This is an idea I've been working on, and it's not the final draft. Guess which world this fanfic belongs to
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Chapter 1: The Awakening
The last thing Kenji Nakamura remembered was the screech of tires and the brilliant white of oncoming headlights. Then darkness—not the gentle fade of sleep, but the violent severing of consciousness that comes with twisted metal and shattered glass.
Now he woke to silence.
His eyes opened to unfamiliar wooden beams overhead, their surface darkened with age and soot. The air tasted strange—not the sterile bite of a hospital, but something earthier, touched with incense and an underlying mustiness that spoke of centuries rather than years. Kenji tried to sit up, expecting the sharp protest of broken ribs or the fog of medication, but his body responded with surprising ease.
Too easy. The thought crept in unbidden as he examined hands that seemed somehow different—callused in new places, bearing faint scars he'd never earned. These weren't the soft fingers of a twenty-six-year-old software developer who spent his days hunched over a keyboard.
The room around him was wrong too. Paper screens instead of windows, a low wooden table instead of the hospital furniture he'd expected, and clothes folded beside him that looked like something from a period drama. Traditional Japanese garments in deep indigo, their fabric worn but well-maintained.
Where am I? Some kind of historical recreation? A theme hospital?
Kenji forced himself to his feet, noting absently that his balance felt different—more centered, as if his body carried muscle memory that wasn't his own. He moved to the paper screen that served as a window and slid it open with trembling fingers.
The world beyond stole his breath.
A city sprawled before him, but not the Tokyo he remembered. Traditional architecture dominated the landscape—swooping rooflines and paper lanterns hanging from eaves like sleeping fireflies. Yet between the ancient buildings, impossible anachronisms gleamed: electric lights that cast no harsh glare, transportation that moved without sound or smoke, and in the distance, towers of glass and steel that seemed to grow organically from the earth rather than imposed upon it.
This isn't Japan. This can't be anywhere on Earth.
But it was the people that made his skin crawl.
Even from his elevated position, he could see them moving through the streets below with an unnatural grace. Too fluid. Too perfect. And their skin... even in the late afternoon light, it held a pallor that spoke of never seeing true sunlight. Some wore elaborate clothing that seemed to shift and shimmer with its own inner light, while others dressed in simple robes that nonetheless carried an aura of otherworldly elegance.
"You're awake."
Kenji spun, his heart hammering against his ribs. A woman stood in the doorway—or what he assumed was a woman. Her beauty was so flawless it felt like a violation of natural law, her dark hair cascading in perfect waves that seemed to move without wind. Her eyes held depths that suggested centuries rather than decades.
"Who are you?" His voice came out rougher than expected, carrying an accent that wasn't quite his own.
"I am Lady Akemi," she said, stepping into the room with that same unsettling grace he'd observed from the window. "And you, dear Takeshi, have been unconscious for three days. We were beginning to worry."
Takeshi? The name felt foreign on his tongue when he tried to speak it, yet something deep in his mind recognized it like an echo of a half-remembered dream.
"I... I think there's been some mistake. My name is Kenji Nakamura. I'm from—" He stopped, the words dying as he realized he couldn't quite remember where he was from. Images flickered through his mind: towering concrete and glass, the blue glow of computer screens, the sound of traffic that never slept. But they felt like memories of a movie he'd once watched rather than a life he'd lived.
Am I having some kind of breakdown? Amnesia from the accident?
Lady Akemi's smile was patient, predatory. "The fever sometimes brings strange dreams. You are Takeshi Hayashi, son of a merchant family, and you have been honored with selection for the Sovereign's court. A great privilege."
The Sovereign. The title hit him like a physical blow, carrying weight that made his knees threaten to buckle. Images flashed behind his eyes—not memories, but something deeper. A figure wreathed in shadow, eyes like burning coals, and beneath it all, the suffocating certainty of absolute power.
"I don't understand," Kenji—Takeshi—whispered.
"Understanding will come," Lady Akemi assured him, approaching with steps that made no sound on the wooden floor. "The Sovereign has ruled for three centuries, bringing peace and prosperity to our world. Under his guidance, we have transcended the crude limitations of mortality. Disease, hunger, war—all relegated to the nightmares of the past."
She gestured toward the window, and Kenji found himself looking out again at the impossible city. Now he could see more details: the way shadows seemed to cling to certain buildings despite the light, the manner in which some of the graceful figures below moved with predatory purpose, and most disturbing of all, the complete absence of children.
"Where are the children?" he asked.
Something flickered across Lady Akemi's perfect features—too quick to identify, but it left him with the impression of hunger barely contained. "Children are... precious. They are cared for in special facilities until they come of age. The Sovereign ensures their safety personally."
The words should have been comforting. Instead, they sent ice through his veins.
"I need to go home," he said, backing toward the far wall. "My family will be worried. There's been some kind of mistake—"
"Your family is dead."
The words hit him like a physical blow. Lady Akemi's expression remained serene, but her eyes had sharpened to points of terrible intensity.
"Died in the plague outbreak that swept through the merchant district last month. You alone survived, chosen by the Sovereign's grace for a higher purpose." She tilted her head, studying him with the detached interest of a scientist examining a specimen. "Surely you remember the funeral pyres? The smell of smoke that lingered for days?"
But he didn't remember. The memories she spoke of should have been seared into his soul with grief, yet he felt only a distant echo of loss that belonged to someone else. Someone named Takeshi Hayashi whose life he seemed to have inherited without warning or explanation.
This is impossible. People don't just... become other people. This has to be some kind of coma dream.
"Come," Lady Akemi said, extending a hand with nails that gleamed like polished obsidian. "The Sovereign wishes to meet his newest retainer. It would be... unwise... to keep him waiting."
As her fingers approached his, Kenji caught a glimpse of something that made his blood freeze. Her shadow on the wall behind her didn't match her elegant human form. For just an instant, it writhed with too many limbs, sporting claws and teeth that belonged in nightmares.
What kind of place is this?
But as Lady Akemi's cold fingers closed around his wrist with strength that could crush bone, Kenji realized the more terrifying question: in a world where nothing made sense and beautiful people cast monstrous shadows, what chance did one confused soul have of survival?
The answer, he suspected, lay somewhere in the fragments of memory that didn't belong to either Kenji Nakamura or Takeshi Hayashi—half-remembered dreams of running through forests, the weight of something important in his hands, and the persistent feeling that this peaceful, prosperous world was built on foundations of horror that no one dared speak aloud.
As Lady Akemi led him from the room toward whatever fate awaited, Kenji couldn't shake the feeling that his arrival in this place had been less accident than summoning—and that somewhere in the darkness ahead, something ancient and patient was waiting for him with a smile full of promises and teeth.
Chapter 2: The Sovereign
The palace corridors seemed to stretch forever, lined with portraits of figures whose eyes followed them with unnatural intensity. Lady Akemi glided beside Kenji—he was still struggling to think of himself as Takeshi—her presence both protective and imprisoning. The other servants they passed bowed deeply, but Kenji noticed how their movements were too precise, too coordinated, as if choreographed rather than natural.
"The Sovereign will see you shortly," Lady Akemi murmured as they approached an ornate waiting chamber. "He is currently in council, discussing matters of... agricultural management."
Through the heavy wooden doors ahead, Kenji could hear the low rumble of voices. The chamber they entered was opulent beyond anything he'd ever seen—silk tapestries depicting scenes of pastoral harmony, golden fixtures that seemed to glow with their own light, and furniture that looked both ancient and impossibly well-preserved.
"Wait here," Lady Akemi commanded, her voice carrying an authority that brooked no argument. "Do not wander. The palace can be... confusing for newcomers."
Alone, Kenji found himself drawn to the tapestries. The scenes they depicted were idyllic—farmers in verdant fields, children playing in flower-filled meadows, families gathered around bountiful tables. Yet something about the images unsettled him. The people in them had that same perfect, porcelain quality he'd noticed in the streets, and their smiles seemed frozen rather than genuine.
A sound from behind the council doors made him freeze. Not the dignified murmur of political discussion, but something that sounded almost like... screaming? No, that couldn't be right. The sound was too brief, too quickly muffled.
Agricultural management, he reminded himself, but his pulse quickened anyway.
Minutes crawled by until finally, the doors opened. Several figures emerged—tall, elegant beings whose beauty was so flawless it hurt to look at them directly. They moved past Kenji without acknowledgment, their whispered conversations in a language he didn't recognize, though something about the harsh consonants made his skin crawl.
"Takeshi Hayashi."
The voice that called his borrowed name was smooth as silk and twice as dangerous. The Sovereign stood in the doorway, and Kenji's first thought was that this man could have been a movie star—tall, commanding, with features that seemed carved from marble. His clothes were simple but rich, and his smile was warm enough to melt ice.
Yet every instinct Kenji possessed screamed danger.
"Your Excellency," Kenji managed, mimicking the bow he'd seen the servants perform.
"Come, walk with me," the Sovereign said, gesturing toward a side corridor. "I prefer to conduct introductions in a more... intimate setting."
The hallway they entered was lined with windows overlooking gardens that defied natural law. Flowers bloomed in impossible colors, and the trees bore fruit that seemed to glow from within. It was beautiful. It was perfect.
It was wrong.
"You've had quite an ordeal," the Sovereign continued conversationally. "Losing your family in such a tragic manner. The plague that swept through the merchant district was... unfortunate."
"I..." Kenji struggled for words. The memories Lady Akemi had spoken of still felt foreign, like clothes that didn't quite fit. "I'm having trouble remembering details."
"Trauma affects us all differently," the Sovereign said with what seemed like genuine compassion. "But you survived for a reason, Takeshi. I have great plans for you."
They paused before a window overlooking a courtyard where figures in simple robes tended the impossible gardens. Something about the scene nagged at Kenji—the workers moved with the same mechanical precision he'd noticed in the palace servants, but there was something else. They never looked up. Never paused to wipe sweat from their brows or stretch aching backs. They simply worked with the relentless efficiency of machines.
"Your new duties will be quite simple," the Sovereign was saying. "You'll serve as a courier between the palace and our agricultural facilities. Fresh air, travel, a chance to see the prosperity our realm enjoys."
"Agricultural facilities?" Kenji asked.
"Where we tend our most precious resources," the Sovereign replied smoothly. "The foundation of our civilization's success."
Something in his tone made Kenji's blood run cold, but before he could respond, a commotion echoed from somewhere deeper in the palace. Shouts, the sound of running feet, and beneath it all, something that might have been sobbing.
The Sovereign's perfect composure didn't crack, but Kenji caught a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. "Security exercises," he explained casually. "We must remain vigilant against those who would disrupt our peace."
But as they continued walking, Kenji's enhanced hearing—another oddity he couldn't explain—caught fragments of the distant voices. Words that made no sense: "...found another cache of the old texts..." "...burning them now, but the damage..." "...spreading the poison about breathing..."
Breathing? What could be poisonous about breathing?
"Here we are," the Sovereign announced, stopping before an ornate door. "Your quarters. You'll begin your duties tomorrow. Lady Akemi will brief you on the routes and protocols."
As the Sovereign turned to leave, Kenji found himself speaking before he could stop himself. "The workers in the garden... they seemed very dedicated."
The Sovereign paused, his smile taking on a sharper edge. "Dedication is a virtue we prize highly. Those who serve faithfully are... rewarded... beyond their wildest dreams."
After the Sovereign left, Kenji sat alone in his new quarters, mind racing. Everything about this place felt like a beautiful lie wrapped around something rotten. The perfect society, the impossibly flawless rulers, the mechanical precision of the servants—it all pointed to a control so complete it had erased human nature itself.
And those voices in the distance, speaking of old texts and something about breathing that needed to be suppressed. What kind of knowledge was so dangerous it had to be burned?
As night fell beyond his window, Kenji made a decision that would have seemed impossible just days ago. Tomorrow, when he began his courier duties, he wouldn't just deliver messages. He would start looking for answers.
Starting with those agricultural facilities the Sovereign was so eager to show him.
And perhaps, if he was very careful, he might find some of those old texts before they all went up in flames. Something told him that whatever knowledge they contained was exactly what he needed to understand the truth about this perfect, prosperous, utterly terrifying world.
In the distance, barely audible through the palace walls, he thought he heard voices again. Not the cultured tones of the nobility, but something rougher, more desperate. Human voices, speaking in hushed, frightened whispers about things that shouldn't exist.
About resistance.
About hope.
About the return of something that had been thought lost forever.