Ethan Hunt.
That was his actual name.
I swear, sometimes I think God's running low on creativity and just starts flipping through Hollywood DVDs when He's handing out identities. Out of all the names in the British Isles, my so-called first classmate encounter had to be with a discount Tom Cruise.
Don't get me wrong, the guy didn't look anything like Tom Cruise. For one thing, he had messy blond hair that clearly lost a fight with a hairbrush and gave up on life. His limbs were a little too long for his body, like someone hit "stretch" in Photoshop and forgot to undo. And while the original Ethan Hunt was busy dangling from skyscrapers and defusing nukes, this one was busy sweating in PE shorts, chasing after a football like his life depended on it.
If you ask me, that's about as far from "secret agent" as you can get.
Still, the name alone was enough to make me snort. Out loud.
Kenta looked up at me with a raised brow. "What's funny?"
I leaned down and muttered, "Of all the people in this world, my first encounter is with Ethan Hunt. And he doesn't even have a single cool gadget. What kind of scam reincarnation is this?"
Kenta blinked. "Reincarnation? And isn't that the guy from—"
"Yes," I cut him off before he could finish. "And no, I don't care if this Ethan is apparently real. It's false advertising. Mission Impossible, my foot. More like Mission Pointless."
My little brother laughed so hard he nearly dropped his schoolbag.
Great. At least someone was enjoying my misery.
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By the time we reached the main building, the drizzle had intensified into that special kind of British rain that wasn't heavy enough for an umbrella but was definitely aggressive enough to ruin your hair and soul. Kids shuffled past us in their dark-blue uniforms, chatting about holidays, football, and God knows what else.
And me? I was still obsessing.
"Ethan Hunt," I muttered under my breath. "Bet he introduces himself with a dramatic pause too. 'The name's Hunt. Ethan Hunt.' Ugh. I hate it already. What's next? James Bond sitting in chemistry class? Naruto Uzumaki running laps on the track?"
Kenta groaned. "You're overthinking again."
"Overthinking? No. I'm observing. That's what all great strategists do."
"You sound like a paranoid old man."
"Paranoid? Please. If anything, I'm genre-savvy."
The truth was, I could already feel it. This Ethan guy, he was a walking trope. Carefree grin, easy confidence, the kind of charisma that made people naturally gravitate toward him. Guys like that didn't just "show up" in stories. They did things. They dragged people along. They caused arcs.
And I, Kaito Phillips, had no intention of being dragged anywhere.
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Homeroom was a nightmare.
Not because the teacher was bad, though Mr. Clarke, with his comb-over and monotone voice, sounded like a human sleep aid. But because the entire ritual of "introduce yourself to the class" felt like my own personal hell.
"Kai Phillips," I said when it was my turn, trying to keep it short. "I… recently moved here. I like video games."
That was it. That was all I gave them. The bare minimum.
Of course, Ethan had already gone before me, and his introduction was basically the opposite: "I'm Ethan Hunt, but sadly, I don't do secret missions. Yet. I like football, I play midfield, and if anyone here thinks they can beat me at FIFA, you're welcome to try."
The class laughed. People clapped. He winked.
Meanwhile, I sank into my chair like a man awaiting execution.
Why did the universe hate me?
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By lunch break, Kenta had already made three friends his age. Ade always said he was the more social one, and clearly reincarnation hadn't changed that. My little brother was happily sitting at a crowded table, chatting about some anime arc, while I lingered at the edge of the cafeteria like a background NPC.
I was halfway through convincing myself this was fine, because protagonists only get targeted when they stand out, when a tray clattered down across from me.
"Discount Tom Cruise, reporting for duty," I muttered.
Ethan grinned at me, completely unbothered. "See? You already remembered my name."
"I didn't say it was a good thing."
He leaned in, elbows on the table, all smiles. "You've got a sharp tongue, Kai Phillips."
"Better sharp than sweaty," I shot back.
He blinked. "Sweaty?"
"You play football for fun." I gestured vaguely at him. "Voluntarily. That's a personality flaw if I've ever seen one."
Instead of being insulted, Ethan laughed. A genuine, belly-deep laugh that made nearby students glance over.
"Man, you're funny. I like you."
There it was. The curse. The dreaded anime phrase. I like you.
I groaned into my mashed potatoes.
This was exactly how it started.
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The rest of the day went about as well as you'd expect. Ethan sat next to me in history. Ethan cracked jokes in science. Ethan somehow convinced Mr. Clarke to let him call me "partner" during a geography assignment.
By the final bell, my head was pounding with a single thought: I'd failed.
I hadn't dodged the plot hook.
I hadn't resisted the "first friend" event trigger.
The trope had me in its football-scented claws.
And worst of all? Ethan Hunt wasn't even subtle about it.
As we walked out the gates, he clapped me on the back like we'd been comrades in arms for years.
"See you tomorrow, Kai! Don't think you're escaping me that easy!"
I froze.
Kenta smirked at me. "Wow, big brother. You made a friend on your first day."
I groaned into my hands. "No. I made a nemesis. A walking, talking, football-obsessed nemesis."
Kenta tilted his head. "Isn't that what people usually call a rival?"
"Same thing. Different anime category."
Still… as we walked home, I couldn't shake Ethan's grin. That carefree, confident grin that seemed to say he'd already decided I was going to be part of his story, whether I liked it or not.
And for the first time since waking up in this strange, second life, a tiny voice in the back of my mind whispered something I didn't want to hear.
Maybe…just maybe I wasn't going to get out of this football thing so easily.