The orphanage always smelled faintly of old books and detergent. It wasn't a bad smell, just the kind of scent that clung to the air of a place that had been lived in for many years. For most of the children, life at the orphanage meant school in the mornings, chores in the afternoons, and laughter in the evenings. But for Kaori Fujimoto, things were different.
At twelve years old, Kaori had never stepped foot inside a classroom. The caretakers of the orphanage, perhaps out of pity or perhaps because they didn't quite know what to do with her, allowed her to stay behind when the other kids left for school. Some whispered that she was too fragile, others that she was too strange. Whatever the reason, no one ever pressed her to go.
And Kaori didn't mind.
Her world was bigger than the schoolyard could ever be.
Every morning, after the others had left, Kaori padded into the small common room in her socks, clutching a pillow like a makeshift shield. The PlayStation 5 gleamed beneath the old television, its power light a tiny beacon waiting for her. Beside it, stacks of game cases towered like skyscrapers—colorful spines promising adventures across galaxies, battles against monsters, and journeys through magical kingdoms.
When she grew tired of gaming, she moved on to the DVD player. The staff of the orphanage had long since stopped questioning her strange obsession with collecting discs. She had everything from Disney classics to superhero blockbusters, from anime films to horror movies. Some of the younger kids even sneaked in to watch with her sometimes, though they never lasted long when the monsters came on screen. Kaori, however, never flinched.
Because Kaori knew monsters better than anyone.
When she wasn't playing games or watching films, she sat cross-legged on her bed with a comic book or manga spread before her. Words and pictures filled her head, and though she never learned in a classroom, she absorbed knowledge faster than most. Stories taught her about the world. Heroes and villains, battles and tragedies, friendships and betrayals—they were her teachers.
But all of this was just the surface of her life.
Kaori carried a secret.
When the lights went out at night and the children drifted to sleep, Kaori sometimes lay awake, her heart beating fast, as though it knew something terrible might happen. She would whisper into the dark, testing the boundaries of her gift. And then, when she dared, she transformed.
Her flesh could melt into steel, into scales, into smoke. Her fingers could elongate into claws, her voice could crackle with electricity, her eyes could glow like molten fire. She could become a dragon from her manga, an animatronic wolf from a game, even a ghostly figure like those that haunted the horror films she watched. Each time, the transformation carried weight—power thrumming in her veins, strength beyond human limits.
And the strangest part: whatever monster she became, her power doubled what it had been in its original world. A vampire who could leap twenty feet? She could leap forty. A robot who could smash through walls? She could smash through mountains.
Yet Kaori never showed anyone.
The thought of revealing her true nature terrified her. She imagined the faces of the caretakers, the whispers of the children, the fear in their eyes. No one wanted a monster, especially not one who could become any monster.
So Kaori smiled in the daylight, laughed when the younger kids joked, and kept her truth locked away like a forbidden diary.
But her secret had more than one layer.
For Kaori's second gift was even stranger, and perhaps even more dangerous.
Sometimes, when she held a DVD in her hands or pressed pause on a movie, she felt something stir. A ripple, a vibration, as though the barrier between her world and the fictional one grew thin. With practice, she learned to stretch that barrier, to open it like a door.
She could create a portal.
And through that portal, she could step directly into the world of the story.
The first time had been an accident. She had been watching a superhero film, heart pounding as the battle reached its climax, when suddenly the air in front of the screen shimmered. Without thinking, Kaori reached out. Her fingers disappeared into the light. And then her whole body followed.
She had landed on the rooftops of a city under siege, where caped heroes clashed against monstrous villains. And when one of the creatures turned its burning gaze on her, she screamed—only to realize that nothing could harm her. Blades passed through her skin like mist, fire licked at her arms without leaving a mark. She was immortal in that place.
It had been terrifying and exhilarating. Since then, Kaori had returned again and again to different worlds. She fought alongside pirates, explored haunted mansions, raced through futuristic cities, and even wandered the cheerful fields of cartoon lands where nothing bad ever happened.
Every time she returned to the orphanage, not a single second seemed to have passed. The other children never noticed her absence.
This was Kaori's real life.
On this particular morning, sunlight filtered through the cracked window of her small room. Kaori sat on her bed with her legs tucked beneath her, flipping through the pages of a worn manga. The other children's voices drifted faintly from outside as they hurried to school. She hardly glanced at them; her world was here, between the pages.
But she felt restless.
She closed the book and glanced at the DVD player across the room. A stack of discs waited for her choice. Today, though, she didn't want to just watch. She wanted to step inside.
Her hand hovered over the collection until it landed on a box set of monster films. A slow smile spread across her face. Perfect.
Carrying the case to the player, she slipped in the first disc and waited for the menu screen to appear. As the music swelled, she extended her hand toward the glowing image. Her fingers trembled, then brushed against the invisible surface.
The air rippled.
Light spilled into the room, spreading wider, forming a shimmering oval that reached from floor to ceiling. The sounds of the movie leaked through—the distant roar of a creature, the crash of falling buildings, the panicked cries of fleeing people.
Kaori's heart raced.
She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and stepped forward.
The world bent around her, colors stretching and folding until the orphanage vanished. When the light dimmed, she was standing in the middle of a ruined city street. Smoke rose from shattered cars. Windows burned. And there, in the distance, a shadow loomed—something enormous, something monstrous.
Kaori grinned.
Because here, she wasn't just Kaori Fujimoto, the strange girl in the orphanage.
Here, she was unstoppable.
She closed her eyes and felt the familiar ripple spread through her body. Bones shifted, skin hardened, power surged. In seconds, Kaori was no longer a girl. She was a towering dragon with wings that scraped the sky, her roar shaking the broken city.
And the battle had only just begun.