[Scene – Shared bedroom, late after school]
The room was small. Barely enough space for two beds, a desk tangled with poorly wrapped cables, and a closet where Denki kept his clothes messily stuffed in with expired snacks and hero magazines.
The sunset light filtered through the window, painting the walls orange.
I was sitting in the center of the room. Cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, fingers tense. Breathing.
Focusing.
Next to me, Denki was sprawled out on his bed, one earbud in, the other ear free—clearly in a "I care, but you're not gonna tell me, right?" state.
"Are you meditating?" he asked without looking up.
Silence.
"I say that because there's a kind of intense energy in the air," he continued. "Like... 'if you talk to me, I'll electrocute you with my mind.'"
I didn't answer.
The truth is, I couldn't. I was trying to feel it. What the AI had described. That "match in a storm."
It was real. I could feel it vibrating inside me. But I couldn't touch it.
[Concentration at 64%. You're not that far off.]
I took a deep breath.
Denki sighed.
"You're not going to say anything, are you?"
Nothing.
"I'm not even going to ask you what you're doing anymore. I give up," she said with a pout.
I pressed my hands against the floor. Focused on the center of my chest. On that place where the heart didn't beat… but something else did.
[You're very close, Goo. Don't force it. Just… let it exist.]
But that was the hard part. Allowing. Not controlling. Not destroying. Just feeling.
A current of energy flowed through my arms. Light. Like an emotional discharge. Like something speaking to me from deep, deep inside.
Denki turned his head.
"Hey… are you glowing?"
I opened my eyes.
There was no light.
Only me.
And that inner echo I could now not only feel… but hear.
[Progress recorded. Resonance 0.7.]
"Okay, this isn't normal anymore," Denki said, sitting up.
I stood. My breathing slower. My thoughts steadier.
I hadn't awakened the power.
But I had touched it.
And that… was enough for today.
Denki looked at me.
"You're really not gonna tell me anything?"
"No."
"Not a single word?"
"I'm sweating, Denki. Don't expect poetry."
He laughed and flopped back onto his bed, like he was already used to his "little brother" being a total weirdo.
I sat on the opposite bed. Closed my eyes once more.
[Don't deny it, Goo. You felt it.]
"...Yeah."
[And what do you feel now?]
"...Hungry."
[Poetic.]
[Scene – Instrumental Classroom, several days later]
The music room smelled like old wood, cheap cleaning products, and frustration.
My frustration, to be exact.
I was sitting in front of a piano that looked like it had survived more emotional wars than I had. My fingers struck the keys with a precision I didn't understand—nor did I want to. It was like the body moved on its own. Like the muscle memory of this kid had artistic plans it clearly didn't consult me about.
"Perfect, Goo. Very nice chord progression. You're starting to feel the melody, aren't you?"
The teacher smiled at me from her corner, surrounded by recorders and broken hopes. She had that typical energy of adults who believe music can heal the soul.
Spoiler: it can't. Not if you're trapped in the body of a kid who likes playing piano and all you want to do is train.
"Yeah," I replied, with the same enthusiasm one has for a dental check-up.
[Admit it. You're good at it.]
"I don't care."
[But your hands flow. There's passion there. Maybe this body was an artist.]
"So what? Am I supposed to respect the hobbies of the kid we replaced now?"
[That's cruel.]
"That's honest."
I played again. The notes came out soft. Almost sweet. Almost… pleasant.
Which, obviously, annoyed me.
I didn't like feeling good doing something I hadn't chosen. Or smiling when the melodies fell into place on their own. It was like this body was sabotaging me. Like instead of rejecting me, it was saying: "play, idiot, we like this."
And of course, my parents—or rather, this body's parents—had already paid for the lessons in advance.
So skipping wasn't an option.
And since it wasn't an option… I was there, hitting keys with disguised rage and unwanted talent.
In the corner, Denki was messing with a xylophone like it was a broken video game. And yeah, of course he sucked. Like everything that isn't zapping stuff.
"Great work, kids! Five-minute break and we'll continue!" the teacher announced, like we were a group of mini prodigies.
I got up from the piano bench and leaned against the wall. Took a deep breath.
[Want me to record you playing and set it as your battle ringtone?]
"I want to throw this piano out the window. Does that count as artistic expression?"
[It counts as unresolved trauma.]
"Perfect."
The keys were still trembling a bit after my last melody. Like they missed my fingers. Like this body… wanted to come back.
And maybe that was the worst part.
Not that I played well.
But that a part of me… had started to play too.
[Scene – Shared Room, later that night]
The house was asleep.
Except me.
In the dim darkness of the room, lit only by the bluish light filtering through the window, I swung a broom as if it were a katana.
And to me, it was.
Small hands. Soft muscles. Bones that still cracked easily. None of that mattered.
Because I remembered.
"One... two... diagonal cut... withdraw... center..."
Every movement had weight, even if executed by a child's body. Every turn, every step, every breath… all came from another life. Another skin. Another war.
And even though I had no enemies now.
Even though the weapon was just a broom.
I was still training to kill.
Or to survive.
Not because it was necessary in this rainbow-colored school full of flying kids.
But because it was the only thing that made me feel like myself.
The broom sliced the air in silence, with precision. Sweat rolled down my forehead. My feet moved naturally. Muscle memory did the rest.
I didn't need to see.
Only to feel.
[Is this how you trained before dying?]
"This is how I trained not to die."
[Did it work?]
"Am I alive?"
[Touché.]
I paused for a moment. Took a breath. My breathing was steady. Controlled. This body was far from perfect, but it would learn.
Like all bodies.
From scratch, if necessary.
"This world has quirks, yes. But it also has weak points. People who rely too much on their power. On the flashy. On the external."
[And you?]
"I was always a blade-shaped defect."
The system didn't reply.
Maybe because it knew that wasn't just a phrase.
I took position again.
The roots of my old self were waking up.
And even if I used a broom for now...
...soon, someone was going to bleed.
---
Author's note:
I want to mention that the first chapters have a lighter, more entertaining tone with a somewhat comical approach. This is entirely intentional: it serves as an introduction and contrast.
As you progress through the story, you will see that the tone becomes more serious, intense, and realistic, both in terms of character development and the decisions they face. The humor will not disappear entirely, but internal conflict, social criticism, and emotional evolution will become more prominent.