Rain poured heavily onto the roads, drumming against stone and metal, splashing up around the feet of people rushing past one another. The streets were crowded, voices overlapping, umbrellas bumping, shoes slapping against wet ground. Through the chaos, a young man ran without an umbrella, his clothes already soaked, rain sliding down his hair and into his eyes as he pushed through the crowd.
A bystander near a tea stall noticed him for only a second—just another careless youth sprinting through the rain—but the young man's face was twisted with irritation, lips moving as he cursed under his breath.
Damn it… again. The thought echoed sharply in his mind. This is the second time I forgot—since the moment I came into this world.
The words didn't quite make sense even to him, and that bothered him more than the rain. Strange thoughts chased one another in his head as he ran, memories not fully settled, feelings that didn't belong to a single lifetime. His breathing slowed when he finally spotted shelter near a bus stop and stepped under it, water dripping steadily from his sleeve.
So… I really don't belong to this world, do I?
From his point of view, everything here felt familiar yet wrong. This world reminded him of something called the Blue Star, but it wasn't the same. There, countries were separate, cultures divided. Here, all races and cultures were mixed together, blended into everyday life as if it had always been that way. As he stood thinking, the sound of rain softened, then faded. The downpour stopped as suddenly as it had begun.
A woman waiting at the bus stop glanced at him, taking in his wet clothes and distant expression, then looked away when he started running again.
This time, he wasn't running to escape the rain. He was running home.
Fear still pushed him forward—not fear of getting wet again, but fear of being late, of missing something important. After a few minutes, his familiar house came into view. He slowed, breath uneven, then pushed the door open.
"I'm home!" he shouted, his voice echoing slightly through the house.
As he bent down to take off his shoes, his eyes moved quickly, searching, nervous and hopeful at the same time.
From the kitchen came the sound of footsteps. A middle-aged woman appeared, her movements calm and practiced. She had brown hair, white skin untouched by time, and blue eyes filled with warmth and concern. To her, the sight was simple: her son, soaked again, standing awkwardly at the entrance.
"You forgot your umbrella again, Luke," she said gently.
To Luke, those eyes felt like warmth spreading through his chilled body, chasing away the cold rain clinging to his skin.
This is my mom… No—this life's mom.
In his previous life, he had been an orphan. There had been no one waiting at home, no one speaking with concern, no warmth like this. Even now, this greeting felt strange, yet deeply familiar. And he liked it—he liked it far more than he wanted to admit.
"What are you standing there for?" she continued, worry softening her voice. "Come on, go change your clothes. Don't catch a cold."
The concern in her eyes snapped Luke out of his daze.
"Sorry, Mom," he said. "I forgot the umbrella this morning. I'll go to my room."
He walked upstairs, water dripping softly onto the floor behind him.
"Oh—and call your sister. Dinner is ready!" she called out from the kitchen.
"Okay, Mom," Luke replied.
His room greeted him with a strange sense of belonging, as if he had lived there for years. Yet he knew the truth—he had been in this world for only six days. Those days had been painful. He hadn't rested at all. Memories that didn't belong to him had forced themselves into his mind, merging with his own. His body had felt heavy, his head aching, as if his soul and body were slowly being pressed together into a single shape. Each day, the pain lessened, but it had not disappeared.
A sigh escaped his lips without him noticing.
Later, standing in the bathroom, he looked into the mirror. Reflected back was a young man in his mid-twenties with black hair and sky-blue eyes—lighter than his mother's, like the open sky rather than the ocean. He wasn't exceptionally handsome, just decently good-looking.
Still, he was satisfied.
After changing his clothes, he sat on the bed for a moment, drained.
Only he knew what kind of "handsome" he had been in his last life. The thought almost made him laugh. He mocked his past self silently, then shook his head, pushing thoughts aside.
He stepped into the hallway and knocked twice on the door across from his room.
"Rory," he called, "Mom's calling."
Inside, footsteps approached. The door swung open, revealing a young girl who looked like a high school student. She had brown hair, milk-white skin, and red eyes. Thin and beautiful, she was a clear mix of both their parents. Her full name was Aurora, but the family called her Rory.
"What is it, brother?" she asked, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
Luke felt a quiet happiness as he looked at her. Having siblings in this life was something he treasured. According to the memories of this body, she caused more trouble than he ever did. The original owner had been quiet outside, slightly more active at home, and rarely troublesome. Rory, on the other hand, swung between extremes—sometimes overly energetic, sometimes incredibly lazy.
But he liked that. Girls like her made a house feel alive.
"Come on," he said, snapping out of his thoughts. "Wash your face. Dinner's ready."
As he spoke, he rubbed her short hair without thinking.
She immediately dodged his hand like it was poison. "Luke! How many times do I have to tell you—stop that! Don't treat me like a child!"
Her sudden burst of energy erased any trace of sleepiness.
Luke only smiled. "If you don't come down in five minutes, I'll tell Mom about you bunking school and going to the movies," he said casually while walking downstairs toward the kitchen. "She'll break your legs."
He left behind an angry girl glaring like a cornered cat.
"Luke! One day I'll make you call me big sister!" Rory shouted from the stairs.
To Luke, teasing his sister like this was one of the small blessings of this world.
"Rory, come downstairs! Dinner is ready!" their mother called as she arranged the dining table.
Five minutes later, three people sat together at the table, the warmth of food and family quietly filling the room.