Darkness.

  It stretched endlessly, cold and empty, swallowing time itself. Then—pain. A deep, searing pain that gnawed at his very being. The st thing he remembered was war. Gunfire. Screams. The weight of a thousand battles pressing down on him. And then... nothing.

  Suddenly, he gasped for air, his lungs burning as if he had drowned and resurfaced. His eyes snapped open. He wasn’t on a battlefield. He wasn’t even himself.

  A flickering light buzzed overhead. He was lying on the floor of a narrow alley, surrounded by garbage bags and the stench of rot. His hands trembled as he pushed himself up. They were smaller. Weaker. He caught a glimpse of himself in a rain puddle.

  The reflection staring back was not his own.

  "What the hell…?" His voice was hoarse, unfamiliar. His fingers traced his face—his new face. Panic cwed at his chest. "Who… am I?"

  His face was young, frail, with a bruise on his cheek and blood crusting his lips. He had bck short hair. His body felt thin, underfed. He searched his pockets, desperate for answers, and found a battered school ID.

  Kaito Renji, Age: 16.

  The name meant nothing to him. He clenched the ID, his mind racing. This isn’t right. I should be dead. I was dead. So why am I… here?

  He forced himself to stand, his legs unsteady.

  He took a deep breath. Panicking wouldn’t help. He needed answers. And for that, he needed to get home.

  The house was a rundown apartment complex on the outskirts of the city. Paint peeled from the walls, and the air smelled of damp wood and neglect. He stared at the door, his fingers hovering over the handle. What if I walk in and they know I’m not really him? What if I don’t belong here?

  Before he could spiral further, raised voices snapped him back to reality.

  “Come on, old man. You’re te again.”

  A sharp sound—flesh meeting flesh. A grunt of pain.

  His hands curled into fists. His body tensed. I don’t even know these people. But… I can’t ignore this. I won’t.

  Without thinking, he pushed the door open. Inside, two burly men in leather jackets stood over an older man and woman—Kaito’s parents? The father clutched his stomach, his face twisted in pain. The mother clung to his arm, fear in her eyes.

  “I’ll get the money,” the man groaned. “Just give me more time—”

  One of the gangsters raised a fist again. He’s going to hit him again. He’s going to—

  Kaito moved before his brain could fully process it.

  CRACK!

  His foot smmed into the man’s knee, twisting it at an unnatural angle. A howl of pain filled the room.

  Holy shit. I can still do this.

  The second thug barely had time to react. Kaito surged forward, driving an elbow into his ribs, crushing them like dry twigs. The man staggered back, gasping, only to be met with a brutal uppercut that sent him crashing into the kitchen table.

  The first gangster, still writhing, reached for a knife. Kaito was faster. He snatched a chair and smashed it over his head. The man crumpled instantly, unconscious.

  The room fell silent except for the heavy breathing of the stunned parents.

  Kaito stood amidst the wreckage, blood dripping from his knuckles. His heart pounded. His body moved like it always had in battle. But it wasn’t his body.

  His father—Kaito’s father—stared at him in shock. “Son…?”

  Kaito exhaled, his mind racing. What do I even say? That I’m not really your son? That I woke up in his body and just beat the hell out of two grown men?

  He forced a smirk. “What? You thought I was just gonna stand there and watch?”

  His father’s mouth opened and closed, at a loss for words. His mother’s eyes were wide, a mix of fear and something else—hope.

  Kaito gnced down at his fists, flexing his fingers. I might not know who I am right now. But if this kid was too weak to fight back before…