Beep… beep… beep…
The sound of a heart monitor echoed softly in the quiet hospital room. An old man lay motionless on a bed, skin wrinkled and thin, eyes sunken yet alive with thought.
"I don't know where I had this idea," he murmured, eyes staring at the ceiling, "but life is both beautiful and dangerous in this world."
His voice trembled — not from weakness, but from weight. The weight of time, of memory.
"In near death, most people say they have regrets… things they couldn't fix, even if they wanted to."
A pause. The machine continued its steady rhythm.
"But I don't have regrets. I had a good life. My decisions… they never made me or those around me sad."
He blinked slowly. His fingers twitched.
"Even though my decisions were never regretful… why now, of all times, do I feel this… regret?"
"All I remember is happiness from my past — and still, why do I feel like crying?"
"Is it because, in death, you just want to see the ones you love even happier…?"
His voice faded into silence.
Then suddenly, a quiet laugh — dry and mocking.
"I get it, hah… Humans are too greedy. I'm feeling regretful because I want to do more. I want to make the decisions I missed, even if they didn't seem worth it at the time. I don't want to die."
"I want to live."
"I want to shout… just one more chance! I want to experience everything again."
Tears trickled down the corner of his eyes.
"This life… it's too short."
Then—
A flash of white.
A warmth.
And silence.
***
"A dream, huh… such a bad one."
He muttered under his breath, wiping away tears he hadn't even realized were there. His chest still felt heavy, like a lingering weight from something unspoken.
Slowly, he sat at the edge of the bed — and froze.
The room around him was unfamiliar. A single bed tucked into the corner. A desk cluttered with a laptop, a smartphone, and a mix of school materials. Manga volumes stacked neatly beside a pencil case. An AC hummed softly overhead. The air was cool, but his palms had started to sweat.
"This… isn't my room."
His eyes darted around the space again, then down to his own hands — pale, slender fingers with bitten nails.
Wait… the dream… this room… and these hands—?
His heart jumped. He snatched the phone from the desk and instinctively pressed the screen. It unlocked.
With trembling fingers, he opened the camera app, switching it to the front-facing view.
A face stared back at him — not old, not familiar. A gloomy teenager with messy, uncombed hair and tired eyes. Eyes that didn't belong to him.
…Who am I?
A sudden shiver ran down his spine as the memory rushed in.
The hospital. The beeping machines. The fading voices.
"I… died."
His voice cracked.
"Then… why am I here? Is my mind playing tricks? Am I hallucinating? Or… is this some kind of split personality… maybe my past life?"
Silence.
He sat still for a moment. Listening to the hum of the AC. The muffled sounds of life beyond the door. Then, he took a deep breath — long and slow — trying to calm his spiraling thoughts.
He opened the browser and searched the name of a famous actor who had been hospitalized around the same time as him. The news headline hit him like a punch:
"Veteran Actor Passes Away Peacefully at Local Hospital"
Same hospital name. Same day.
His eyes widened.
"No way… this isn't just a mental episode."
He leaned back, letting out a breathless, disbelieving laugh.
"It's confirmed. I'm in the body of a high school boy."
He looked around again, more deliberately this time — taking in the posters, the books, the uniform hung on the chair.
"I've seen stuff like this in manga… in anime… in isekai stories… but never imagined it would happen to me."
He tapped the phone again. Notifications in Japanese. Texts, schedules — all in a language he never studied.
…But I can understand it? he murmured. And I unlocked the phone. It's like the body remembers everything… like muscle memory.
He turned toward the desk and spotted a school notebook. The cover had a name written in clear block letters. He whispered it aloud.
"…This is my name now."
He read it aloud under his breath — testing it.
"Ichikawa Sou."