The walk home was lively, filled with the kind of chatter that only long-time friends could sustain. Zane and Kagetsu flitted from topic to topic—soccer, favorite shows, and old memories—switching gears so fast it was impossible to follow. One moment they were reminiscing about a past summer vacation; the next, they were arguing over which hero had the best finishing move.
The sun dipped low, painting the sky in soft gradients of pink and blue. The streets were quiet, almost eerily so, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Kagetsu's house appeared first—a modest, neat home surrounded by a stone fence and a metal gate. He waved goodbye and disappeared through the front door with a quiet click of the latch.
Zane continued a few steps farther until he reached his own gate. Their houses were neighbors—close enough to hear each other yelling if they wanted. The metal creaked as he pushed it open, and he made his way to the front door. Fumbling in his bag, he pulled out his keys, inserted one, and felt the satisfying twist of the lock.
"I'm home," he called, stepping inside and dropping his bag with a soft thud. Shoes came off, and he padded quietly through the small hallway.
From the corner of the kitchen, a familiar figure emerged. His mother, her long black hair brushing past her shoulders, eyes the same shade of red as Zane's, smiled warmly at him. She wore a simple white apron over her clothes.
"Hey Zane, dinner's almost ready. Put your stuff away and come down to eat," she said cheerfully.
"Got it, Mom," Zane replied, heading up the stairs to his room.
His bedroom was modest—just a brown desk with a computer, a bed neatly made, a closet, and a white carpet that softened the wooden floor. A mirror hung near the door. He dropped his uniform onto the bed and pulled on a cozy white shirt and black pajama pants. His black wallet hit the desk with a soft clack.
Downstairs, the living room smelled of curry. Two black couches faced each other, with a low brown table between them. His mother sat on one of the couches, now dressed in a white shirt and black jeans. Two steaming bowls of curry were on the table, aromatic and inviting.
Zane slid onto the couch opposite her. "Thanks, Mom," he said, voice soft but sincere.
"You're welcome, sweetie," she replied, her smile brightening the room.
Dinner passed in comfortable silence, only the occasional clink of spoons against bowls breaking it. When the last bite was gone, Zane leaned back, stomach full, feeling the warmth of home settle over him.
After a moment, he finally spoke. "Hey, Mom… I want to ask you something."
She looked at him, eyebrows raised but patient. "Yeah? What is it, sweetie?"
"I… I want to apply for Tsubasa Academy's hero program," he said cautiously, bracing for disapproval.
Her eyes softened, concern flickering in her gaze. "Is this really what you want?"
"Yes, Mom. It's what I want." His voice carried a confidence he didn't entirely feel.
Her expression relaxed into a warm smile, reassuring him. "Then I'll support you, honey. If this is your dream, I'll be behind you."
The night grew longer, shadows stretching across the streets, swallowing the last light of day. Zane went upstairs, turned off his lights, and climbed into bed, curling beneath his white blanket.
But sleep was not kind.
He thrashed, sweat soaking his hair and clinging to his skin, trapped in a nightmare that felt more like a memory. Faces, screams, and pain from another life flashed in his mind: a boy named Natsuo, helping a first-year student only for that same student to meet a gruesome end. The scene churned his stomach, leaving him gasping.
He jolted upright, panic surging through him, but something was… wrong. His movements felt alien. He stumbled to the light switch, flicking it on. The room looked familiar—but not his. And then he saw himself in the mirror.
A younger boy stared back at him—black hair, deep black eyes. Zane—or rather, the boy's body he now inhabited—was looking back with wide-eyed terror.
"What… what's happening?!" His voice was deeper, steadier, unfamiliar. Confidence laced it, yet his heart was pounding as though he'd run a marathon.
The memories flooded him—every detail of this boy's life: a mother who loved him, a father who had died when he was five, a name… Zane. And then, the impossible: an ability. Portal.
"Portal… ability? What the hell?" His chest tightened. His body felt heavy, then drained of all strength. He barely made it to his bed before collapsing.
Hours later, sunlight poured through the curtains, warm and insistent. A knock echoed, and the door creaked open.
"Who is it?" he groaned, voice rough with sleep.
"Come on, Zane, it's just me," his mother's voice called from the doorway. "Kagetsu's waiting outside. Wear sportswear!" She gave him a small push before leaving.
The words barely registered before a voice, deep and commanding, filled the room. "Get up!"
Zane froze, heart racing. He glanced around, searching for the source. Nothing. Only reality—and this borrowed body.
He shook his head. "I must be imagining things… or maybe this Zane had schizophrenia?"
And then it hit him. The memories, the feelings, the body—he had died once before. He wasn't Zane. Yet somehow, he was him now.
"I need to act like Zane," he thought. "Otherwise… they'll think I'm some ghost or intruder."
But deep down, he admitted the truth. I guess I am… a ghost in his body.
With a deep breath, he rose, still exhausted, and prepared himself for the day. Showered, dressed, black shorts, skin-tight white shirt with a black jacket on top, and he picked up Zane's wallet.
A small smirk formed, despite everything. "Wow… I really do know everything here. Feels like I've lived here my whole life."