Meanwhile, Young Aether sat comfortably on the couch, quietly whistling as his eyes wandered around the grand house.
"Hmm... it's clean," he muttered, leaning back against the couch while scanning the spotless living room.
"The same brat who used to litter his house with papers, get kicked in the ass by his parents, and forget where he left half his books... and now look at him. All grown up and living in a place like this."
Honestly, Young Aether was not even sure why he was thinking about such things. After all, he had died at the age of twenty-eight... not eighteen!
Most of the friends he remembered had long since grown older, and naturally, they behaved like adults rather than the reckless idiots he remembered.
Maybe it was because he was currently occupying Young Aether, causing old memories to surface more vividly than usual. The memories that came were mostly from the brighter parts of his youth rather than the painful years that followed.
