Chapter 3 - First Tests, Forgotten Dreams
The soft scratching of pens filled the classroom like a steady tide. Light from the tall windows spilled across the polished floors of Class 1-B, casting shifting reflections over the rows of students hunched over their desks. In the very back row, Akio Hukitaske sat frozen, staring at the quiz sheet in front of him like it was written in a language he once knew but had long since forgotten.
Chemistry. It was a simple pop quiz. Nothing major. Basic questions about chemical bonds, periodic elements, and practical applications. Concepts that any first-year high school student was expected to have a handle on.
But Akio wasn't just any first-year.
He was a person of thirty-two, awakened into the body of his fourteen-year-old self. A person who had once loved chemistry more than anything—had dreamed of becoming a pharmacist, of helping others through the power of medicine. That dream had been buried under layers of adulthood: the gray cubicle walls, the endless coding errors, the soul-crushing burnout from a job that had long stopped caring.
And now, staring at the quiz, he realized something terrifying.
He had basically forgotten everything.
His fingers trembled slightly as he gripped his pencil. Not from panic, but from shame. The formulas, the equations, the details—they had all been replaced by deadlines, unpaid overtime, and the noise of an adulthood he had barely survived.
He took a deep breath and tried to focus.
The periodic table appeared faintly in his memory, a distant ghost. Na. Sodium. Cl. Chlorine. H2O. He scratched out a few answers, hesitating at every step.
From his right, a whisper broke the silence.
"Bro... this test is brutal. Who even invented sodium? Was it, like... Sir Salty Warior or something?"
Akio glanced sideways. Hikata Yakasuke, his chaotic seatmate, had his tongue sticking out as he drew what looked like a rocket-powered crab wearing aviator goggles on his answer sheet.
Akio blinked. "Sodium's an element. It wasn't invented."
Hikata beamed. "Ha! Knew it. You're one of those secret smart types. No wonder you look so dramatic all the time."
Akio shook his head, the tension in his stomach easing just a little. Somehow, Hikata's absurdity always broke through the fog.
He turned back to the quiz. One question stopped him cold:
List three uses of pharmaceutical compounds in everyday life.
His hand stilled. It was a simple question, almost too simple for him.
Yet in those few words, the past and present collided.
His adult self remembered countless hours spent in front of a computer, coding for a game company that had nothing to do with his original dream. A dream that had once revolved around these very compounds. Ibuprofen for pain. Medicine for calming nerves. Antihistamines for allergies. He had known all this. He had lived for it.
And then, like a whisper from an old friend, the answers began to surface.
He scribbled down his responses. The writing was messy. His hands were still clumsy in this strange new reliveing. But it felt right. He even added a short explanation for each example, going a little beyond what was asked. Just because he wanted to.
The bell rang. Students groaned, stretched, and began shuffling toward the door for lunch. Hikata leapt from his seat like a cartoon character springing to life.
"Sweet freedom!" he shouted, holding his bento box aloft like a treasure chest. Then he paused, noticing Akio still seated.
"Yo, you okay? You look like you just got hit with a tax audit plus you did what I asked with the whole hair thing didn't expect that but sick none the less... Nice!".
Akio blinked out of his thoughts. "I just... forgot how much I used to love this stuff."
Hikata dropped into the seat beside him, tearing open his bento with dramatic flair. "So then love it again. That's how it works, right? If you love something, you do it. Or... wait, is that for pizza? Pretty sure someone said that about pizza... But whatever."
Akio laughed. A real, belly-deep laugh. It startled him. He couldn't remember the last time something felt genuinely funny, not forced by office small talk or deadpan sarcasm.
"You're older than you think," Akio said.
"I've been told I have the soul of a seventy-year-old ramen bowl," Hikata replied with solemn pride.
They sat together through lunch. Akio mostly picked at his food, deep in thought, while Hikata narrated an imagined movie trailer about a cyborg sushi chef battling crime in downtown Osaka.
When the final bell rang and school ended for the day, Akio walked home slowly. The streets were just as he remembered them—narrow, clean, buzzing with the mundane after-school energy of students and shopkeepers. His family's home came into view: modest, a little weathered, but familiar.
He opened the front door and was immediately hit with the smell of old tatami and miso soup. His mother's voice called out from the kitchen, the sound tinged with warmth.
"Akio, that you? There's taiyaki on the counter. Don't eat it all before dinner."
"Okay," he replied instinctively. The normalcy felt surreal.
He climbed the stairs to his room. It was exactly as he remembered—books stacked in uneven towers, faded science posters clinging to the walls, and the old model solar system dangling crookedly from the ceiling. Everything sat frozen in time, untouched since the day he'd left for his own apartment. Standing there again, it felt less like returning to a room and more like stepping into a preserved fragment of himself, a place where the vibe of who he used to be still lingered.
He sat at his desk, pulled out a notebook, and stared at a blank page.
For a long moment, he didn't move.
Then, slowly, he opened his textbook and began to study.
He read about the molecular structures of common compounds, highlighting sections that sparked recognition. He took notes—not for a test, not to pass a class, but because the knowledge felt like a piece of himself he had lost.
The clock ticked on. Dinner came and went. His mom peeked into the room—the same mom who had taken him back in after he confessed the impossible truth: that he had turned young again. Too young, too clumsy, too unprepared to keep living like an office worker. The years at the gaming company had drained him, stripping away his knowledge until he was basically just a regular kid again—one who thought he knew how to survive on his own, but really only moved on instinct, not reason. She smiled softly, telling him not to stay up too late. He nodded, and quietly kept going.
Hours later, long after the rest of the house had gone quiet, Akio finally closed the book.
He leaned back and looked up at the ceiling. The solar system above him spun slightly in the breeze from the window.
He smiled.
Not because he had all the answers. Not because he had reclaimed everything he once knew.
But because he wanted to.
And that made all the difference.
For the first time in years, Akio didn't dread the next day.
He welcomed it.
[To be continued in Chapter 4: The Shadow of the Old World]