Roy stood before the bathroom mirror, staring blankly at a face he didn't recognize, as if his thoughts had short-circuited.
Thrust into this alien environment, he'd first assumed it was a dream, then a kidnapping. Even seeing the changed face, his mind jumped to that movie where faces get swapped.
Was he caught up in some covert operation? Any minute now, a blonde agent in stockings might burst in with a gun, whisk him away in a Ferrari for a high-speed chase against pursuers. Rocket launchers tearing through the city. Then an aerial showdown, a daring rescue, a nuclear countdown—after twists and turns, they'd foil the villains' doomsday plot and share a kiss in the sunset.
But surgery couldn't alter his entire build, could it?
Nails and moles aside, the shift in weight and bone structure was absurd.
Roytwisted the faucet, splashing cold water on his face to steady his nerves. He slicked back his ear-length hair and took a closer look.
A typical asian youth's features, with a subtle idol-like charm—Japanese aesthetics through and through. At a glance, it evoked a young Takashi Kashiwabara from Love Letter [Note: Japanese singer and actor, incredibly handsome in his youth—feel free to look him up if curious], though the dark circles and acne dragged it down.
Still, the bone structure was sharp and well-defined.
...But in circumstances like these, even if it were the ultimate fusion of heartthrobs like Yamazaki, Fukuyama, or Kimura, it wouldn't erase the sheer horror of gazing into a mirror and seeing a stranger.
Roy returned to the laptop, hesitating before diving into the internet.
No matter how bizarre, he had to still be on Earth.
Then the date hit him like a gut punch.
October 15, 2009.
Not the device's clock—real-time from the network.
He froze, chills racing over his skin.
His fingers flew across the keyboard as he scoured history, nations, geography—immutable facts. In comparison, his sudden fluency in reading and writing Japanese felt trivial.
Thankfully, no alien invasions, no superhuman evolutions, no portals to other dimensions, no apocalyptic outbreaks.
The seven continents and four oceans remained.
Modern history still kicked off.
At first glance, it all matched, but digging deeper left him baffled.
Da Vinci was a woman with nicknamed Lisa, with a legendary self-portrait to her name.
The Nobel Prize included mathematics.
Beethoven lost hearing in only one ear.
Newton got bonked by an apple tossed by a mischievous kid; fuming, he pondered it and uncovered gravity.
Ash finally snagged a major championship.
...
What the hell.
It seemed close enough, yet oddly misaligned in places.
Unconvinced, Roy hunted for social apps and tried logging into his old accounts. Some platforms didn't exist at all; others showed no trace of him.
A parallel world... the idea clicked.
With the vast world veering off course, how could a nobody like him leave any mark?
Roy forced a wry smile, trying to process this cosmic joke.
His mind and emotions churned, and his stomach rumbled in protest. He gave in and slurped down the now-soggy ramen. Minutes later, it was gone.
Then he flopped back onto the futon, staring at the ceiling, and let out a sigh.
"Damn."
One word captured it all.
Maybe if he lit up and headed back to the bathroom, things would snap back.
In his muddled state, a shrill ringtone jolted him.
He scrambled to unearth the phone, wavering on whether to pick up.
After all the weirdness, answering might invite a ghost to haunt him by nightfall.
Did this world hide bizarre secrets?
Nothing showed up online, but perhaps a concealed underbelly existed—the hidden side.
Like the planet's core corrupted by dark forces, humanity tainted and powerless, so they summon prodigies from other dimensions, hoping a hero could rally them.
And he was the hapless chosen one.
Though, if it came with a squad of attractive allies, it might soothe the bitterness a little.
In his anxiety, his newfound Japanese proficiency let him read the caller ID—Homeroom Teacher.
Damn.
Roy scratched his head in confusion and hit accept.
An impatient scolding sliced through like a blade.
"Takizawa-kun, you're absent again today? Didn't you promise me yesterday?"
"..."
"Breaking promises shows a lack of spine for a young man. No matter how much you run, problems won't vanish on their own. You've been out for over a month now—this is crunch time before graduation. Do you really plan to let it end like this?"
"..."
The silence only fueled her frustration.
"Are you going to live your life burying your head in the sand, playing the fool? Turning into something brittle as glass! Pathetic, embarrassing, the butt of everyone's jokes!"
Roy opened his mouth instinctively for his native tongue, but it twisted into Japanese. He racked his brain to switch modes.
What emerged was an oddly accented, disjointed mess of Japanese—confusion level maxed out.
The teacher on the line seemed to pick up on it, pausing briefly.
"Do tears and sobbing fix anything?" Her tone was resolute.
Roy covered his face in despair.
"I get it—this is a fragile time in life, when unrequited feelings can crush you, and it's okay to feel heartbroken. But wallowing won't sway anyone else's heart, will it?" She launched into a heartfelt lecture.
"I'm... fine," He managed at last, his voice flat.
"When are you coming back?" She pressed firmly.
"Uh, the day after tomorrow?"
"You said tomorrow yesterday, now it's the day after—next it'll be next year?!"
"Day after tomorrow! I'll be there, I swear!"
"I'll come to your door myself then!"
Roy stared at the abruptly ended call, exhausted. He'd wanted to claim a wrong number, but how could he explain that?
Pacing fretfully, he surveyed the tiny place. It looked rented, set up for solo living. The fridge held half-eaten takeout and drinks, with a dedicated spot for scantily clad figurines. Shaking out the clothes yielded a wallet with ID and some bills.
The student ID photo was peculiar—handsome face, but the eyes looked timid and downcast, giving off a dopey vibe.
Takizawa Satoru...
So that's his name now...
But... did this kid just... die?
His emotions swirled.
Hoping for more hints, he rummaged further and unearthed a notebook from the drawer bottom.
A diary.
Who keeps a diary these days? He'd tried as a kid, lasting half a month before ditching it.
Muttering to himself, he flipped it open.
It started from high school entry—early pages were mundane logs, nothing noteworthy. But they sketched a clear picture.
An average high school student, no clubs, fond of part-time jobs. Spare time spent on comics and binge-watching shows.
A girl named Keika popped up frequently in the entries.
Remarried family, gripes about the stepdad. Reluctant to integrate into mom's new setup, so he rented solo, touching base by phone now and then.
Hence, he hated asking for cash, working hard for independence. If possible, he dreamed of breaking into the anime world he adored—saving up for a drawing tablet, practicing voice work.
Two-thirds in, the writing turned fervent.
Keika's friend uncovered Takizawa's secret crush, roping in the class to fan the flames.
Family baggage bred insecurity and self-doubt; no real confidants, and he hadn't hidden his geek side. A light novel tumbled from his bag.
Classmates cracked it open to provocative elf girl art, chuckling as they critiqued and passed it around, filling the room with mirth.
As the focal point, Keika cringed, urging her friend to knock it off, and awkwardly shot down the innocent affection right there.
Amid disappointed boos and whistles.
The boy's composure shattered under the smothering stares and laughter; he snatched his bag and bolted, skipping school ever since.
The final pages brimmed with resentment and agitation—a vent for pent-up negativity.
Roy- no, Takizawa thought teens were just thin-skinned, but then recalled his own school days weren't much tougher.
Dozing in math, called on to answer, fumbling forever, then banished to the board while everyone stared like daggers.
He'd been mortified, ears burning, convinced the mockery lingered post-bell.
But this? Crush outed publicly, geek hobbies executed in front of all, affection flatly denied live— a brutal triple whammy.
It had probably spread school-wide; returning meant fresh ridicule. No wonder he ghosted classes.
He leafed through a bit more, sighed, and stowed the diary carefully.
For a moment, Takizawa was at a loss for his next move.
This Takizawa kid had it rough, but not as bad as him.
Two decades of life severed in an instant by a morning mishap.
Reduced to a wandering spirit, just like that.
"Might as well grab a pack of smokes first."
Face slack, he pocketed the wallet, grabbed the keys, and headed out.
***
Every 100 Power Stones and 5 Reviews will earn you a Bonus Chapter.
And if you want to read up to 50 chapters ahead, don't hesitate to visit our patron: pat reon . com / XElenea (remove space)