Haru Yuuki opened his eyes, the first thing he felt was the striking unfamiliarity of warmth—the wooden floorboards beneath his bare feet, the soft caress of sunlight spilling through the paper screens onto skin that felt younger, harder, and somehow sharper.
The novel world he had read countless times now surrounded him, no longer an imagined tale but a breathing reality.His gaze flicked to the lacquered mirror hanging crooked against the wall, catching a reflection that was himself but not himself—twenty years old, strong jawline, dark eyes gleaming with a secret fire.
His hand ran over his face as if confirming the turn of fate: he had transmigrated into the body of the "failed younger brother," the forgotten youth of the Yuuki household.
Outside the sliding door, voices stirred. A rich male voice, low with humor and careless confidence, drifted into the room."Finally awake? Figured you'd sleep the day away, as always.
"Haru smiled to himself—Zeno Yuuki, his older brother, the epitome of complacent masculinity. He was tall, with unruly black hair that refused control and eyes that flickered with mischief and laziness alike.
Zeno wore faded sweatpants and a loose shirt, his casual attire matching his carefree demeanor as he entered with a grin that could woo or disarm.
And then came Setsuna—the sharp contrast to her husband's slothful charm. She glided in behind him like a cool breeze, her auburn hair tied in an effortless bun that framed a face both elegant and weary. Dark eyes, meticulous hands that had run a salon for over a decade, and a spine stiffened by years of silent patience. She bore the air of someone who carried invisible burdens yet refused to bend.
Haru's lips curled with amusement as he watched them.
This was the world he knew—the twisted comedy of two married men endlessly scheming to seduce each other's wives and failing with eye-rolling regularity.
But now, Haru intended to rewrite the rules."Breakfast's ready," Setsuna announced, setting a tray on the low table.
"Try not to sleep through it this time."
Zeno waved a lazy hand. "Don't mind the kid." He shot a sideways glance at Haru, whose calm presence unnerved the older man more than he cared to admit.
"Surprisingly responsible for someone so young."Haru met Zeno's gaze steadily.
"Responsibility is often a role people quit when it becomes inconvenient."His words hung in the air, and Setsuna's eyes flickered toward him with something between surprise and intrigue.
Haru caught the hint of a smile that suggested the woman was already considering whose side he might take in this dysfunctional household.From the neighboring garden came the faint sound of laughter, high and light, unmistakably feminine.
"Riruru," Zeno muttered with a lazy grin.
"Still giggling as usual."Haru glanced toward the fence and saw her—the kindhearted, slightly airheaded wife of Kyusuke Kiska.
Riruru's sunshine blonde hair caught the light as she leaned over the fence, a basket of herbs in her hands. Her soft laughter often masked the keen intelligence with which she navigated her marriage to Kyusuke—another man caught in the web of lust and failure with Zeno.
Kyusuke himself appeared next to her, dapper but tense, eying the Yuuki property with an unreadable expression. His old-fashioned suits and thin mustache made him look like a clerk from another era, but his desires were modern and hungry.Haru's eyes gleamed.
This was his stage, and every player was perfectly positioned.Later, as Haru moved among them, conversation began to weave. Zeno, with his teasing bravado, tried to claim dominance through jokes harsh yet hollow, while Setsuna's replies were sharp and measured, cutting through the pretense with quiet power.
Kyusuke brought gifts intended to charm Setsuna; Riruru offered timid smiles and gentle touches when Zeno's attention faltered.Haru's role was subtle but deliberate. He smiled when Setsuna's eyes lingered on him a moment too long, spoke softly when Riruru sought counsel in the garden, and watched with cunning amusement as Zeno and Kyusuke bumbled their advances—unaware that the true game was slipping from their grasp.
That night, Haru stood on the porch, fireflies blinking like tiny stars around him. The scent of night jasmine mingled with the heat of the day. He spoke to the wind, voice low and fervent—"This time, the wives will be mine, not the shadows of their husbands' failings."With a slow, satisfied breath, he stepped inside.The game had begun.