Kenji awoke slowly, as if dragged upward from a deep water. Light pressed against his eyelids. It wasn't harsh—not blinding—but persistent. Pale and steady, it lingered, coaxing him back into awareness whether he wanted it or not. When his eyes finally opened, the first thing he saw was a ceiling.
Unfamiliar. That was the first word that came to mind.
His gaze lingered there, unfocused, as his mind struggled to catch up. There were no water stains bleeding through old plaster. No soot. No burn marks. No signs of age or neglect. He could easily conclude he's in a house he not know of.
Pain followed awareness.
His head throbbed—not sharply, but deeply—like pressure building from the inside out. Even without moving, the world tilted. His vision swam, the edges of the ceiling blurring as nausea crept up his throat. His body felt light, strangely disconnected, as though he were lying in it improperly.
Kenji let out a low groan.
Instinctively, he tried to turn onto his side, only for his balance to betray him. The motion sent him lurching, and he had to plant his hands down quickly to steady himself. His palms met something soft.
Carpet. The sensation made him pause.
Blinking slowly, he looked down. Beneath his hands was a neatly kept red carpet, fibers short and clean, nothing like the cold wooden floors he was used to. He stayed seated on the floor, breathing carefully, giving the dizziness time to ebb. His heart raced—and his chest rose and fell in a way that felt weird.
When the spinning finally eased, he lifted his head and took in the room.
Beds—plural. A makeshift bunkbed, perhaps. The left side was held by ropes, the right propped up by books. Neatly made sheets matched across them. A desk sat near the window, organized and orderly. Posters decorated the walls, colorful and strange, depicting people and symbols he didn't recognize. Sunlight filtered through thin curtains, casting a warm glow that felt... gentle.
This wasn't his house.
This wasn't the city of Osaka, maybe.
This wasn't hell, either.
The realization struck, and with it came memory—violent and relentless.
Fire swallowing wood.
Gunshots tearing through the dark.
Haku's voice, strained and apologetic.
Rain mixing with blood.
Neon lights bleeding into puddles as the city watched him die.
Kenji sucked in a sharp breath.
His hands trembled as he clutched his abdomen, expecting the wound—but noticed something else. His hands fell into his field of vision and froze.
They were... different.
Smaller, paler, and smooth. No scars etched by decades of violence. No thick calluses earned through fists, blades, and guns. His arms were slender where they should have been corded with muscle. Light where they should have been heavy with history.
"...What," he rasped. His wound was gone.
Even his voice betrayed him.
The sound leaving his throat lacked the gravel he'd earned over decades of cigarettes, late nights, and blood-soaked arguments. Higher, softer, and feminine. A stranger's voice wearing his thoughts.
Kenji swallowed.
His pulse roared in his ears as he pressed a hand flat against his chest. The heartbeat beneath his palm was steady, powerful—definitely too powerful. Not the uneven, battered rhythm he remembered collapsing with in the rain. This one was young, unscarred, and most importantly, alive in a way that made his stomach twist.
Alive in a way that felt insulting. He had lived a full life, was ready to let go of everything—only to wake up, to experience the pain of the world once more.
His fingers curled, then froze.
The fabric beneath them was thin, smooth, and light.
He looked down.
A nightgown.
White, loose, hanging off his frame in a way that made his skin crawl. Brushing his knees, soft cotton shifting with every shallow breath.
"What the hell...?" he muttered, barely above a whisper, inspecting what he's wearing. Still though, Kenji couldn't make out if this is the after life, or just a sick joke God planned for him. Sunlight poured through the window. The air was warm. Noon, maybe. Too bright for someone who was supposed to be dead.
Slowly, deliberately, Kenji stood.
His legs held him without protest. No screaming pain, no tremor. The floor didn't sway beneath him like it should have—that alone sent a cold chill crawling up his spine.
He moved cautiously despite the lack of danger. Each step measured as his body responded too easily, too smoothly. He passed a neatly made bed, a desk cluttered with notebooks and unfamiliar objects, walls decorated with colors that didn't belong anywhere he'd known.
Then his eyes landed on a mirror. Tall, spotless, reflecting the room in sharp detail.
Step by step, he walked forward, every instinct screaming at him.
When he finally stood before it, the world seemed to hold its breath.
The man staring back wasn't old. Hell, it wasn't even a man.
He was young... no... She was young. Smooth skin where wrinkles should have been. Sharp blue eyes stared back—clear, piercing, set in a face shaped by elegance rather than hardship. Too refined. Too untouched. And yet, cutting through that beauty was a thin, jagged scar running across the left eye, a flaw that felt almost deliberate, as if to mock him with familiarity.
That scar was the only thing that felt earned.
Her hair—Kenji's—spilled down in long, white strands. Thick, lustrous, framing features that had no right to exist. A face that did not belong to the man who had bled out beneath neon lights and gunfire.
Kenji raised a hand.
The reflection followed perfectly.
That was all it took.
"AHHH—!"
The scream ripped out of him raw and unrestrained, sharp enough to sting his own ears. He staggered back a step, heart slamming violently against his ribs.
"What kind of trick is this...?" He muttered hoarsely, breath uneven. "Here I thought I'd end up in hell—but this?" A bitter laugh scraped out of her throat. "God's got a sick sense of humor."
Her gaze dropped instinctively—not in curiosity, but in disbelief. His balance was off, center of gravity shifted in a way she'd never known. Strength that once sat naturally in her shoulders and core was simply... gone.
Then, she grabbed where his balls used to sit.
Reality settled in like a lead weight.
"...Fuck," she muttered quietly.
There was no denying it. No waking up from this.
She really was a girl. Fragile in ways she'd never had to consider. And cursed with a beauty that felt more like an insult than a blessing.
Kenji had no hatred for women. Never had. He admired them, respected them—some of the sharpest minds and strongest wills he'd ever known belonged to women who survived hell alongside him.
But this?
This was different.
She doesn't know how to be a girl. A bitter taste flooded her mouth as her hands clenched into fists—slender, pale fists that lacked the weight he expected.
"...You've gotta be kidding," Kenji muttered, staring at the girl in the mirror. That's when she heard voices outside the door.
Beacon Academy – Dormitory Hallway
The hum of Beacon's corridors wrapped around them as Ruby, Blake, and Yang made their way down the hallway. The polished floors reflected the overhead lights in long, pale streaks, the distant chatter of students fading the closer they got to the dorm wing.
Lunch break had just begun, but none of them were talking about food.
Ruby walked a step ahead of the others, Crescent Rose nowhere in sight, her usual bounce noticeably absent. Her shoulders were slightly hunched, hands fiddling with the sleeves of her hoodie as she stared at the floor.
"I hope Weiss gets better soon," Ruby said quietly, her voice lacking its usual spark. "I'm really worried about her."
Yang noticed immediately. She always did.
She reached out and gave Ruby a light tap between the shoulders, warm and reassuring. "Hey. It'll be okay, sis," Yang said with an easy smile. "It's just a fever. Weiss probably pushed herself too hard again. A little rest, some water, and she'll be back to bossing us around in no time."
Ruby managed a weak chuckle, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.
Blake, walking beside them with her book tucked under one arm, glanced up from beneath her bow. "Yang's right," she added calmly. "Weiss has been running herself into the ground lately. Between combat drills, Dust theory, and team projects... she never really slows down."
Ruby nodded. "I know. She always says she's fine, but... still."
Yang sighed, crossing her arms as they rounded the corner toward their dorm. "Yeah, well. Schnee stubbornness. Comes with the name."
The familiar door came into view at the end of the hall; their dormitory.
"Well," Yang said, stopping in front of it and rolling her shoulders, "we're here. Let's check on our ice queen and make sure she hasn't frozen the room solid or something."
Blake reached for the handle, pushing it gently.
***
Kenji—now Weiss—heard the door knob move. Her instincts flared, still jumpy from recent death, but she stayed composed.
The door opened wider.
Three girls stood in the doorway, framed by the hallway light.
Kenji's spine straightened instantly. It was instinct, from decades of standing before captains, lieutenants, men who decided whether you lived or bled. She caught it a second too late and forced her shoulders to relax, to slump just a little.
Ruby was the first to move.
She rushed in without hesitation, red hood swaying, silver eyes wide with worry. "Weiss! You're awake!" Her voice cracked with relief. "Oh my god, you scared us. You've been out all morning."
Kenji stayed silent, before speaking, "Young girl, is this the after life?"
"...Uh, what?" She tilted her head, confusion written plainly across her face.
Kenji hummed quietly to herself, a low sound of contemplation. She turned away from the doorway and faced the mirror again, studying the reflection with detached curiosity rather than panic.
Pale skin. White hair. Sharp blue eyes staring back with an awareness far older than they should have been.
"Ah," she murmured, as if something had finally clicked into place. "I see."
So this was how it was.
A second life. A borrowed body.
She exhaled softly, something between resignation and acceptance, and turned away from the mirror. Walking past Ruby without ceremony, she crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed—on the lower bunk, just beneath Ruby's bunk.
The mattress dipped slightly under her weight.
They're children, she reminded herself.
Kids barely past their first battles, still wearing their emotions openly. There was no reason to be guarded. No reason to treat them as threats.
Still—alertness never truly faded.
It stayed in the back of her mind, quiet but present, like a blade she no longer carried but still felt the weight of. Yet even so, she could tell—none of them looked at her with suspicion; only concern.
Concern for the body Kenji now inhabited.
Yang stepped further into the room, stopping beside Ruby. Her presence was heavier, more grounded. Kenji felt it immediately—the stance of someone who knew how to fight.
'Hm, her body's athletic. This girl might know how to fight.' He thought.
"You had a really high fever," Yang said, her voice gentler than her posture suggested. "Professor Goodwitch said you should stay in bed, but—" She paused, frowning slightly as she studied Weiss more closely. "Are you okay? You're acting kind of... different."
"I'm fine," Kenji replied automatically. There was sharpness on her tone, it's just the way Kenji speaks.
She amended, slower this time, letting the words stretch as she shifted her posture—raising one leg onto the bed, leaning back slightly on her left arm. The pose was relaxed, bordering on careless. An old habit slipping through, the way a tired man might sit after a long day. Her right hand rested loosely on her knee, fingers uncurled.
"Just... thirsty," she added, yawning—this time, genuinely. Fatigue clung to her bones in a way that had nothing to do with fever. "Say, do you gals have anything I could drink?"
The room went quiet.
Kenji could feel their eyes on her now—not alarmed, but puzzled. Calculating in the way only young people were when something felt off but they didn't yet know why.
She met their gazes calmly.
Then, as if it were the most natural request in the world, she added,
"A mango juice would be nice."
The silence stretched—thick, confused, unmistakably heavy.
Ruby blinked.
Once.
Then again.
Her head tilted slowly, red hood slipping just a little as she squinted at Weiss like she was trying to determine whether this was a prank she didn't remember agreeing to.
"...A mango juice?" Ruby echoed.
Yang's brows knit together. She shifted her weight, arms crossing loosely over her chest as she let out a quiet huff of breath through her nose—half amusement, half disbelief.
"...Since when do you ask nicely?" Yang said. "Or ask at all."
That earned a faint flicker of attention from Kenji.
'So. This body had a reputation.'
Before she could respond, Blake finally spoke up.
It was subtle—quiet enough that someone not listening would've missed it—but Kenji noticed immediately. The cadence. The timing. The way Blake's eyes never quite left her face.
"Uh... Weiss?" Blake said carefully. "Are you sure you're okay?"
There it was, the name. Kenji's mind caught on it..
Weiss.
Kenji didn't react outwardly—not even a blink—but internally, the information was filed away with methodical precision. Name confirmed. Identity assigned. This body wasn't just a vessel. It came with a history.
She looked at Blake then; properly. Kenji noticed her posture, one that reminded her nimbleness. Stillness that wasn't passive. The black haired one observed before acting.
"Is she always like this when she wakes up?" Blake asked, glancing briefly at Ruby and Yang.
"No!" Ruby said immediately, throwing her hands up. "She usually starts yelling about schedules or how we're all wasting time and—" She stopped short, staring again. "...You didn't yell at me."
Kenji yawned, long and unrestrained, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Was I supposed to?"
Ruby short-circuited. "W–well, I mean—! I guess you could, like, normally you'd go on about efficiency and teamwork and 'Ruby you're late again' and bla bla bla—"
Her voice slowly faded into background noise.
Not because Ruby stopped talking, but because Kenji stopped listening.
Sunlight had caught her attention. It spilled through the window in a wide, golden sheet, warming the floor and painting the far wall in soft hues. It was... calm.
Kenji's eyes lingered there.
Without thinking, she stood.
The movement was lazy, unhurried. Just the way an old man might rise from his seat when something interesting finally caught his eye.
Yang and Blake's gazes tracked her immediately. Ruby, meanwhile, kept rambling. "...—and then Professor Port said we'd need to bring snacks but Weiss you never bring snacks and—"
Kenji crossed the room barefoot, steps light against the floor. She stopped in front of the window and, with alarming ease, lifted herself onto the sill.
Yang froze.
Blake stiffened.
Ruby finally noticed the silence.
"...Weiss?" Ruby asked slowly.
Kenji hooked one hand around the window frame, leaning forward just enough to peer outside.
The courtyard spread beneath her—open, lively, peaceful.
Students wandered freely, uniforms crisp and bright. Laughter drifted faintly upward. On the courts, a basketball bounced rhythmically against concrete. A volleyball sailed over a net. Beneath the trees, some students read, some talked, some simply lay in the grass, basking in the noon sun.
Kenji inhaled, then exhaled, something in her chest loosening.
"Ah," she murmured, eyes softening. "how peaceful."
That was the exact moment all three of them lost their minds.
"WEISS—!"
Three sets of hands grabbed her at once.
Yang yanked her left arm.
Blake seized her right with surprising strength.
Ruby lunged from behind, wrapping both arms around her torso.
Kenji barely had time to register confusion before she was hauled backward.
The world flipped.
Kenji's face hit the floor in a tangled heap with a solid thud.
"Ow—! What the—?!" Kenji barked, the air knocked clean out of her lungs.
Yang was on her left, gripping her wrist like she was restraining a criminal.
Blake pinned her other arm, knee braced carefully to keep balance.
Ruby was practically on top of her, hands splayed against Kenji's back like she was preventing a jailbreak.
"Weiss!" Yang shouted, face inches from hers. "Were you seriously about to jump?!"
Kenji blinked up at her. "...Jump?"
"Yes, jump!" Ruby squeaked. "Out the window! The really high window! With the falling! And the dying!"
Blake frowned, scanning Kenji's face for signs of hysteria. "You climbed onto the sill."
Kenji frowned back. "To look outside, dummy. I'm not senile."
There was a long, strained pause.
Ruby slowly sat back on her knees, still clinging to Kenji's shirt. "You weren't... contemplating anything?"
Kenji glanced between the three of them—sweaty, panicked, hovering like she'd just tried to commit a felony.
Then she sighed.
Deep. Long. Bone-tired.
"Good grief," she muttered. "You young people are dramatic."
Yang sputtered. "We're dramatic?! You just stared into the distance like you were in a tragic movie!"
"Ah, I was appreciating the weather." Kenji shifted beneath them, trying to sit up. "Would you kindly get off me? I appear to be pinned like a suspect."
Yang finally let go, rolling onto her back with a groan. "Okay, okay.."
Ruby scrambled off too, cheeks red. "You can't just do stuff like that! You just recovered from a fever- Of course that would you scare us!"
Kenji pushed herself upright, brushing imaginary dust off her nightgown.
"Hmph," she said mildly. "In my day, people looked out windows without causing mass hysteria."
All three of them stared.
Yang cracked first, laughing despite herself. "Nope. Definitely not normal Weiss."
Blake adjusted her bow. "Agreed."
Ruby tilted her head, smiling uncertainly. "But... kind of nicer?"
Kenji didn't respond. She only glanced once more at the window—at the sunlight, the laughter, the peace—and then sat back down on the bed like nothing had happened.
"...Now," she added calmly, "about that mango juice."
[End]