Kazuya stirred as morning crept in, light slipping past the edges of shuttered windows.
Today, he would begin the search. He had questions that needed answers.
Why was he in Toma's body? Was it punishment? Fate, even? Or the doing of someone?
These thoughts circled through his head as he opened his eyes. The ceiling above him was cracked as always, but this time, the cracks felt off.
He sat up slowly.
The room was not Toma's.
Gone was the corner shelf with pictures, and in its place stood stone walls and a single stool near the door.
Kazuya frowned. His hand reached up instinctively to brush the side of his face,
And stopped.
Both arms were there, his breath hitched in his throat before he looked down.
This body was lean and compact, his arms were slim, and faint lines crossed the palms, cuts from blades, ropes and hard labor.
His eyes drifted lower.
The owner of this body wore a loose tunic, slightly oversized, the fabric faded and patched. Her waist was narrow, her frame lighter, and the muscles in her legs weren't as strong as Kazuya's or Toma's, but they were coiled with agility
He lifted a hand again, watching it move as if detached from him.
Then the fingers began to tremble, but the tremor wasn't his, it was hers.
This body had lived through something.
Kazuya took a deep breath, forcing his trembling hands to still, he steadied himself and stood, eyes scanning the small room.
Near the far wall, resting on a rough wooden table, lay a small cracked mirror.
He walked toward it slowly, heart pounding, and caught sight of his, or rather her, reflection.
The face staring back was unfamiliar yet strangely vivid. A young woman, likely around his own age, with sharp, fiery pink eyes.
Her long black hair was messy, falling wildly around her shoulders, her chest was modest, the worn fabric of her tunic stretching slightly across her collarbones.
For a moment, Kazuya simply stared, absorbing the reality of his new form.
Then, like a slow tide, memories began to flood his mind with images, feelings, and fragments of a life he had never lived.
"So... Reina Ishikawa is her name," he murmured to himself.
He remembered that Reina is an only child, with no one to rely on but herself. She didn't complain, she just endured after her parents passed.
And then, he remembered why her hands had trembled earlier.
Kazuya staggered back from the mirror as memories crashed into him.
The cold stone floor beneath bare feet.
The weight of chains around slender wrists.
The air damp and thick with the scent of mold and rot.
And a voice, deep and mocking.
"Your clan was special," he said, almost lazily. "Not for anything noble, of course. Just… those eyes."
He chuckled, a sound that made her stomach twist.
"You know what pink eyes fetch on the black market? Millions."
Reina's eyes burned as she glared at him through the bars.
"Then why kill everyone?" she snapped. "If they were so valuable?"
The man smiled like he'd been waiting for that question.
"Because of you... You were the only one with that fiery pink, even among your precious clan, you were one of a kind."
He leaned in, his grin widening.
"Wipe out a rare bloodline, leave only the rarest of them all alive…" he added. "And suddenly, you're worth billions"
The memory gripped Kazuya like a vice, the man's voice still echoing in his ears, thick with greed and cruelty. His breathing grew shallow.
Then a gasp tore from Kazuya's lips as he yanked himself out of the memory, as if surfacing from beneath deep water.
He staggered back from the mirror, his hand catching the edge of the table for balance, while his heart pounded in his ears.
His chest rose and fell rapidly as he grounded himself in the present.
Kazuya tightened his grip on the edge of the table, anger and fear twisting inside him.
"What the hell? What the hell is this?" he growled, the words scraping against his throat.
"This isn't a life… this is a nightmare."
In that moment, all he wanted was to escape Reina's body, to break free from the pain that wasn't his.