It had been one full week since I installed the night camera.
One full week of avoiding the office.
One full week of ignoring calls, messages, reminders.
I could see the unread numbers stacking up on my phone, but I couldn't answer. I couldn't face them. I couldn't even face myself.
Because seven nights ago, I saw it.
When I sat down to check the first recording, I expected to catch a stranger sneaking in, moving things, using my desk, wearing my clothes. I had even imagined the police barging in with handcuffs, dragging some thief out of my door.
But there was no thief.
The camera showed no one entering. No one leaving. The locks remained untouched. The door never opened.
It was me.
At exactly midnight, the footage showed me rising from my bed. My movements were steady, practiced, almost mechanical. I cleaned the house from top to bottom, wiping every corner until it gleamed. I pulled out the laptop and completed all the office work — attendance, reviews, files — each task flawless. At times, I even caught myself smiling faintly, as though I enjoyed it.
The worst part… I never woke up.
I never remembered.
I am the one who robbed that bank , I haven't been able to find the money but that's me .
From midnight until six in the morning, it was me — and yet not me. That person moved with confidence, with precision. He was calm where I was restless. Efficient where I was weak.
Kenji Two. That's what I started calling him. He robbed the bank not me ,he hide the money not me .
Since then, sleep had become my enemy. What if he came back? What if, the moment I closed my eyes, he would rise again and take control?
For the past three nights, I had not slept at all. My body ached, my eyes burned, but fear kept me awake. Every time I blinked for too long, I thought I would open them again and discover another life lived without me.
"I can't… I can't… I can't…"
The words spilled out of me, broken, trembling.
And then—
Thud.
My knees hit the floor. My body swayed. The room tilted.
The last thing I heard was the pounding of my own heart, drowning out every sound, before darkness swallowed me whole.
___________________
I opened my eyes.
Slowly, carefully, I pulled myself up from the floor. My head throbbed, my throat felt dry, and my hands were shaking.
But the first thing I realized was—this wasn't my room.
The walls were different.
The air smelled strange, like wood and dust.
The floor wasn't the same cold tile I was used to.
"This… isn't my place."
I staggered around the house, searching for something familiar. Nothing. The curtains, the shelves, the furniture—everything belonged to someone else.
Panic gripped me. I ran to the door and twisted the knob. Locked.
I slammed against it again and again. Once, twice, ten times—until my palms split and blood smeared against the metal. But it wouldn't open.
My chest heaved. I stumbled to the window, clutching the frame.
Outside, there were no buildings. No cars. No streetlights.
Only trees.
Endless trees, stretching out like a green ocean.
My breathing quickened. I turned back, desperate, stumbling into the room I first woke up in.
It looked like a living room. A sofa. A small table. A television.
The TV was already on. The screen glowed faintly in the dim room. A single video was paused there, frozen on an image that sent a chill down my spine.
It was me.
Sitting on the same sofa. In the same room.
I swallowed hard, picked up the remote from the table, and pressed play.
The figure on the screen leaned forward. My face. My voice. But the eyes—they were steady, sharp, nothing like mine.
"Hello, Kenji," the recording said.
My blood turned cold.
It was me, talking to myself.
"Stop. Kenji, breathe. Stay calm. Stay calm," the voice continued, as though reading my thoughts. "I know you're confused. But listen."
I leaned closer, almost afraid to blink.
"I don't have much time, so listen carefully. You will wake up very soon, and when you do, remember this—my words are absolute."
I clenched the sofa cushions.
"I am you. You cannot run away from me. The only logical solution… is to accept me."
My stomach twisted.
"Sorry about the bank, by the way." The voice chuckled. "I was just… exploring. Testing things. I know you're a little boy who is scared of everything. But don't be. I am you. Accept me."
The laugh that followed was broken. Sharp. Hysterical. The sound crawled under my skin, scratching at my mind.
Then his tone shifted—cold, deliberate.
"I have a deal for you. From now on, I want more than just the night. I want a whole day to myself. We will coordinate. Share the body. If you refuse…"
The figure leaned closer to the screen. My own eyes stared into me.
"…I will commit suicide when I get control. And if I die, you die too."
The words pressed down on me like chains.
"Your first task," he continued, "is to return to your normal life. Go back to work. Live as if nothing happened. We will both enjoy this thrill together. Hahaha!"
The laugh rang out again, wild and unrestrained, until suddenly it stopped.
And then, with a voice like ice, he said one last thing:
"Have some shame for the life you've wasted, Kenji. Accept me."
The screen went black.
I sat frozen on the sofa.
"What the hell… what the hell is happening to me?"
The silence that followed felt heavier than the words themselves.