The Osaka sky looked somber that morning. Gray clouds drifted lazily, as if concealing the sunlight that should have brightened the ever-bustling city. In the distance, skyscrapers stood tall and proud, juxtaposed against narrow alleys that carried the faint scent of old Japan. The clamor of human activity continued as usual. The sound of footsteps echoed through Umeda Station, mingling with the clatter of trains gliding away.
Yet, amid this ordinary routine, something felt off that morning.
In a small alley near a bustling shopping complex, an old man sat slumped against a moss-covered stone wall. His clothes were tattered, his hair disheveled, and his skin seemed older than his years. In his hands, he clutched a thin, faded gray book, as if it had long been forgotten under a pile of dust.
The old man's eyes didn't meet anyone's gaze. He stared blankly at the gray sky, his lips occasionally moving, whispering something no one bothered to hear. Passersby gave him fleeting glances before returning to their own affairs.
But anyone close enough to catch his whispers would have felt a strange unease.
"It wasn't supposed to happen like this…" he murmured softly, more to himself than to anyone else.
"The story… it was supposed to end…"
The alley felt oddly chilly, despite the early summer warmth. A faint breeze swept through, carrying a stray piece of paper at the alley's edge, accompanied by the ticking of a digital clock from an advertisement screen nearby.
Beside the old man, the thin book he held fluttered open in the wind. On its pages, messy handwritten words were faintly visible, half-faded:
"Chester: The Harbinger of Misfortune."
And beneath it, a small note was crossed out in red ink:
"I didn't get to finish this story."
It was as if the world itself was waiting for something. Something left half-abandoned long ago.
In an old apartment on the outskirts of Osaka, a teenage boy lived his life like a machine slowly breaking down.
Akira Tajima—seventeen years old, a high school student unnoticed by anyone at his school. No close friends, no club activities, no one waiting for him at home except the ticking of an old wall clock that always ran a few minutes fast.
Every morning, he woke up precisely at 6:30 a.m. A ten-minute shower, a breakfast of cheap cream bread bought from a convenience store the night before. No "Ittekimasu" as he left the house. Just the soft creak of a heavy wooden door closing behind him.
His commute to school was accompanied by the sounds of passing cars and motorcycles. Osaka was no stranger to him, yet he always felt like an outsider. People walked briskly, carrying briefcases, smartphones in hand—their lives moved forward, while he felt stuck in place.
At school, Akira was just an ordinary student who sat at the back of the class. Teachers knew his family name but rarely called on him. Classmates… existed, but only as people who shared the same classroom, not stories.
The only thing waiting for Akira when he returned home was one thing—novels stacked on a small wooden shelf by his bed. His world wasn't Osaka. His world was the vibrant realms printed in ink on paper, where he didn't need to speak to anyone, didn't need to explain who he was, didn't need to pretend to be strong.
And among all the novels he read repeatedly, only one truly captured his heart—"Magic Revolution."
It was the only story that made his heart beat a little faster. Not because of its magic or battles, but because of one character—Alise Antoinette Seraphim.
He couldn't pinpoint when the feeling started. Perhaps it began with the third volume, when Alise revealed a fragile side beneath her stubborn exterior.
In the real world, Akira was just an ordinary student with no one. But in that world, he knew everything. He knew who would die, who would betray whom, the emotions of every character—as if he himself had written the story.
Every night, Akira's routine was the same. A bland dinner, a quick shower, sitting cross-legged on his bed, holding that novel… and reading it again from the beginning, even though he knew what would happen.
As if he were afraid of forgetting even a single detail.
But for the past week, something strange had been nagging at him. Every time he tried to read the novel, an odd feeling pricked at the edges of his mind. Not boredom, but a sense that something was missing. As if… the story wasn't finished.
That night, as the summer breeze slipped through a slightly open window, Akira opened the novel once more. His hands trembled slightly for no apparent reason.
Outside, the world moved on. Inside his room, only the ticking of the old clock kept him company—as always.
But unbeknownst to him, tonight was anything but ordinarily.
When his eyes opened, a faint light from the wooden window slats greeted his vision. The smell of dust mixed with aged wood filled the air—familiar, yet not quite. He knew this scent, but… it shouldn't be here.
The sky outside wasn't Osaka's sky. Its orange hue was too vivid, too perfect, like a painting, before giving way to a serene night.
Akira had fallen asleep.
But something strange had happened without him realizing.
Morning dawned, and slowly, Akira rose from bed. But it wasn't his usual bed. The mattress was hard, almost uncomfortable. His right hand brushed against rough linen sheets, like something from the Middle Ages.
He looked around.
This… isn't my room.
The room was vast—far larger than his tiny apartment. Its walls were made of stone, adorned with dusty bookshelves and a half-melted candle on a heavy wooden table. In the corner, a long black coat hung, as if frequently worn by… someone.
Slowly, he stood and stepped forward. His footsteps echoed softly on the creaking wooden floor.
That's when his eyes locked onto something on the table.
A badge. The emblem of the Grand Magic Academy was clearly etched upon it—a symbol he knew all too well.
His heart stopped for a moment. That emblem wasn't just a design; it was the logo that appeared on the opening pages of every volume of Magic Revolution.
Akira's hands trembled slightly. Slowly, he looked down at himself.
Strange uniform. Not his Japanese school uniform. Not his pajamas from before. This… was the uniform of the Grand Magic Academy.
And what made his mouth taste bitter—
On the wall, a framed picture showed a young man standing beside an older man with gray hair, both smiling broadly.
The young man's face…
…was Chester Kerl's.
Akira froze. His breathing grew heavy.
Why am I here?
Why am I… him?
"Chester! Get ready now! We're leaving soon!"
The booming voice of an older man echoed from outside the room. In any normal situation, it might have been a simple fatherly scolding. But to Akira, it felt like a harbinger of doom tightening around his neck.
Akira snapped out of his daze. Panic surged. His breathing came in short gasps. His mind raced, trying to process everything. He tried to reassure himself.
Calm down. Calm down. This must be a dream. Just a dream.
But reality answered cruelly. The rough texture of the uniform on his skin, the scent of old wood, the creak of the floorboards beneath his feet—all of it was too real to be a mere dream.
The voice came again, closer this time.
"Don't make me come in there!"
Akira furrowed his brow. If he kept standing there, frozen, 'his father' would barge in, and things would get worse. With hesitant steps, he grabbed the black coat hanging in the corner and slipped it on, fumbling slightly.
His trembling hands raked through his hair, trying to mimic Chester's style from the novel's illustrations. He didn't know how Chester spoke in person, but… arrogant. Rude. Meddlesome. Those were the traits he knew.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped out.
There stood an older man, dressed impeccably in a formal uniform, with silvery-gray hair and a stern face he recognized—Kerl Ormund, the Headmaster of the Grand Magic Academy.
The man shot him a sharp glance, then let out a heavy sigh.
"Miraculous. You're up early today."
The air fell silent for a moment. Akira's tongue felt frozen. His brain scrambled for a response. Then, slowly, a wry smirk curled his lips as he tried to channel the Chester he despised.
"What? Can't I change things up once in a while?" he said, half-lazy, half-defiant. Inside, he was crumbling, but outwardly, he had to be smug.
The older man raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised. Then he chuckled softly. "If that's the case, don't embarrass me at the academy today."
Before Akira could say anything more, he—now Chester—was pulled along to follow his 'father' out of the house.
Outside, a luxurious horse-drawn carriage awaited. The black horses stood proud, adorned with the Kerl family crest on the carriage's side.
Akira climbed in, sitting across from the man now called his 'father.'
The carriage's interior felt cramped, silent for a moment except for the rhythmic clopping of hooves outside.
Suddenly, Kerl Ormund's voice broke the quiet.
"You haven't been causing trouble with that girl again, have you?"
That girl. Akira knew exactly who he meant—Alise Antoinette Seraphim.
His heart raced. He held his breath before answering, trying to mimic Chester's haughty demeanor.
"Tch. A girl like her? I'm not dumb enough to pick a fight with her right now."
The older man stared directly at Akira. There was a glint of surprise, a glint of irritation.
"I don't know what you're planning, Chester. But make sure you don't drag our family's name through the mud again."
Akira nodded slowly, gripping the edge of his coat tightly.
And in that moment, it truly sank in.
This wasn't a dream. This was the hell he'd read about, and now… he was the character he hated most.
He was Chester Kerl.
The carriage rolled steadily over the cobblestone road, carrying Akira toward a place that had once existed only in the pages of a novel—the Grand Magic Academy.
The carriage came to a gradual stop. The clopping of hooves gave way to the lively chatter of students in uniform, gathered in a sprawling courtyard.
Before Akira's eyes…
The Grand Magic Academy.
It was exactly as described in the novel. A white stone building with towering spires piercing the sky, adorned with ancient carvings depicting noble family crests and symbols of a bygone era. The courtyard buzzed with students—some chatting, some reading, some bickering quietly—all alive, moving, real.
But it all felt like a beautiful painting hiding something sinister beneath.
"Get out."
His 'father's' command jolted Akira. He stepped down quickly, though his body felt foreign in Chester's formal uniform. Something felt wrong. Out of place. He tried to mask it all behind slow, deliberate steps.
Before he could walk far, whispers began to ripple around him.
"Isn't that Chester Kerl?"
"Tch. What trouble is that jerk stirring up today?"
"Better not pass by him. He'll pick a fight for no reason."
The sharp words stabbed from all directions. The faces of the students weren't filled with admiration but with hatred. Disgust. Anger.
And Akira understood why. This wasn't directed at him. It was for Chester.
Here, he realized the hatred he'd felt while reading the novel was now reflected back at him—more real, more cutting.
And then…
His steps halted. His breath caught.
She appeared.
Among the other students, a girl stood tall, her golden hair shimmering like the morning sun. Her sapphire-blue eyes gazed straight ahead, her face radiating confidence, elegance, and charisma.
Her uniform was neater than the others', adorned with a badge of nobility pinned to her chest.
Alise Antoinette Seraphim.
His favorite heroine. The waifu he'd once adored.
But now, her gaze pierced him with a look that made his heart stop.
Hatred.
Not just any hatred. A deep, visceral disgust, as if the world would be better off without him.
And Akira, now Chester, could only stand frozen, swallowed by the weight of a character he never wanted to be.
"Disgusting," Alise whispered, loud enough for only him to hear.
With graceful steps, she walked away, accompanied by a few other noble students.
Akira stood rooted to the spot. Stiff. His chest felt hollow as his breathing wavered.
This was no longer a novel. This was reality.
And he was its villain.
Step by step, Akira entered the academy grounds, struggling to steady his breath and summon the cynical smirk Chester always wore in the novel.
If he could even remember how Chester's infuriating persona was supposed to act.
To his eyes, the academy felt alien, though he knew every hallway, staircase, and room from his reading. The fictional world that once existed only on paper now breathed around him. No longer just words, but sounds. No longer descriptions, but scents. And it all demanded he play his part.
"Hey, Kerl."
A rough voice called out, snapping Akira back to reality.
Three male students stood at the end of a corridor. Their uniforms were pristine. One of them wore an elite badge—they weren't random characters. Akira recognized them.
Elite students who despised Chester Kerl.
In the novel, they were frequent targets of Chester's taunts. They clashed in secluded corridors, provoked and mocked. But Akira wasn't Chester. He didn't know how he was supposed to react.
Act. You have to act.
He raised an eyebrow slightly, flashing a crooked, cynical smile.
"What're you staring at me for?" Akira retorted, trying to channel Chester's arrogant tone. His voice wavered slightly but held firm.
The three students stepped closer, their faces sour.
"Normally, you'd already be running your mouth, insulting everyone. What, you here to play saint today?"
Akira clenched his jaw inwardly. His hands nearly trembled. But he remembered one thing—Chester was known for his sharp tongue, but also his cunning.
He pursed his lips, then shook his head slowly, smirking mockingly
"No mood to entertain clowns this morning. Go play with your other friends."
He turned and walked away.
And strangely, it worked. The three students exchanged glances, muttering under their breath.
"Tch. Arrogant idiot."
They walked off.
Akira gripped the edge of his trouser pocket tightly. His legs felt weak. But he'd done it.
He'd managed to be Chester—at least for now.
But it wasn't over. The real danger didn't come from other students.
The real danger was named Alise.
And as if scripted by cruel fate, his next steps led him to the garden at the back of the academy.
There, Alise stood alone, adjusting the ribbon in her hair, her golden locks swaying gently in the breeze.
For a moment, their eyes met.
Her lips curved slightly. But it wasn't a smile.
"What is it this time, Kerl? Here to bother me again?"
Her voice was cold, like ice sliding down a snowy mountain.
Akira froze. This wasn't just any encounter.
This was the start of the most toxic relationship in the story.
And he was trapped in the middle of it.
Akira swallowed hard.
He knew who stood before him. He knew how much he'd cherished her as a reader—but in her eyes now, he was nothing but trash.
Trash named Chester Kerl.
He had no choice.
With a forced, crooked smile, he stepped closer, hands in his pockets, just as Chester always did.
"Why're you standing here all alone, noble princess? No entourage today?" His tone was laced with sarcasm, drawn from his memory of Chester's style.
Alise's brow furrowed. Her brilliant blue eyes gleamed sharply.
"Don't call me that. You're ruining my morning."
Akira shrugged, feigning nonchalance. In truth, his chest pounded. Every word felt like a knife stabbing his own heart.
"Jeez, just thought I'd keep you company. Who knows… maybe someone's planning to slip poison into your tea today." He leaned casually against the garden fence, arms crossed. "Especially with that attitude of yours that always ticks people off."
A sharp jab. Painful. Akira almost regretted opening his mouth, but he knew Chester was like this. He had to play the part. He had to make Alise hate him. That was Chester's role.
Alise let out a soft scoff. Her eyes scanned him from head to toe, filled with disgust.
"If there's poison, I'd rather drink it than keep listening to your voice."
Akira's chest tightened.
'Damn, Alise, your tongue's brutal…'
But he forced a small laugh, pretending to be amused.
"Wow, you like me that much, huh?"
Those words didn't just hurt Alise—they hurt Akira even more.
He wanted to run from this place. To scream, to tell her he wasn't Chester, not this despicable guy.
But not yet.
He had to endure a little longer.
Alise finally walked away, deliberately stomping her leather shoes on the stone path to make a point. Akira stood frozen, watching her figure fade into the corridor.
"Crazy," she muttered under her breath, just loud enough for Akira to catch before she disappeared.
Finally, Akira lowered his head, rubbing his face with his palm.
'I hate this character.'
But…
…if this is the price to protect her, I'll be the most despicable guy there is.
Step by step, Akira moved deeper into the academy's main grounds.
The building was breathtaking, classical, adorned with faintly glowing magical carvings on white marble pillars. The main pathway buzzed with students greeting each other, laughing warmly, or discussing the latest magical assignments. Everything seemed… perfect.
But to Akira, it all felt heavy. Like stepping into a cheap theater production—and he was the lead actor.
They stared. One by one, students he passed shot him the same looks—disgust, contempt, hatred.
Some whispered softly. Others deliberately bumped their shoulders against him as they passed.
"Ugh, that troublemaker again…"
"Hasn't he been expelled yet?"
"If it weren't for his father… he'd be a corpse in the alley behind the academy by now."
Akira kept walking forward, his gaze blank. He wanted to be angry, but who could he be angry at?
It wasn't their fault. It was Chester's. The fault of the body he now inhabited.
In a quiet corner of the academy's garden, a group of male students smirked as they caught sight of him.
"Hey, Chester!" one of them called out, his tone dripping with mockery. "What's it today? Here to pick another fight?"
Akira recognized their faces. Minor characters from the novel. Mid-tier noble students—frequent targets of Chester's bullying. In the original story, Chester would taunt them mercilessly, challenging them to petty magical duels that inevitably caused a scene at the academy.
Akira paused, his breath heavy.
Follow the old script or improvise?
If he lashed out, he'd cement his role as Chester, the despised troublemaker, and risk earning even more hatred. But if he backed down, they'd grow suspicious—Chester never backed down.
In the end, he chose a middle way.
He raised one eyebrow deliberately, eyeing them as if they were insignificant ants.
"Tch. I'm sick of seeing your faces every day. Next time you want to provoke me, come up with something original."
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving the group momentarily stunned. It was the only way to channel Chester—make people feel dismissed without sparking a full-blown confrontation.
Inside the classroom, the atmosphere wasn't much different.
The teacher who entered—a middle-aged man in a long robe, his hair streaked with gray—gave Chester a lazy glance.
"I didn't expect to see you in class today, Chester Kerl. Is the world ending or something?"
A few students snickered, while others merely scoffed.
Akira flashed a small, feigned smirk. "Got bored outside. Besides, in here I get to stare at your face, which hasn't changed in five years."
More soft laughter rippled through the room. The teacher shot Akira a sharp look but eventually just shook his head and began scribbling magical notes on the blackboard.
Akira took his seat.
The back row, the farthest corner, right by the window. Chester's usual spot.
A gentle breeze wafted in, carrying the faint scent of flowers from the academy garden.
And there, four rows ahead—Alise.
The girl sat upright, her golden hair cascading neatly over her pristine white academy uniform. She scribbled notes without so much as a glance backward, as if Chester didn't exist.
Akira could only watch her shoulders from afar, a pang of guilt tightening his chest.
'I hate this.'
But he had no choice. He had to live as Chester.
At least… until he figured out why he was here.
The great bell in the academy's tower tolled softly, signaling the end of the day's classes. The once-noisy classroom, filled with the voices of teachers and students, now echoed with the shuffle of footsteps. Some hurried out, while others lingered, chatting as they packed their belongings.
The evening breeze slipped through the open windows, soft and cool. The sun dipped toward the western horizon, casting golden rays across the academy's marble paths, stretching long shadows over the courtyard.
Akira stepped out of the classroom, leaning briefly against one of the building's grand pillars. He let out a long, heavy breath. His body felt weary, though it wasn't his physical form that was exhausted—it was his soul.
"Here's hoping today ends without any drama…"
He was about to head toward the main gate when his steps faltered.
From around a bend in the academy garden, a voice reached his ears—one so familiar it pierced his chest like a needle.
Alise.
She was chatting with a few female friends, her soft laughter a stark contrast to the cold tone she'd used with him that morning.
"So, we're heading straight to White Candle Café this evening, right? I heard they added caramel cake to the menu this week."
"Absolutely! It's been ages since we hung out outside the academy. Plus, the weather's perfect."
Alise smiled, calm and understated. "I'm in. I'm tired of staring at magic textbooks anyway."
Their light laughter accompanied their steps as they began to leave the academy grounds.
Akira lowered his head slightly, shielding his face from their view. He noticed one of Alise's friends glance his way, whispering something—he didn't need to hear it to know it was about him. Chester's name was synonymous with trouble.
White Candle Café, huh?
Akira exhaled softly. The place was mentioned a few times in the novel. A quaint café tucked in a corner of the student district, known for its serene atmosphere and handmade cakes.
A typical setting for small events, character conversations, sometimes minor conflicts.
Ordinary. It should be ordinary.
But for some reason, Akira's heart felt uneasy. A vague premonition, a gut feeling whispering, "Don't ignore something this small."
He clenched his jaw lightly.
"My problem… or Chester's?"
He resumed walking toward the main gate, where his family's carriage awaited. His father stood beside the coachman, arms crossed, speaking with someone who looked like an academy security officer.
The setting sun's rays dazzled his vision slightly. The world seemed peaceful—but something simmered beneath the surface.
Something waiting for its moment to erupt.
The clatter of the carriage wheels echoed over the cobblestone road, harmonizing with the steady rhythm of the proud horses' hooves. The evening sky turned orange, igniting the clouds with hues of molten copper, as if signaling something was drawing near—something yet to take shape.
Akira sat silently in the carriage, gazing out the window. Stone buildings, small shops, and narrow alleys slid by slowly in his peripheral vision. This world—the world of the novel—still felt foreign, no matter how much he tried to convince himself he was adjusting.
Across from him, the middle-aged man sat calmly, his formal robes draped neatly over his shoulders. He glanced at Akira, his brow slightly furrowed, as if trying to decipher something peculiar.
"It's rare for you to be up early like you were this morning, Chester."
His tone was flat, betraying no clear emotion. But from the glint in his eyes, Akira could tell—suspicion.
"Once in a while, I feel like being diligent. That's not a crime, is it?" Akira replied softly, lacing his voice with the lazy drawl he'd gleaned from Chester's character in the novel.
His father let out a quiet huff. "Hmph. If I didn't know you, I might believe that. But you… you're up to something today, aren't you?"
Akira didn't respond. He merely shrugged, feigning indifference.
The man turned his gaze back to the window, his sharp eyes scanning the world outside. There was a weight in his expression. A father… a headmaster… and a man carrying more secrets than he let on.
"Listen," his voice came again, low and serious. "I don't care what you do at the academy. But remember one thing—the weight of this family's name rests on your shoulders. If you fall, I won't be there to pick you up."
The words were heavy, piercing, even though they weren't truly meant for Akira. But the man's tone was enough to make it clear—Chester's relationship with his father was strained. Not a bond between father and son, but something colder, like that of a master and a subordinate. Empty. Hollow.
"Understood," Akira said, his voice barely above a whisper.
After that, silence enveloped them for the rest of the journey.
Only the sound of wheels, hooves, and the faint whisper of the evening breeze accompanied them as the light of dusk faded.
Night fell slowly, draping the stone buildings in deep shadows. The city was calm, as if nothing unusual had transpired. But within the Kerl family estate, that calm felt like a fragile curtain hiding something brittle.
Chester's home was no ordinary noble residence. It was grand, with a vast living hall, dark wood-paneled walls, and magical lanterns hanging from the high ceiling. Elegant, yet… silent. No sound of familial laughter. No chatter of servants. Only the echo of footsteps and the sigh of wind slipping through the cracks of old windows.
Akira walked slowly to his room upstairs, passing through a long corridor lined with portraits of ancestors. Their painted eyes seemed to watch him. He tried to ignore the unease creeping up the back of his neck.
Once in his room, he locked the door softly. The space was spacious, luxurious, with bookshelves and a plush bed—but it all felt cold. The furniture seemed like decorations in an empty house, alive but soulless.
Akira sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his hands.
"I'm… really in this world."
He still couldn't comprehend how it had happened. Everything was too real. The chill of the night, the sound of wind through the window's cracks, even the tension with the man he called father earlier—it all felt alive. Wrong, but too real to be a dream.
His gaze drifted to a small table beside the bed. On it sat an old, worn book, slightly askew. Akira picked it up carefully.
It wasn't just any book.
It was Magic Revolution, the novel he'd read for years. The novel of this world.
But something made his brow furrow.
"This is the last volume I read… but…"
He flipped through the pages.
"What the hell?"
Several pages in the middle were… blank.
Not torn. Not missing. Just blank… as if the story stopped there.
Akira ran his fingers over the empty pages, a creeping unease settling in his chest. Why was this novel here? Why were there blank pages?
And why…
Why did it feel like the story here wasn't finished?
A knock at the door broke his reverie.
"Chester."
The old man's voice—his father's—came from the other side, flat and cold as ever.
"I have business at the academy late tonight. Don't cause trouble. Understood?"
"Understood," Akira replied softly.
The sound of footsteps faded. Then, silence.
Akira gripped the book tightly.
And deep in his mind… one name surfaced, making his heart beat a little faster.
Alise.
Without realizing it, his fingers tightened around the book.
He knew. Tomorrow, this strange day would continue.
And it all began tonight.
Morning light slipped softly through the gaps in the room's curtains. Warm, dim. The city was still cloaked in a thin veil of mist. The faint creak of old windows stirred by the breeze formed the backdrop to a morning that seemed ordinary.
Akira opened his eyes slowly. His vision was blurry for a moment, but he could feel the touch of luxurious linen beneath him. The room… was still Chester's. Still the same.
He rose slowly, drawing a long, heavy breath.
He whispered to himself, his voice barely audible. That feeling—the inexplicable weight pressing down on him. As if something had been forgotten. Something… off.
But a sharp knock at the door shattered his reverie.
"Chester! Get ready now! We're leaving soon!"
His father's voice boomed from outside. The same voice, the same tone.
"Don't make me come in there!"
Akira nearly forgot—he had to keep playing Chester. He moved quickly, slipping into the academy uniform hanging by the wardrobe. His body moved on autopilot. Though his mind swirled with doubts, his limbs followed a routine that felt strangely familiar, as if he'd done it countless times before.
His hand brushed against the same worn book on the bedside table as he rushed out of the room.
The horse-drawn carriage glided smoothly away from the Kerl estate. The city's cobblestone streets glistened faintly, still damp from the morning dew. The creak of wooden wheels blended with the cool morning breeze.
Inside the carriage, his father sat upright, as silent as the night before. A fleeting, curious glance was cast Akira's way.
"Miraculous. You're up early again," the older man said at last.
His tone… it was the same. The words were the same.
For a moment, Akira turned his head. His heart beat a little faster.
"Yeah… just… couldn't sleep much," he replied, trying to sound casual, mimicking Chester's lazy drawl as he had before.
His father gave a small nod, then fell silent, gazing out the window. The morning felt… ordinary.
Too ordinary.
The academy loomed ahead, its grand white stone structure bathed in the soft glow of morning light. The academy's banners fluttered gently in the breeze. Students in uniform milled about the main courtyard—smiling, laughing, chatting casually. Everything seemed… normal.
But that normalcy felt wrong.
Akira stepped into the academy grounds, his eyes scanning every corner of the building, every face that passed by.
Each step he took felt like one he'd taken before. Every sound, every whisper from the other students… he'd heard them already. No mistake about it.
The sensation of déjà vu crept stronger, wrapping around him like a tightening coil.
And then—the voice he knew too well.
"Disgusting!"
Alise.
He turned. There she stood, flanked by two friends, her hands on her hips, her face etched with disdain. Her voice, her tone, her stance—everything was identical to yesterday.
In that moment, fragments of memory flashed vividly in his mind. Every word Alise spoke, every syllable—it was the same. The way the breeze stirred her golden hair—identical.
Akira froze for a second. But he quickly drew a breath and slipped back into Chester's persona. If this was a coincidence, he couldn't afford to let anyone grow suspicious.
The day unfolded like a crude copy of the one before.
Until classes ended, everything played out as if scripted from yesterday.
Beneath the orange-tinted evening sky, Akira walked slowly through the outer courtyard. Students began to disperse—some heading to horse-drawn carriages, others walking toward the city.
And then, once again—he heard that conversation.
"So, we're going straight to White Candle Café this evening, right? I heard they added caramel cake to the menu this week."
"Totally! It's been forever since we hung out off-campus. Plus, the weather's gorgeous."
Alise's friend's voice rang in his ears.
Akira stood rooted to the spot.
The café.
The words echoed in his mind.
Evening. The café. The same thing that happened yesterday.
But today.
And as the sun sank lower, that uneasy feeling thickened in his mind. The hairs on his arms began to prickle.
He returned home as usual, with his father's cold silence accompanying him throughout the journey.
Night fell.
And the next morning.
Eyes opened. The familiar wooden ceiling. The sound of the wind. A knock at the door.
"Chester! Get ready now! We're leaving soon!"
The same. Exact. Thing.
"Don't make me come in there."
Akira sat up, clutching his head.
"…What the hell is happening?"
Three times.
Three identical mornings. Three identical days. A loop replaying like an old cassette tape.
And only he seemed to notice.
Now, the pounding in his chest wasn't just anxiety about pretending to be Chester.
The question was bigger.
Why was everything repeating?
And more importantly…
What was this "story" trying to do to him?