Yin Ze had been slumped on the floor for nearly twenty minutes.
And yet, he still hadn't recovered from that soul-wrenching feeling of being torn apart. The stabbing pain in his head was starting to ease, but in its place came a deepening sense of disorientation.
He vaguely remembered scrolling through his phone while sitting on the toilet... but now, both his phone and the roll of toilet paper had mysteriously vanished. Even the cigarette he'd barely taken a few drags from had disappeared from his mouth.
Out of habit, he sniffed the air. There was no trace of that stomach-churning stench of leftover beer, liquor, and barbecue—a scent he knew too well after long nights of bingeing.
Something strange had happened. He wasn't in the bathroom anymore.
Just as oddly, the desperate urge that had yanked him out of his sleep had vanished too.
Yin Ze shifted his gaze, scanning the unfamiliar apartment.
It was cramped. Someone had tried to tidy up, but the place was still messy. A floor mattress had been laid out directly on the ground. Next to the blanket were a few magazines and a small radio. A little further away, an open black laptop sat humming. Sticky notes were plastered across the shelves, and clothes were draped carelessly over a chair.
From that alone, Yin Ze could more or less guess the occupant's routine—lying on the floor bed, listening to the radio, typing away on the laptop, then dozing off with a magazine covering their face.
As he tried to piece everything together, the pounding in his head faded, and the numb fog clouding his senses lifted. His hearing, touch, and vision returned to normal.
It really felt like waking up from a dream.
Or more accurately, realizing this wasn't a dream at all.
"...What the hell…" Yin Ze finally managed to mutter.
Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the curtains, catching dust in its rays. The second hand of the clock ticked steadily. Outside, the distant hum of traffic could be heard.
No dream ever felt this vivid.
There was even a bowl of instant noodles weighed down with a book in front of him. A bottle of mineral water stood nearby, the cap already unscrewed. On the laptop screen, a paused variety show episode blinked in place. It was as if whoever had been here moments ago had just gotten up to pour hot water. And now, Yin Ze's stomach grumbled at just the right moment.
Everything was too seamless. Too perfect.
Except for the part where he was absolutely sure he'd just been on the toilet moments ago.
Confusion rose like a tide, threatening to drown him.
He smacked his lips. He was thirsty. Reaching instinctively for the water bottle, he noticed something strange—it wasn't the brand he knew. In fact, he'd never even seen the logo before.
Squinting at it, he realized—the label was in Japanese.
Yin Ze froze. Then slowly turned his gaze to the magazines, the sticky notes, and the laptop screen.
Handwritten, printed, stylized—all covered in hiragana and katakana.
He was supposed to be enjoying his day off. Maybe even getting a raise next week.
But now?
Yin Ze was completely, utterly dumbfounded.
Chapter 1 – The Proud, the Clueless, and the Modern Man
Yin Ze stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring blankly at a face he didn't recognize—like someone had yanked the plug on his consciousness.
Waking up in an unfamiliar place, his mind went wild. First he thought it was a dream. Then maybe a kidnapping. Even when he saw the face in the mirror had changed, his brain jumped to Face/Off, that Nicolas Cage flick.
Maybe he was part of some top-secret mission? Maybe a blonde, gun-toting spy in fishnets would kick the door open any second now, throw him into a Ferrari, and they'd go drifting through city streets while dodging bazookas. Mid-air hijackings, last-minute rescues, nukes on a timer—until they finally saved the world and kissed at sunset.
Yeah, sure. Except a facelift wouldn't change your whole body.
Forget the moles and fingernails—even his weight and bone structure were off. That was just ridiculous.
Yin Ze splashed cold water on his face, trying to shock his nerves into submission. He slicked back his now-ear-length hair and inspected the new face.
Classic East Asian boyish features, almost a soft-boy idol vibe. Kind of had that 90s Takeshi Kaneshiro aura going on. But the dark circles under his eyes and a few zits definitely dragged down the score.
Still, the bone structure was solid. Sharp and well-defined.
...Which didn't help at all when the guy in the mirror wasn't you.
Even if you had the face of a god-tier heartthrob, that uncanny valley sensation of seeing someone else's reflection staring back? Horrifying.
He returned to the laptop and hesitated before opening the browser.
No matter what weird crap was going on, he was probably still on Earth, right?
That hope lasted all of five seconds.
October 15, 2009.
Not system time—actual synced world time.
Yin Ze stared, skin crawling.
Frantically, he started searching for facts that shouldn't be altered. History, geography, global events—anything fixed. The fact that he could read and write Japanese fluently barely even registered.
At least there were no aliens, no super-evolution, no portals to other realms, no zombie apocalypse.
The continents and oceans were all there.
World history still began with the October Revolution.
Russia had still split. Its successor? Still embarrassing itself.
At first glance, it all looked familiar. But the details? They were off.
Da Vinci was a woman—nicknamed Lisa—and had a famous self-portrait.
There was a Nobel Prize in Mathematics.
Beethoven was only deaf in one ear.
Newton was bonked by a brat with an apple and discovered gravity out of sheer irritation.
Cao Xueqin actually finished Dream of the Red Chamber.
China's national football team made it to the World Cup three times.
That one actor kept challenging a female champion to rematches after losing and got dubbed "Nine-Time Loser to a Woman."
The chess grandmaster finally won a title after a thousand near-misses.
...What the hell.
It all looked right on the surface—but it wasn't.
Yin Ze searched for the usual apps, tried logging into his accounts. Some didn't exist. Others returned "user not found."
A parallel world?
That made the most sense.
If the whole world had shifted off-track, why would a nobody like him leave any trace?
He let out a hollow laugh, trying to swallow the cosmic joke the universe had just dumped on him.
His thoughts spiraled. His stomach growled. So he wolfed down the cup noodles that had nearly turned to mush.
A few minutes later, he flopped back onto the futon, arms spread wide, and muttered:
"Shit."
One word. That was all he needed.
Maybe if he grabbed a smoke and sat on the toilet again, things would reverse.
Still dazed, he jumped when his phone suddenly rang.
He fumbled to find it. Hesitated. Given how weird today had been, answering a random call might just get him cursed by a ghost.
Maybe there were supernatural things here. Maybe the dark side of the world existed—the hidden underworld, unknown to the masses.
Like a world in crisis, consumed by evil. Earth's defenses failing. Heroes summoned from other realms to lead the fight.
Maybe he was the poor soul summoned.
If it came with a squad of battle-ready girls, he might accept his fate.
He glanced at the caller ID. It was in Japanese.
"Homeroom Teacher."
Shit.
Scratching his head, he hit "Answer."
A sharp voice immediately sliced through the line.
"Takizawa-kun, you skipped class again today. Didn't you promise me yesterday?"
"..."
"A boy who breaks promises is spineless. Running away won't make your problems disappear. You've been absent for over a month now. Graduation's around the corner! Are you really planning to just give up?"
"..."
The silence only seemed to fuel her anger.
"Is this how you're going to live your life? Hiding like an ostrich, pretending you don't know what's going on? Do you want to be some fragile little glass boy? Weak. Pitiful. A walking punchline?"
Yin Ze opened his mouth. He wanted to speak in his native dialect, but his tongue had other ideas. His brain scrambled to switch between languages.
What came out was a mangled, awkward sentence in Japanese that sounded like he'd mashed together random syllables.
The teacher paused, taken aback.
"Crying won't solve anything." Her voice was steel.
Yin Ze groaned and covered his face.
"I know this is a sensitive time in your life," she continued, her tone softening just a little, "and it hurts when your feelings aren't returned. But letting that pain swallow you—do you really think that'll change anything?"
The lecture dragged on.
"I'm fine," Yin Ze finally croaked, after what felt like forever.
"When are you coming back to school?"
"Uh… the day after tomorrow?"
"Yesterday you said 'tomorrow.' Today it's 'day after tomorrow.' What's next—'next year'?"
"No! Day after tomorrow, I swear! Trust me!"
"I will come get you if you're not there."
Click.
Yin Ze stared at the abruptly ended call, mentally exhausted.
He wanted to say she had the wrong number. But how could he even begin to explain?
He paced around the tiny apartment. Definitely a rental. Looked like it was meant for one person. The fridge held leftover takeout and drinks. A shelf displayed a few plastic anime figures. Shaking out the clothes, he found a wallet with ID and some bills.
The student ID photo was awkward. The guy was good-looking but had this timid, gloomy air. Totally dorky.
Takizawa Satoru.
So that's the name. Poor kid. Guess he's… gone.
Yin Ze's feelings were a mess.
He rummaged around some more and eventually found a notebook tucked in the drawer.
A diary.
Who writes diaries these days? He'd barely managed two weeks of one as a kid before ditching it.
He mumbled under his breath and began reading.
It started in high school. Mostly boring day-to-day stuff. Enough to sketch a picture.
An average student. No club activities. Worked part-time a lot. Loved manga and anime.
A girl named Keika showed up often.
He had a stepfather he didn't like. Lived alone instead of joining the new family. Called his mom now and then.
Didn't like asking for money. Worked hard to be independent. Dreamed of joining the anime industry. Saved up for a drawing tablet. Practiced voice reading.
About two-thirds in, things escalated.
A friend of Keika's found out about Satoru's crush on her and blabbed to the whole class.
Already lacking confidence and friends due to his home life, Satoru had never hidden his otaku interests. So when someone dumped his backpack and out came a light novel featuring a busty elf girl…
The class erupted in laughter.
People passed it around, giggling, cracking jokes.
Keika, now in the center of it all, cringed and told her friend to stop the nonsense. Then she politely but clearly rejected him.
Whistles. Booing. Mock sympathy.
The kid snapped. Everyone was staring, laughing, jeering. He grabbed his stuff and bolted.
And never came back.
The last few diary entries were just raw emotion. Angry. Frustrated. Depressed.
Yin Ze had started off thinking the kid was thin-skinned.
Then he remembered a time he fell asleep in math class, got called on, and had to stumble his way through a blackboard problem with the whole class watching. His ears burned for hours.
This kid? He'd been outed in front of his crush, mocked for his hobbies, publicly rejected—all at once.
Of course he never came back.
Yin Ze sighed and gently closed the diary.
What now?
As bad as Takizawa had it, Yin Ze figured his own situation was worse.
A twenty-something man wiped out by morning diarrhea and dumped into a stranger's body.
Just a ghost with no past.
"…Guess I'll buy a pack of smokes."
Yin Ze grabbed the wallet, stuffed the keys in his pocket, and stepped outside.