After the entrance ceremony we were immediately sent back to our home—
I mean, the ceremony was held 2 weeks before class even starts.
That alone felt strange, but my brain was already too messed up to question anything.
After walking out of the academy I found myself surrounded by towering futuristic buildings.
All sorts of sci-fi shit were right in front of me—neon pillars, floating panels, drones zipping around like mechanical birds. I was amazed and surprised yet… somehow it felt normal. Like a déjà vu wrapped inside a headache.
It seems that I still haven't adapted to my memories switching back and forth—
between Kylen's and Jake's.
Two different lives clawing at my skull every time I try to think.
Using Jake's memory, I managed to track down the place where I live.
An apartment—a broke one at that.
The place wasn't suited for someone to live in, but yet it felt normal.
Too normal.
The door had a bunch of holes and cracks but was still holding on to its dear life using duct tape. It looked like a single kick could send it flying, but my body moved like it had opened it a thousand times.
I pulled out a key from my pocket.
I didn't remember putting it there. I didn't even remember owning it.
But the moment it touched the lock… something inside me whispered "home."
Even though the outside was questionable, the inside was surprisingly normal.
I remembered plastering the wall, fixing the ceiling, moving the furniture around.
But I also remembered never being here before.
Everything was cost free. Everything was conflicting.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed inside my jacket.
A name popped up.
(Bob can cook)
My head throbbed. I didn't know a Bob.
But my body answered the call anyway.
"Kylen, can you visit the store today? Richard was sent to the hospital because of food poisoning."
A middle-aged voice, kitchen noises in the background—it all sounded familiar, but only to half of me.
"How many times do I have to tell that guy not to eat everything that was supposed to be thrown out!"
The words just rolled out of my mouth, like a reflex I didn't own.
"Wait let me change first and then I will visit the store."
I closed the phone. Bob thanked me nonstop.
He knew I was tired from the entrance exam.
He knew Kylen.
But the memories of working in that restaurant belonged to Jake.
What the hell was happening to me?
Staying here won't change anything.
Maybe the store will. Maybe someone there will slip something that can untangle this mess.
I changed my clothes, put on a coat, and left the apartment.
◇◇◇
The restaurant wasn't too far—10 minutes by foot, guided by a memory that didn't feel like mine.
From the front window, people could see a fancy dining room full of well-dressed customers, chandeliers, and silver utensils.
Yet walking toward it, I felt both like a stranger and like I had handled every single plate inside.
I entered through the back door and was immediately greeted by Ian smoking.
"Kylen, weren't you supposed to be at Atlas right now?"
"It's just a ceremony. Class won't start until the next 2 weeks." I replied, already changing into my uniform on autopilot.
"Well I hope Bob will give you a bonus for today. I know living in that apartment must be hard."
Ian blew out smoke.
He sounded like someone who had said those words many times before.
Ian and I were close—
or so one part of my mind insisted.
The other part insisted I had just met him for the first time.
"Well, I'm going to work. Good work," I said.
He raised a hand lazily and kept smoking.
I left the back room and entered the heated atmosphere of the kitchen.
"Bob! Do I immediately get to work?" I asked.
"Oh… Kylen." Bob turned, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I know I can let you handle this. Just work like usual. I'm sorry for making you work even though you must be tired."
"It's okay. I needed the money anyway."
"Oh right! Don't forget to tie your hair."
I glanced at the small mirror near the kitchen door.
A long bang covered half my face.
My reflection showed a tall, muscular figure…
my face, but also not my face.
Two identities.
Two separate lives.
Both fighting to be the real one.
Both trying to overwrite the other.
Both trying to claim me.
And I still had no idea which one I truly was.
◇◇◇
The job was surprisingly easy. My hands moved on their own — muscle memory from a life I wasn't even sure belonged to me.
After washing my hands, Ian approached and offered me a cigarette.
"Sorry. I don't smoke."
"I already know that," he snorted, "but every time you refuse, I keep thinking about how stupid you are."
"Why?"
"I never told you this, but can't you just smoke and heal yourself afterward? You have healing, man. Not using it feels like a waste."
"It's more of a waste to use it on something that dumb."
"I guess so."
The day ended with Bob handing me a bonus and thanking me ten times more than necessary. I left the restaurant as soon as I clocked out.
On my way home, a group of kids caught my attention. They were hurling stones at something — or someone — hidden in a narrow alley. I walked over, already irritated.
It was a girl.
She looked homeless at first glance — thin clothes, muddy knees, bare feet. But everything else about her didn't match.
A small horn protruded from her forehead.
Her silver hair, though messy, was strangely clean… almost glowing under the dim streetlight.
Her crimson eyes were sharp, wary, not the eyes of a frightened child.
And the strangest thing — she was stunning. Too stunning for someone left to rot in an alley.
I caught the next stone mid-air, stopping it inches before it hit her face.
"You don't hit a girl," I said flatly.
"Fuck you, old man! You're not our mom!" one of the kids shouted, and the whole group made mocking faces before bolting like scared animals.
"Old—?! You little—!!"
They disappeared before I could finish the sentence.
I let out a breath and turned back to the girl. I crouched, getting a better look at her injuries — but the scratches and cuts were already closing.
Too fast.
She was regenerating at a terrifying pace.
Even so, I raised my hand to cast a quick healing spell. It wouldn't hurt.
But the moment I opened my palm, she flinched violently, recoiling as if I were about to strike her.
Slowly, carefully, I lowered my voice.
"Hey. I'm not going to hit you."
She didn't answer. Didn't blink. Just stared at me with those eerie red eyes… like she was trying to decide whether I was a threat, or something worse.
And for a brief, unsettling moment — I wasn't even sure of the answer myself.
To be continued