Rain tapped gently against the dusty glass of a narrow window, casting
faint streaks of light on the wooden floor. The room was small and smelled
of old wood, medicine, and damp walls. A soft wind blew in through a
broken pane, swaying the faded curtains, while a dim bulb flickered
overhead. In the middle of the room, on a narrow bed with a thin blanket, a
boy slowly opened his eyes.
He didn't move at first. He just lay there, breathing slowly, staring up at the
ceiling—plain, cracked, and unfamiliar. The paint peeled at the corners, and
the ceiling fan spun lazily, making soft ticking sounds with every rotation. Then, as though waking from a nightmare he couldn't remember, the boy
sat up in a panic. His breath came sharp and fast. His chest rose and fell quickly, and his fingers clutched the bed sheet tightly.
Everything was wrong.
The walls weren't his. The clothes on his body weren't his. The city sounds
outside the window weren't the ones he was used to. He glanced
around—books stacked in a corner, a rusted desk near the wall, and a small
cracked mirror above it. No signs of family, no phones, no pictures. Just an
empty, cold room.
Slowly, he rose to his feet and stepped toward the mirror. His eyes widened
the moment he saw the reflection. That wasn't his face. Pale skin. Deep
black hair that hung messily around his eyes. A lean but sharp jawline. Eyes
darker than shadow, almost glowing faintly. And around his neck—a faint red mark, almost like a branded symbol, curved and unfamiliar.
He touched his cheek and whispered, "Who... am I?"
The name came to him like a whisper from behind a locked door.
Matsuku. That was his name. He remembered it clearly. He had been an
ordinary high school student. A loner. A boy who barely passed his classes. Someone who lived a normal, boring life in a cramped apartment, ate instant noodles, and sat at the back of every class.
But now he was in someone else's body. Someone younger. Stronger. More beautiful. And this room—this world—it was not the one he had known. Still shaking, he stumbled toward the desk and opened a drawer. Inside, he
found a school ID card that read:
Name: Itsuki Saito
Age: 16
School: Aetherwood Academy
"Itsuki...?" he muttered. So, this was the name of the body he now lived in. He looked back at the window. The world outside looked like any normal
city. Cars passed on the wet road. A shopkeeper lowered a shutter. Neon
lights reflected on the puddles on the sidewalk. Nothing about it seemed
magical, and yet something about it felt completely unfamiliar.
A television inside a shop across the street played the news. Through the
glass, Itsuki heard the reporter's voice: "Another aura disturbance in Sector- 7. Residents are urged to stay indoors after sunset. Demon Hunters have
been deployed in the area."
The words made his heart skip a beat. Demon Hunters? Aura?
What was this place?
He didn't know. And yet... when he touched the red mark on his neck, something responded.
His eyes widened. A vision burst into his mind—flames rising to the sky, an
ancient throne surrounded by kneeling demons, black banners fluttering in
a dark wind, and a voice—his voice—commanding legions with absolute
authority.
The vision vanished in a blink. He gasped and stumbled backward, falling to
the floor. His breath came fast. His heart pounded like a war drum.
"What was that...?" Whatever it was, it hadn't been a dream. That vision... it was a memory.
But whose?
His hand shook as he clenched his chest. Something inside him—some
kind of power—was beginning to awaken. It didn't belong to Matsuku. And
maybe not even to Itsuki. It was something older. Something far more
dangerous.
He stared at the mirror once more, the glowing mark still faintly pulsing on
his neck.
His voice was quiet but firm now. "I don't know what's happening. But I won't let anyone see this.
I'll live quietly. I'll blend in." He pulled up the collar of his jacket and took a deep breath.
"My name... is Itsuki now."