The tournament arena thundered with the kind of raw energy that could shake a soul apart.
The roar of the crowd was overwhelming—cheers, screams, cries of disbelief—a storm of voices crashing together.
Confetti rained from the ceiling like fragments of shattered dreams, swirling in a kaleidoscope of gold and red beneath the glaring arena lights.
At the center of it all stood Akio Mune, stomach heaving, body trembling violently.
His badminton racket dangled loosely from his sweat-soaked hand, his grip barely strong enough to keep it from falling.
The world around him felt like a blur, as though he had been hurled into a dream he couldn't quite wake from.
I won, Akio thought, disbelieving.
I... I actually won.
The match had been more than a game.
More than a tournament.
It had been a battle for his very soul, a confrontation with a shadow from his past life—the monster named Sora, who had tormented him in the magic academy until Akio's very sense of self was shattered.
For everyone watching, it had been a legendary sports event.
But for Akio, it was something far darker.
A trial by fire, by despair, by blood and sweat and tears.
He raised his eyes, vision blurred by exhaustion and emotion, and saw Sora lying on the opposite side of the court.
For a moment, a strange, indescribable ache welled up in Akio's heart.
It wasn't triumph.
It wasn't joy.
It was something heavier... like grief.
Sora... what have we become?
The Victory Hug
Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the storm of noise.
"HEY, AKIO!"
Akio barely had time to react before Yukiko Hazuna barreled through the crowd like a freight train.
Yukiko, always cheerful and dependable, was the kind of friend who could light up even the darkest room with a single grin.
His short, messy white hair stuck to his face with sweat, and his loose hoodie swayed wildly as he ran.
"AKIO, YOU DID IT!" Yukiko yelled, his voice breaking with pure joy.
"You actually took that psycho down! I told you you had it in you, YEAH!"
Before Akio could brace himself, Yukiko tackled him into a bear hug, lifting him a few inches off the ground.
Akio let out a strangled gasp as pain shot through his battered body.
"Y-Yuki—cough—Yukiko! I can't breathe!" Akio wheezed, his face turning red.
"Seriously, Yukiko, you're crushing me!"
Yukiko just laughed, his voice warm and overflowing with pride.
"You deserve this, seriously! You fought like a freakin' hero out there!"
"I thought I was gonna lose my voice cheering for you, Akio!"
Finally, he set Akio back down but immediately smacked him hard on the back, the sound echoing like a clap of thunder.
Akio staggered forward, coughing violently.
"Seriously! That actually hurt!" he protested, puffing his cheeks in exasperation.
"I'm already falling apart here!"
Yukiko gave a mischievous grin.
"Then get stronger, alright," he teased, throwing an arm around Akio's shoulder.
"We're celebrating tonight. No excuses."
For just a brief moment, surrounded by the roar of victory, Akio allowed himself to smile.
But that fragile peace wouldn't last.
Sora's Shadowed Exit
While Akio was embraced by friends and glory, Sora walked alone in silence.
The tournament officials flanked him, their expressions tense and cautious.
The shadows of the empty corridors swallowed him as he moved farther from the cheering crowd, each step heavy and mechanical.
Whispers reached his ears, soft but cutting.
"There was something deeply unsettling about him," one official muttered.
"The way he whispered to Akio during the match... like he was trying to destroy him mentally."
"We should speak to his parents," another replied grimly.
"There's a darkness there. I can feel it."
The word parents sent a chill down Sora's spine.
They weren't truly his parents—just as this body wasn't truly his.
Like Akio, Sora had been reincarnated into this modern world.
And like Akio, Sora carried with him the festering corruption of a heart twisted by years of torment, both given and received. Shown inside the memories of the previous owners body that he now owned for himself and was scared just even looking at them.
As they neared the exit, two figures appeared beneath a dim, flickering streetlamp:
A figure, broad-shouldered and menacing, his face carved into a permanent sneer of drunken rage.
And another figure, skeletal and hollow-eyed, her presence somehow colder than ice.
The officials bowed respectfully.
"Thank you for coming," one said. "We believe it's best for Sora to return home with you tonight while we investigate certain concerns."
The fathers hand fell onto Sora's shoulder with crushing force.
There was no kindness in his grip—only ownership.
As they led him away, a pit opened in Sora's stomach.
Each step toward that house felt like walking deeper into the abyss.
The House of Chains
The house reeked of alcohol, sweat, and something metallic, like old rust and dried blood.
The air was heavy, suffocating, as if the walls themselves held centuries of hate.
The moment the door slammed shut behind them, the fathers booming voice shattered the tense silence.
"You worthless piece of trash!" he roared, his spit flying.
"Do you have any idea what you did to us tonight?! You humiliated this family in front of everyone!"
Sora trembled, trying to hold himself together.
"I... I tried my best," he stammered, voice barely above a whisper.
The response was a fist crashing into his jaw, bone against bone with sickening force.
Sora's body flew backward, slamming into the wall before crumpling to the floor.
Warm blood filled his mouth, metallic and bitter.
The mother didn't flinch.
She merely crossed her arms, her eyes dead and cruel.
"Pathetic," she hissed. "Just like your divorced rich father."
Sora spat blood, his stomach heaving.
"Please..." he begged.
"I just—"
The father grabbed him by the hair and dragged him across the floor like a ragdoll, Sora's fingernails tearing as he clawed helplessly at the ground.
The wood beneath him was slick with grime and old stains.
He was hurled against a rusted metal pipe fixed to the wall.
Before he could scramble away, cold, heavy chains were wrapped around his wrists and ankles, binding him in place.
The iron bit into his skin, unyielding.
"You think you can embarrass me in front of the whole damn town?!" the father bellowed, his eyes wild with rage.
"I'll teach you your place!"
The Beating Begins
The first punch to Sora's stomach knocked the air from his lungs.
He doubled over, coughing violently, only to be met with a second blow to the side of his head.
Stars burst behind his eyes.
The fathers fists were relentless.
Each strike was calculated, filled with drunken fury, and painful precision.
The sound of flesh striking flesh was like a cruel rhythm echoing in the cramped, suffocating room.
"P-Please!" Sora cried, tears mixing with blood.
"I'm sorry!"
The father snarled.
"SORRY ISN'T ENOUGH!"
A savage kick slammed into Sora's ribs.
The sharp, sickening crack of bone filled the air, followed by a strangled scream ripped from Sora's throat.
Pain flared so intensely that his vision went white for a moment.
The mothers lips curved into a cold, mirthless smile as she watched.
"Hit him harder," she said flatly.
"Make sure he never forgets this lesson."
The father obeyed with zeal.
Sora's world became a whirlwind of agony—punches, kicks, the wet sound of his own blood dripping to the floor.
The Bat of Hell
When the father finally paused, it wasn't mercy.
It was preparation.
His hand reached for a bat hanging from a nail on the wall.
The wood was scratched at the edges with spikes, stained dark from countless past beatings.
Sora's heart plummeted into his stomach.
The memories of this body's original owner surged like a tidal wave:
Nights spent chained like this.
The sound of the bat slicing through the air.
The agony. The screams. The hopelessness.
"No..." Sora whimpered, shaking violently.
"Please, please don't—"
The first bash came down with a sharp, ear-splitting CRACK.
Fire ripped across Sora's back, tearing skin from flesh.
His scream was primal, ragged, the kind of sound that could scar anyone who heard it.
The second bash struck the same spot, deepening the wound.
Blood sprayed in a fine mist, painting the walls in crimson.
The third, fourth, and fifth came in rapid succession.
Sora's back became a grotesque canvas of welts, shredded muscle, and gaping wounds.
Each strike brought more blood, more screams, until his throat was raw and his voice broke entirely.
"I'LL DO ANYTHING!" he sobbed, his words barely coherent through the pain.
"PLEASE! JUST STOP!"
But there was no stopping.
Only the endless, merciless rhythm of suffering.
The Breaking Point
As the beating continued, Sora's mind began to fracture.
Images of Akio flooded his mind:
Akio being mocked, tormented, humiliated.
Akio's face twisted in despair while Sora stood above him, laughing.
Akio... he thought weakly, tears blurring his vision.
This... this is what you felt, isn't it?
All those years... this pain, this helplessness...
A sob tore from his throat.
For the first time, Sora truly understood the depth of Akio's suffering.
And for the first time, he hated himself.
The Final Blow
The father raised the bat for one last, devastating strike.
Sora closed his eyes, ready to sink into the darkness forever.
But before the blow could fall, the front door exploded open with a deafening crash.
SLAM!!!
The walls shook.
The father froze mid-swing, his drunken rage momentarily shattered.
Framed in the doorway were Akio and Yukiko, drenched from the pouring rain outside.
Their eyes went wide as they took in the horrific scene before them:
Sora's mangled, blood-soaked body chained to the wall.
The parents standing over him like demons.
The stench of liquor and suffering thick in the air.
"SORA!!!" Akio screamed, his voice raw with horror.
"NO!"
Yukiko's hands trembled at his sides, his usual sunny demeanor shattered by white-hot fury.
"Hey, seriously..." he growled, his voice low and dangerous.
"You're both dead."
The father turned, snarling.
"Who the hell are you?! Get out of my house!"
Akio stepped forward, his eyes blazing with a fire born from two lifetimes of pain.
"This ends NOW!" he roared.
Sora, barely conscious, lifted his head.
Through the haze of blood and tears, he saw Akio standing there—and for the first time since his reincarnation, hope flickered in his shattered heart.
With the last of his strength, he whispered one last broken word:
"A...kio..."
The screen cut to black, leaving only the sound of the storm raging outside and Sora's ragged, trembling breaths.
TO BE CONTINUED...