The first thing Hiruko Nagasaka registered wasn't the pain, or the blinding light, or the ringing in his ears. It was the scent of lavender and old paper, a combination so specific it felt like a memory that didn't belong to him. His eyes fluttered open to a canopy of dark wood, intricately carved with what looked like sprawling vines.
He blinked, the details of his past life as an ordinary office worker in Tokyo fading like a half-remembered dream. The last thing he recalled was the screech of tires and the sickening lurch of a bus. Now, he was in a lavish room, surrounded by furniture that looked like it belonged in a historical museum, and wearing a silk nightshirt that felt alien against his skin.
A mirror across the room reflected a face he'd never seen before. It was a young man's face, aristocratic and handsome, with sharp cheekbones and a mess of sandy brown hair. His own reflection, the one he'd seen every day for 28 years, was gone.
A jolt of panic seized him. Where am I? Who is this?
He tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness slammed into him. A soft gasp escaped his lips. The voice was different—deeper, richer than his own. It was a stranger's voice coming from his throat.
Just then, the heavy oak door creaked open, and a stern-looking woman in a formal maid's uniform entered. She held a silver tray with a cup and a steaming bowl. Her eyes, a sharp blue, took in his position on the bed.
"Sir Lukas, you are awake," she said, her voice a crisp, polite command. "The head of the family has been concerned. You were unconscious for three days after your fall from the horse."
Hiruko's mind raced. Lukas? The head of the family? He tried to recall anything about a fall or a horse, but there was nothing. Just the bus, the screeching tires, and the blinding light. The truth, as unbelievable as it was, began to settle in his gut. He wasn't Hiruko Nagasaka anymore. He was someone named Lukas Tross.
"I..." he started, his voice cracking. "I'm a little… disoriented."
The maid's expression softened slightly, her gaze lingering on him with a trace of suspicion. "A head injury, the doctors said. I'm sure your memory will return in time. Please, drink this."
She set the tray down and extended the cup. Hiruko's hand, long and slender, trembled as he took it. He wasn't just in another world; he was inhabiting another person's life, the heir to a prestigious family. And the cold, calculating look in the maid's eyes told him one thing for certain: one wrong move, and he'd be exposed as the impostor he was.
Hiruko's mind raced, a thousand questions clamoring for an answer. He needed information, and the maid, with her watchful eyes, was the only source he had. He knew he couldn't just blurt out, "Who am I? Where am I?" He had to be subtle.
He took a slow, deliberate sip from the cup she'd given him. The liquid was a floral tea, calming and a little bitter. He set the cup down carefully, feigning a sigh of exhaustion.
"Thank you, I needed that," he said, trying to make his voice sound weak. "My head is still... foggy. The doctors, did they say anything else about my condition?" He hoped this would give him a natural opening to ask more questions.
The maid, whose nameplate on her uniform read 'Theresa', paused for a moment before answering. Her gaze was sharp, analyzing him. It was a test, he realized. She was waiting to see if he would slip up.
"Only that it was a severe concussion, sir. You've been prone to such incidents since you were a child, though none so grave as this," she said, her tone professional but with a hint of something else—perhaps familiarity, or maybe even thinly veiled contempt. "The head of the family, Lord Tross, has been very worried. He's already canceled your riding lessons for the week."
Hiruko's heart pounded. Riding lessons? He hadn't been on a horse since a school trip years ago. "Ah, yes, the lessons," he said, trying to sound apathetic. "And... the lessons for my sister? How are those progressing?" He had to confirm if there were other family members.
Theresa's face softened, a genuine smile gracing her lips for the first time. "Miss Clarissa's piano lessons are going splendidly, sir. She's a natural. She's been asking to see you, but the head of the family thought it best you rest."
Hiruko felt a wave of relief. A younger sister named Clarissa, a strict father he was calling Lord Tross. The pieces were slowly starting to fit together.
"And... my brother?" he ventured, pushing his luck. "How is he?"
Theresa's smile vanished instantly. A cold, hard look returned to her eyes. "Young Master Tristan is doing well, sir. He is currently at the academy." Her tone was clipped, the subject clearly a sore one.
He had a brother, too. And based on Theresa's reaction, there was some sort of tension or rivalry between the Tross siblings. This was more than just a new body; it was a tangled web of family drama and expectations he knew nothing about.
As Theresa tidied a small table by his bed, Hiruko took the opportunity to ask one more thing. "Theresa, what... what day is it?" he asked, making his voice sound like a simple, forgetful question.
She looked at him quizzically but answered without hesitation. "It is the tenth day of the fourth moon, sir. The year 542 by the Imperial calendar."
Hiruko felt a chill run down his spine. The fourth moon, the year 542. This was not just a different family or a different country. This was an entirely different world.
Hiruko, still playing the part of a groggy patient, watched as Theresa finished tidying the room. "Thank you, Theresa," he said, his voice as weak as he could make it. "I think... I'll just rest for a while. You may go."
Theresa gave a final, scrutinizing glance before nodding crisply and exiting the room, the door closing with a soft click. The moment she was gone, a torrent of relief washed over Hiruko. He was alone.
He sat up fully, his legs swinging over the side of the bed. The silk nightshirt felt strange and confining. He stood and, for a moment, his knees felt wobbly, but he quickly found his footing. The body felt different—taller, more athletic than his own had been. It was a stark reminder that he wasn't himself.
He moved to the large wooden armoire and opened it. Inside were rows of clothing he could only describe as elaborate. Velvet tunics, leather vests, and tailored trousers hung neatly. He picked up a tunic, the fabric rich and heavy, and noticed a crest embroidered on the breast pocket—a stylized stag head with a single antler. This must be the Tross family crest.
His gaze then landed on a small mahogany desk in the corner of the room. It was surprisingly free of clutter, save for a few bound books, a quill, and a small, leather-bound journal. He approached it cautiously, his heart pounding in his chest. This journal could hold the secrets of the real Lukas Tross.
He opened it to the first page. The handwriting was elegant, almost too perfect to read, and it spoke of horse riding, fencing lessons, and social events. It was the chronicle of a life he didn't recognize. The final entry, however, gave him pause.
"Father is pushing me again about the academy. Tristan is there. Tristan. Everything is about Tristan. I can't keep up. I feel like I'm drowning."
The words felt heavy with despair, and Hiruko felt a pang of sympathy for the young man whose body he now inhabited. The Lukas Tross he was impersonating was a person under immense pressure, likely in the shadow of his brother. This explained Theresa's cold reaction to the mention of Tristan.
He closed the journal, placing it back on the desk. He had a lot to learn, but the journal provided a crucial first clue: the real Lukas Tross was struggling, living a life of competition and expectation. Hiruko's quest was now clearer. He needed to not only learn how to survive in this new world but also how to convincingly be the man everyone expected him to be—the troubled heir of the Tross family. The impostor had to become the role he was forced into.
Hiruko decided that a risky move was the best one. Staying in the room would only delay the inevitable, and the longer he waited, the more likely he was to make a mistake. He took a deep breath, straightened his velvet tunic, and with a newfound resolve, opened the door to the hallway.
The mansion was as grand as the room he'd just left. The hallway was vast, with high ceilings and walls lined with ornate portraits of somber-looking people—presumably, the Tross ancestors. The floor was a polished stone that reflected the light from large windows.
He moved cautiously, his feet making no sound on the floor. He felt like a ghost haunting a manor, a stranger in a stolen body. He was about to turn a corner when he heard a voice, a feminine voice, and a shiver of anxiety ran down his spine.
"Lukas? Is that you?"
He froze, his heart leaping into his throat. A girl with bright, fiery red hair and eyes as blue as the summer sky was standing at the end of the hallway. She wore a simple, yet elegant, dress of green linen. A small, concerned frown was etched on her face. Hiruko's mind went blank. He didn't know who she was.
He gave a slow, awkward nod, his throat feeling tight. "Yes... it's me."
The girl's frown deepened. "You look pale. Are you sure you should be out of bed? Clarissa told me you were quite ill."
Hiruko's mind raced. Clarissa, the younger sister. This girl must be a close friend of Lukas's, someone who had been here before. This was the twist, the first real test of his ability to deceive. He couldn't remember her name. He couldn't remember anything about her.
He tried to force a smile, a gesture he knew from his own life was often a good way to hide discomfort. It felt unnatural on this new face. "I'm feeling a bit better, thank you. I just needed some fresh air." He hoped his vague answer would be enough.
The girl's eyes narrowed. "Lukas, don't be ridiculous. The air in the house is the same as the air in your room. What's wrong?" Her tone was gentle, but her gaze was sharp, a gaze that seemed to see right through his facade. She took a step closer. "You've been acting strangely ever since you got back from the riding academy. First, you start keeping a journal, and now this. Did something happen before the fall that you're not telling me? You know you can tell me anything.After all I am Mina Rosewalt,The young prodigy of the Rosewalt family and your friend."
The name hit him like a punch to the gut. Mina. A friend who seemed to know Lukas's every habit and nuance. Hiruko's quest to fool the Tross family had just gotten a lot harder. He wasn't just dealing with a stern father and a rival brother; he was now faced with a friend who might know the real Lukas better than anyone.