The next morning, when I dragged myself out of bed, my body still felt heavy. The muscles ached deep under my skin, but it was a good kind of pain—the kind that meant something had changed.
I stood in front of the mirror, the pale light of the bathroom flickering above me. Slowly, I lifted my shirt. My breath caught.
Six clean lines ran across my stomach. Not huge, not exaggerated, but visible. Real. My shoulders, too, seemed broader, the slope of them sharper than before.
For the first time in my life, I didn't look like a stick.
"...This feels good," I muttered, touching the ridges of my stomach.
(HA! LITTLE BITCH. DON'T FORGET HOW YOU CRIED ALL NIGHT BECAUSE YOUR BONES WERE REARRANGING. YOUR WHIMPERS COULD'VE WOKEN THE NEIGHBORS. PATHETIC.)
I frowned at my reflection. "Shut up. At least I look different now."
(LOOK DIFFERENT? YOU THINK SOME ABS AND A BROADER FRAME MAKE YOU A MAN? COMPARED TO YOUR LAST LIFE, YOU'RE STILL A BUG. WHO MADE YOU STRONG THEN? ME. IT WAS ME, YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE BITCH.)
I splashed water on my face, muttering under my breath, "This freaking ghost…"
(TRUTH HURTS, DOESN'T IT? HAHAHA.)
I ignored the voice and got dressed. Dark pants, plain shirt, tie. I ran my hand once more over my stomach before leaving the apartment. Maybe today, Emi would look at me differently. Maybe, for once, she'd see me not as some background loser, but as someone who could stand beside her.
That thought carried me all the way to the office.
But when I arrived, something was off. The room was quieter than usual. Desks that should've been filled were empty. My eyes darted around until I realized it—Emi's seat.
Empty.
"What?" My heart raced. "She was never absent. Not even once, in my last life."
I stood frozen, staring at the clean, untouched surface of her desk. She was always there before anyone else, typing away with perfect posture, her neat hair catching the morning light. Always reliable. Always present.
But now… gone.
"I can't even leave the office to look for her," I muttered, slumping into my chair.
(LOOK AT THIS PATHETIC BITCH CRYING BECAUSE HIS CRUSH SKIPPED A DAY. HAHAHA. DISGUSTING.)
I pressed my hands against my face, trying to think. Cool. Calm. Maybe there was a reason.
"I'll just finish my work early," I whispered. "Then maybe I can check on her."
The system snorted in my head.
(SIMP. PERVERT. EMO BITCH. DO YOUR WORK.)
I tried to ignore it, but something else tugged at me. A detail.
"Wait…" I said softly. "Two more people are missing."
I turned slowly, scanning the desks. Ryo. Shinji. Their spots were also empty.
My chest tightened. "That… makes sense. I beat them up a few nights ago."
(HAHA. YOU DIDN'T JUST BEAT THEM. YOU CRIPPLED THEM. OF COURSE THEY WON'T SHOW UP FOR A WHILE. CONGRATS, LOSER, YOU BROKE YOUR OWN TIMELINE.)
My stomach sank. If they were absent, maybe Emi had gone to check on them. She was that type—kind, dependable, always worrying about others.
"Maybe she…" My voice trailed off.
(YES. MAYBE SHE WENT TO SEE THOSE BASTARDS. AND WHAT WILL YOU DO? CRY ABOUT IT, LIKE ALWAYS?)
I clenched my fist under the desk, staring at the glowing monitor in front of me.
"...No. Today I'll just work. That's all."
For now.
"Focus, Kenji. Just finish these reports." I muttered under my breath, my pen scratching the page in frustration.
(LOOK AT THIS BITCH TRYING TO ESCAPE REALITY.)
"Shut up…" I clenched my jaw. The voice was right, as much as I hated to admit it. Emi's absence had left a hollow space in my routine. She was always there—bright, punctual, almost mechanical in her consistency. Now, she was gone, and I didn't even know why.
Every time my mind drifted, I forced it back to the spreadsheets, the contracts, the HR files piling up. If I drowned myself in tasks, maybe I wouldn't notice how much it stung. Day after day, I came early, left late. I reorganized shelves, restructured databases, checked and double-checked everything.
Coworkers began to notice.
"Kenji, you're… working a lot these days."
"Yeah, man, take it easy. Don't burn yourself out."
I only gave them a stiff smile. They wouldn't understand. I wasn't working for the company. I was working to silence myself.
Two weeks bled into three. The seasons began to shift. Leaves outside the window started turning brown, rustling in the autumn wind. Inside, the office lights buzzed endlessly, fluorescent and merciless.
(HAHA. LOOK AT THIS. LITTLE BITCH IS HIDING BEHIND A PILE OF PAPERS.)
"No… I'm improving myself," I muttered. "This time, I won't waste it."
The system didn't hand out new tasks during this stretch. Maybe it knew I wasn't ready. Or maybe it was just waiting, laughing at me in silence. The only rewards I got were from my own paycheck, deposited on time like clockwork. Money that felt emptier with each passing day.
I told myself I had to forget about Emi, at least for now. So, every morning, I brushed my hair, straightened my shirt, and tried to smile in the mirror. My abs had sharpened, my shoulders looked broader—but still, I couldn't shake the thought that none of it mattered if she wasn't here to see it.
One month passed. Then another.
By the second month, I had become part of the office furniture. The guy who stayed behind when everyone else had gone home. The one who volunteered for every tedious task. "Leave it to Kenji," they'd say, almost gratefully, almost pitying.
At night, when I finally walked out of the building, the city streets felt colder. The neon lights flickered overhead, reminding me of the electricity I'd once cut to Ryo and Shinji's place. Their absence, Emi's absence—they formed a pattern, a web, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I had tangled myself in it.
(AND WHAT DID YOU ACHIEVE, HUH? TWO MONTHS OF BEING A CORPORATE SLAVE. NO EMI. NO GLORY. JUST PAPERS.)
I sighed. Maybe the voice was right. But I kept moving, kept forcing myself forward.
Because if I stopped, even for a moment, I knew the emptiness would swallow me whole.