…we don't have much time."
Kafka straightened slightly.
"What do you mean?"
The other Kafka sighed.
"Evangeline told me earlier…we can't stay here together for long. Something about the quantum field, cross-dimensional friction, and how our existences start interfering with each other if we stay close too long."
He scratched his cheek.
"Basically…she said we only get a short conversation."
"Seriously?" Kafka's eyebrows shot up.
"Yeah. So…we should sit down and talk while we can."
"Right. Of course." Kafka nodded quickly.
They both took a seat at a nearby reading table—one Kafka sitting with a confident presence, the other settling into the chair with the practiced ease of an exhausted office worker finally getting a break.
Kafka exhaled slowly.
"So…guess we should start."
The other Kafka smiled faintly.
"Yeah. Let's talk."
Kafka rested his elbows on the table. His fingers fidgeted unconsciously, rubbing together as his thoughts tangled in hesitation.
"So…" He murmured, glancing up at his rounder counterpart. "I'm guessing you've already met Evangeline?"
"Oh, of course." The other Kafka chuckled softly, also playing with his fingers, before going on to say, "Honestly, she was terrifying at first. I mean—she just appeared out of nowhere in my living room while I was scrolling through memes, claiming she was a god and that I was part of some 'divine trial.'"
"I thought she'd lost her mind."
He let out a warm laugh at the memory, the kind of laugh that bounced in his chest.
"But then…she showed me. The truth, I mean. Using her own, uh—godly methods. I don't even know how to describe it. It was like watching my entire life, and yours, unfold in front of me all at once. And after that, well…it was hard not to believe her."
Kafka listened quietly, studying him, while the plump man across from him continued, his expression softening.
"I won't lie, I was in disbelief at first. Who wouldn't be? But after a while, I just…accepted it. I mean, it's not like it affects my day-to-day life much. I've got my job, my dog, my morning coffee. I don't interfere with the grand heavenly stuff you're dealing with."
"So yeah, I just let things be." He grinned sheepishly.
Kafka blinked, taken aback. That laid-back tone, that calm maturity—this wasn't the Kafka he remembered.
The other him, the one before all the madness, had been a spoiled brat: impatient, bitter, constantly arguing with his mothers, and angry at the world for no reason.
But this man…was different.
He was gentle. Grounded. Like the version of himself that had somehow learned peace.
Kafka pushed the thought aside and leaned forward.
"Then if you've met Evangeline, she must have told you why we're meeting, right?"
"Yeah." The plump Kafka smiled, nodding. "She said it's basically to make peace between us. To come to terms with everything that happened. No resentment, no leftover grudges."
Kafka nodded slowly.
"I see." His gaze softened as he looked at him. "Then I suppose you know about my story, right? What I've gone through…what I'm doing now?"
"Oh, of course." The other Kafka replied, his voice carrying a note of admiration. "I honestly can't believe I'm talking to another version of myself who's destined to be the God of the Universe."
"You've got one wild story, man. Wilder than anything in this entire library."
Kafka chuckled at that. "Yeah, I suppose so."
"But…" The other Kafka went on, resting his hands on the table. "You know…you've told me your story, but I never got to tell mine. Want to hear what happened after I ended up here?"
Kafka tilted his head. "Of course. Please, go on."
He nodded, leaning in a little, lowering his voice like he was about to tell an old secret.
"It all started the night everything changed." He began. "I was sleeping in my room, sulking because I'd fought with my mom, that is Abigaille again. I was still that same stupid, angry kid back then."
"And then…I just woke up in a library. This very library. I had no idea what happened. One moment I was in bed, the next I was standing among these shelves, in the middle of the night, thinking I was dreaming."
Kafka nodded slowly, his attention fixed.
"So I walked outside, tried to figure out where I was. But the streets were different. The sky looked…off. The city signs were unfamiliar. I realized it wasn't my world anymore."
He let out a dry laugh.
"And before I could even make sense of it, cops showed up out of nowhere and arrested me. They said a man had been found murdered inside the library storage room. Brutally killed and hidden there."
Kafka winced, raising his hand.
"Ah—yeah. That one's…on me. Sorry about that. I got transported out of your world before I could dispose of the body properly."
The other Kafka burst out laughing, waving dismissively.
"No worries! Evangeline explained everything later. The guy was a threat to society or something like that. I get it now."
He leaned back with a smirk.
"Actually, I should be thanking you. That arrest? That's how I met my wife."
Kafka blinked. "Wait—what? You're married?"
"Yup." He smiled fondly, his cheeks dimpling slightly. "If the police hadn't dragged me to that station, I never would've met her."
Kafka stared in disbelief, a grin slowly forming.
"You're telling me…my arrest led to your marriage?"
"Life's weird like that." The other Kafka nodded proudly. "One man's divine trial is another man's love story."
Kafka couldn't help but laugh before there was a small pause, the kind that comes after laughter fades into curiosity.
Kafka tilted his head, eyeing him with intrigue.
"So…" He asked. "How old are you now, if you don't mind me asking?"
The other Kafka gave a slightly embarrassed smile.
"Uh…thirty-six. Believe it or not."
Kafka's eyes widened.
"Thirty-six?! But…it's only been a few years since I was transported! How is that even possible?"
The other Kafka shrugged lightly.
"Time flows differently between our worlds. Evangeline explained it too. My world runs faster—a few hours for you could be days here. So while you've been busy becoming a legend in the heavens, I've been living out a whole lifetime."
Kafka blinked in amazement.
"So you really…have a entire family now?"
"Yeah." Plump Kafka said softly, smiling with warmth. "A wife. And a daughter. Just one. She's six now. Smart, kind, a bit too clever for her age. Drives me insane sometimes, but…she's everything."
Kafka's gaze softened, his heart tugging faintly.
The image of himself—or rather, another himself—living such a simple, warm life was…strangely comforting.
The other Kafka then chuckled and looked out the window, nostalgia glimmering in his eyes.
"But believe me, it wasn't all smooth sailing. After I was arrested, I thought my life was over. I was terrified—new world, false murder charges, no one to trust. I was trembling in that cold cell, thinking I'd die there."
He paused, his voice lowering.
"Not to mention, I was weak back then. Cowardly. A sorry excuse for a man. I really thought…that was it for me."
Kafka's chest tightened slightly at the admission.
Then plump Kafka's expression softened again, a small, genuine smile crossing his lips.
"That is until…she came into my life."
The warmth in his tone carried weight, the kind that could only come from love born through struggle.
"Your wife?" Kafka asked, his curiosity piqued.
"Yeah." He nodded. "She changed everything."
He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands together.
"She was actually a public prosecutor back then. Quite young—in her early twenties, but already climbing fast. Strict, upright, the kind who'd never even jaywalk."
"She had this unshakable sense of righteousness that made everyone either admire her…or avoid her." He chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "And of course, out of all people, she got assigned to my case."
Kafka arched an eyebrow, while rotund Kafka continued, voice carrying a nostalgic weight.
"When I first met her, I was terrified. She was scary, man. Cold eyes, sharp tone, everything about her screamed 'don't mess with me.' And there I was, sitting in a holding cell, trembling like an idiot, trying to explain that I didn't belong to this world."
He rubbed his neck sheepishly.
"So, I told her everything. How I went to sleep in my bed, woke up in this world, found myself in the library—all of it. She just stared at me like I'd lost my mind. Next thing I know—" He mimed a slap. "Whack! Right across the face. Told me to stop lying."
"She slapped you?" Kafka burst out laughing, unable to help himself. "Oh, she sounds like one feisty character."
"Oh, trust me, she is." The meaty Kafka said with a grin. "But that's not all she is. Beneath all that fire, she's got one of the kindest hearts I've ever seen."
"After that first meeting, she realized I wasn't faking. I was genuinely scared, confused, and completely lost. I think she saw through my panic."
He smiled faintly.
"So…she decided to take my case anyway. Against everyone's advice. And somehow, she won it. Turned out there wasn't enough solid evidence linking me to the crime. I walked out free—scot-free, actually."
"So, she saved your life, in a way." Kafka nodded slowly, impressed.
"You could say that." Thick Kafka said, his eyes softening. "But after that, I was alone again. No home, no job, no idea where to go. I thought I'd end up sleeping on the streets. That is until Vivian met me again right outside the courtroom."
"She looked at me, sighed, and said, 'You look pitiful. Come stay at my place for a week. Just one week. Then get a job and move out.'"
He let out a fond laugh.
"I promised I'd find something, but…yeah. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't find work or even a place to stay. So I couldn't keep my promise."
"And let me guess—she let you stay longer?" Kafka smirked knowingly.
"Every single time." Fatty Kafka said with a chuckle. "She kept telling me, 'Fine, one more week,' then another, and another. I think she just couldn't bring herself to kick me out. She always said I reminded her of a pitiful little dog she couldn't stop feeding."
"A pitiful dog, huh?" Kafka laughed, shaking his head. "I can see that."
"Yeah, well, I didn't want to just freeload." The meaty Kafka went on. "So I started doing housework to help her out—cleaning, cooking, grocery shopping, fixing things around the apartment."
"Slowly, I learned how to actually live properly. How to be responsible. How to be…not a brat."
His voice softened.
"I grew up, I guess. Every week, she'd pretend to scold me for not finding a job, but she never really meant it. And eventually…she stopped asking me to leave altogether."
He paused, smiling shyly.
"One thing led to another. I stopped seeing her as just my savior, and she stopped seeing me as some pitiful guy she had to help. Somewhere along the way, we fell in love."
Kafka's expression gentled, a genuine smile tugging at his lips.
"Sounds like a well-deserved love story." He said quietly. "Unexpected, but sweet nonetheless."
"Yeah." He said, laughing under his breath. "She still bullies me around a lot, though. Acts like she's my boss. But I don't mind. That's just her way of showing she cares. And I…I really do love her for it."
Kafka nodded his head with a warm chuckle, crossing his arms.
"She sounds perfect for you."
Then, curiosity flickered in his gaze.
"Mind if I see a photo of them? Your family, I mean."