Ren's eyes fluttered open, his vision hazy as if a fog clung to his senses. Through the window, the sky burned with the deep oranges and purples of sunset, casting a warm glow across the unfamiliar room.
He was lying on a soft bed, the sheets cool against his skin. His heart raced, a frantic thudding in his chest, as he pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. His hands trembled as he touched his face, his arms, his chest—no wounds, no bruises. He was unharmed, physically at least.
What happened? he thought, clutching his head as a dull ache pulsed behind his eyes. His breath hitched, the rapid beat of his heart feeling like a warning, a scream from somewhere deep inside.
Why does this feel so familiar? The sensation gnawed at him, like a memory just out of reach, teasing the edges of his mind. His thoughts spiraled, fragments of something—someone—flickering in and out like a broken film reel.
The door creaked open, and Ren jolted, leaping to his feet with a gasp. His legs wobbled, but he steadied himself against the bedframe, eyes wide as Mila stepped into the room. She carried a plastic tray of convenience store food—cup noodles, a sandwich, and a bottle of soda.
Her auburn hair was slightly disheveled probably from her trip to the store, and her expression was a mix of determination and uncertainty, as if she were wrestling with her own thoughts.
"Mama's busy with work," Mila said softly, setting the tray on a small table by the bed. "She won't be home for a week." She looked down, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. "You… you can make this your home until she comes back," she muttered, almost to herself, as if trying to convince someone—maybe herself—of the words.
Ren's throat tightened. "I don't want this. I want to go home." His voice was firm but shaky, the unease from earlier creeping back.
Mila's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing. She stepped closer, too close, and before Ren could react, her hand swung out, striking his cheek with a sharp crack. Pain flared across his face, and he stumbled back, his hand flying to his nose. Warm blood trickled down, staining his fingers.
He stared at her, stunned, as she suddenly closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace.
"You're beautiful, Ren," she whispered, her voice trembling with a strange mix of adoration and desperation. "Even with marks on your face, you're perfect."
Ren's head throbbed, a sharp pain slicing through his skull. He stood frozen as Mila's lips brushed against his neck, her breath hot against his skin. She moved higher, her tongue grazing his earlobe, her hands wandering with an intimacy that made his stomach churn.
His heart pounded, not from excitement but from a growing sense of dread, as if his body remembered something his mind couldn't grasp.
"What is this feeling? What is this memory?" Ren constantly kept battling with something.
"Stop!" Ren shoved her away, clutching his head as the pain intensified. Images flashed in his mind—a dark room, a woman's silhouette, her voice whispering words he couldn't quite hear. It was like this moment, but different, older, from a life that wasn't his. Or was it?
Mila's face twisted with anger. "You don't get it, do you?" she snapped, lunging at him. Her hands grabbed his shirt, and with a violent tug, the fabric tore, exposing his chest.
In this world, a man's bare chest was as intimate as a woman's in Ren's old world, a sight reserved for private moments. Mila's eyes gleamed with a hungry intensity, her breath quickening as she stared at him.
"You're mine, Ren," she murmured, leaning closer, her lips hovering over his skin and his nipples.
Ren's head felt like it was splitting open. The memories surged stronger now—a woman's face, blurry but familiar, her hands on him, her voice possessive. This has happened before. The realization hit him like a tidal wave, fragments of a past life crashing into his consciousness.
He didn't know her name, but he could feel her, her presence heavy and suffocating, just like Mila's now.
Before Mila could close the distance, a loud knock echoed from the front door. She froze, her expression shifting to annoyance. The knocking grew louder, insistent, pounding against the quiet of the house.
Mila clicked her tongue, her eyes flashing as she turned to Ren. "Stay here," she ordered, her voice low and commanding. Her eyes glowed faintly, and suddenly Ren's arms and legs felt heavy, as if invisible chains bound him to the spot. He tried to move, but his body refused to obey, his limbs locked in place.
The pain in his head was unbearable now, a storm of memories and sensations. He barely noticed Mila leaving the room, his mind consumed by the blurry figure from his past, her voice echoing in his ears. Why is this happening again?
At the front door, Mila peered through the peephole, her brows furrowing. A woman stood outside, dressed in a delivery uniform, holding a small package. "What are you doing here?" Mila called through the door, her tone sharp.
"I'm here to deliver a package!" the woman shouted back, her voice firm. "It's for you!"
"I didn't order anything," Mila retorted, her hand hovering over the doorknob.
"It's addressed to this house! I can't return this package and I need your signature, madame." the woman insisted.
Mila hesitated, her mind racing. Mama might've sent something… Against her better judgment, she unlocked the door and cracked it open. In an instant, the delivery woman shoved the door wide, a taser crackling in her hand. Before Mila could react, the prongs hit her, and she crumpled to the floor with a gasp.
Two more women rushed in, their movements swift and coordinated. "Hold her down!" one barked, pinning Mila's arms as she struggled weakly. The other snapped handcuffs around her wrists, securing her to the floor. "Search the house!" the leader ordered, her voice cold and authoritative.
"This is the police! Nobody move!" the woman, who turned out to be a police officer, shouted. As they searched the house, they found Ren lying on the bed and quickly took action to secure the scene. "Another case of awakening disorder? Poor boy must have been the victim of this girl."
After some time, Ren sat in the hospital bed, the sterile smell of antiseptic filling his nose. His head still ached, but the pain had dulled to a low throb. Misa and Hiyori stood by his side, their faces grim. Misa's arms were crossed, her jaw tight, while Hiyori fidgeted with her sleeve, her eyes darting to Ren every few seconds.
Her face looked as if she were feeling guilty, angry, and sad all at once. Why didn't she just run straight to Ren? She could have helped him if she had, Hiyori thought.
The silence was heavy, broken only by the soft beeping of a monitor. Ren stared at his hands, his expression distant. To the others, he looked traumatized, his eyes hollow from the ordeal.
But inside, his mind was racing, piecing together the fragments of his past life. So that's how it is, he thought, the realization settling over him like a cold weight. The woman from his memories, the one who had haunted his dreams, was no longer just a shadow. She was real, or had been, in another life. And now, Mila had nearly dragged him down the same path.
The door burst open with a bang, and Kyouka stormed in. Her presence filled the room, her sharp eyes scanning Ren before softening with concern. "Ren, are you okay?" she asked, her voice softer than her entrance suggested.
Ren nodded faintly, his gaze still fixed on his hands. "Yeah… I'm fine."
Kyouka exchanged a glance with Misa and Hiyori, her lips pressing into a thin line. The three women stood in silence, their worry palpable. They thought he was shaken, broken by what Mila had done. But Ren's mind was elsewhere, lost in the echoes of a life he was only beginning to understand.
So that's how it is, he repeated to himself, the pieces of his past life clicking into place. Whatever had happened before, whatever had tied him to that blurry figure, it wasn't over. And now, he was caught in its shadow once again.
"[Hearsteal]...so this is what my destiny is," He thought to himself, as he looked at the texts in front of him that showed him what he had become.