Perfect 👍
Below is a **rewritten Chapter 1** with:
* **More natural, realistic dialogue**
* **Stronger emotions**
* **A deeper sense of mystery**
* **A smoother, more novel-like flow**
I kept your story, characters, and events intact—this is an enhancement, not a rewrite of the plot.
---
## **Chapter 1**
Somewhere in Tokyo, on Newcastle Street, inside a white-painted six-story building—third floor, Door B—lived **Jack Williams**.
At this exact moment, Jack wished he were dead.
Not literally.
Just… unconscious.
He lay sprawled on the floor, one arm over his eyes, his head throbbing as if someone were drilling straight through his skull.
"Damn it…" he groaned. "Who *forced* me to drink when I hate alcohol?"
No one had forced him, of course.
He knew that.
Jack Williams was one of the rare people in the world who genuinely despised alcohol—the taste, the smell, the way it burned all the way down his throat. But last night had been different.
It had been his **22nd birthday**.
And he had celebrated it alone.
Why?
Well… that was obvious.
Jack had no friends in Tokyo. Not because people were unfriendly, but because *he* was. An introvert to his core, the kind of person who waited to be approached rather than taking the first step. The kind who stayed silent and hoped someone would notice.
No one ever did.
Still, he didn't hate his solitude. In fact, he liked it—most of the time. He was a homebody, content with novels stacked on his shelves, music filling his apartment, and the freedom to sing or dance without anyone watching.
It was only when he wanted to go out—shopping, walking around, eating at restaurants—that the loneliness crept in.
But back home?
Back home was different.
He had friends there. The sibling kind. The kind you argue with over stolen food. The kind who scold you like parents, show up uninvited, and refuse to leave. Friends who somehow become family.
Here in Tokyo, though, it was just him.
That was why he drank last night.
A farewell drink. His first and last.
With a groan, Jack pushed himself up from the floor and stumbled into the kitchen. He made hot honey water, stirring it slowly, the spoon clinking softly against the mug as he walked to the dining table. Sitting down, he took a few careful sips.
Warmth spread through him, easing the ache just enough for him to think.
*What should I even do today?*
Nothing came to mind.
So he stared blankly ahead, thoughts drifting nowhere.
Five minutes later, his phone rang.
He sighed before answering.
"Mom."
"Bastard," his mother snapped immediately. "When are you coming home? If I don't call you, you never call! What time does your flight land? Do you need Lisa to pick you up?"
Despite the sharp words, Jack could hear it—the tremble she was trying to hide.
"Mom, I'm fine," he said softly. "I miss everyone. Especially you."
A pause. Then, "The flight lands at 3 p.m. I'll probably be out by 4."
"Alright," Vanessa said, her voice gentler now. "I'll tell your sister."
"Okay."
"Have you eaten?"
"…No."
There it was.
Jack could practically *see* her inhaling sharply on the other end.
Before she could explode, he rushed out, "I just woke up."
Silence.
Too much silence.
"Mom?" he said carefully. "Are you—"
"So you're *still sleeping* at this time?" she suddenly shouted. "Your peers wake up at six in the morning to work or do something productive, and you're still sleeping like a starfish with your mouth wide open!"
She kept going, her lecture firing nonstop.
Jack panicked.
He bolted to his bedroom, eyes darting to the walls, the corners, the curtains.
*How does she always know?*
*Are there cameras in here?!*
…
After finally escaping the call, Jack packed his luggage.
At noon, he called an Uber. It was faster than the bus—and he didn't have the patience for delays today.
When the car arrived, Jack stepped outside and paused. He turned back, staring at the white building he had called home for the past year.
To others, it might have seemed like nothing.
To him, it was peace.
A quiet escape where he could breathe, heal, and distance himself from people—especially those he didn't want to face. He called it a vacation when asked.
That wasn't a lie.
Just not the whole truth.
Japan had been the perfect place to disappear.
As he got into the car, a strange sensation crawled up his spine.
Déjà vu.
No—something deeper.
Something *wrong*.
A memory surfaced.
His first day in Japan.
The stranger's face came to him clearly now—a middle-aged man, polite, neatly dressed, exhaustion lining his eyes. He had stopped Jack at a street corner and asked for directions.
At the time, Jack hadn't paused.
His mouth had moved on its own.
He had spoken confidently, explaining routes, shortcuts, even recommending which train line would be less crowded. He remembered smiling. Bowing.
It was only after the man walked away that his body had gone stiff.
*Wait.*
He had stood there, heart pounding, staring at the street signs.
"How did I know that?"
"I just arrived."
Then the realization struck him like ice down his spine.
"I spoke Japanese."
Not broken words.
Not hesitant phrases.
Fluent. Natural. As if it had always belonged to him.
Jack shifted in his seat, his hands curling into fists.
"No… that's not possible."
He had never studied the language. Never practiced. The closest he had ever come was hearing it in songs and shows he barely understood.
And yet—
When he closed his eyes, warmth bloomed in his chest. Images rose unbidden—stone paths worn smooth by time, tall red gates standing quietly beneath the sky, bells ringing softly in the distance. The scent of incense clung to the air.
His breath caught.
*Why does this feel familiar?*
The car slowed at a traffic light.
For a brief moment, everything went quiet.
Jack's reflection stared back at him in the darkened window. His face looked pale. Older. Like someone carrying memories that didn't belong to him.
"Have I been here before?" he whispered under his breath.
The driver didn't hear him.
Or maybe pretended not to.
As the car started moving again, a thought surfaced—unwanted and terrifying.
*What if Japan was never just a place I visited?*
The airport appeared ahead, bright and ordinary, completely unaware of the storm twisting inside him.
Jack swallowed.
He had come to Japan to escape.
But as unease settled deep in his chest, one truth became painfully clear—
Whatever he had left behind here…
It wasn't finished with him.