I was walking to work after getting off the subway. It was raining. I was holding an umbrella, distracted as always, checking my phone. One more notification. An unimportant email. Then, a piercing sound: brakes, a scream, the metallic crunch of reality shattering.
And everything went dark.
I didn't see a light at the end of the tunnel. I didn't hear heavenly voices. There was no judgment. Only... nothingness. Absolute silence. But then, something stranger: a pressure in my chest, heat in my limbs, and a weight on my eyelids.
I opened my eyes.
The ceiling was made of wood. Dark, polished. I wasn't in a hospital bed, nor in a familiar place. The smell was different: incense, humidity, something ancient. A weight pressed against my body... no, my body was different. Smaller. Lighter.
I felt myself suddenly. The mirror in front of me returned an image that made me tremble.
"What the...?"
Slicked-back blonde hair, thin eyebrows, an arrogant gaze... I recognized that face instantly. Even though he was younger. A teenager.
"Naoya Zen'in..." I whispered.
I had to take several deep breaths to keep from collapsing. This wasn't a dream. I could feel the ground beneath my feet. The itch of sweat on my back. The texture of the tatami mat beneath my toes.
I was 14. I was in the Zen'in Clan.
And I wasn't a fan of the character—quite the opposite. I'd seen his story end badly: filled with hatred, frustrated at not having been the clan leader, blinded by his arrogance. A man who had everything, and lost it all because of his ego.
And now I was him?
More importantly: why?
There was no answer. No divine voice, no system, no isekai-style tutorial. Only confusion, fear... and one chilling detail: I wasn't alone in this mind. Something told me that this boy's memories would keep coming back.
The next few days were… intense. My body responded automatically. I knew how to move, how to walk with poise, how to train with a spear. Naoya knew it, and now, so did I.
But with that came everything else.
The stares from the family. The weight of the family name. The meetings filled with hatred disguised as courtesy. The whispers behind sliding doors.
I was a prodigy. A pure Zen'in. And that's why they demanded perfection from me.
"Naoya-sama, your midday training is about to begin," a maid told me, her head bowed.
She was no more than twenty years old, but when she saw me, she lowered her gaze as if I were a monster. Was it out of respect… or fear?
I didn't respond. I just nodded and walked toward the dojo.
The training was brutal. I faced two older cousins, both with decent skills. They used real weapons. So did I.
And yet… I won. Not because I was strong, but because Naoya already was. His technique, Astral Projection, was so precise that I felt like time obeyed me.
But something felt… dirty. Cold.
At one point, I disarmed one of the boys and knocked him backward, the blade of my spear stopping an inch from his neck. I could see his fear. His desperation.
And suddenly, I understood why they feared me.
Naoya liked this.
That night, I locked myself in my room. I didn't want to see anyone. The reflection in the mirror showed me that perfect, arrogant, cruel face. But I wasn't him. I had to remember that.
"I'm not going to be you," I told my reflection. "I'm not going to end up like you."
But deep in my mind, something whispered:
"Are you sure you can avoid it?"
The memories began to flood back in my dreams.
The pressure from my father. The hatred toward Maki, his cousin, for being a woman yet defying the rules. The constant feeling that he deserved more for being born with talent. And, above all, the fear... the fear of being irrelevant. Of being forgotten by his clan.
Sometimes I woke up in a cold sweat.
I didn't want to become like him. But... what if it was already too late?
One day, in the inner garden, I saw Maki training. She hadn't yet left the clan. Her face, though tired, was determined. She was hitting a post with her bandaged hands, repeating a kata over and over.
I remembered how Naoya had hated her. But I couldn't.
I admired her.
She was free. I wasn't.
That night, I wrote on an old piece of paper on my desk:
"I'm going to change the fate of this body. Not for him. For me."
I didn't know if I could do it. Maybe this world wouldn't give me second chances. But if I'd been given this life, I wasn't going to waste it being a shadow of what this boy would become.
And if the Zen'in Clan wanted a cold, cruel, and perfect Naoya...
...they would have to face something worse: