The train platform at Nakano Station existed in that liminal space between night and morning—4:27 AM, when Tokyo held its breath before exhaling the day's chaos. The fluorescent lights hummed their eternal song, casting everything in that particular shade of institutional white that made the living look like ghosts.
Fuku Raito stood at the yellow safety line, his reflection in the opposite platform's window showing a person who'd stopped being himself somewhere around age seventeen, when his sister framed him for murder and the world believed her.
Thirty-six years old. He looked fifty.
His tablet bag hung heavy on his shoulder, filled with animation frames that would make millions smile at characters experiencing joy he'd never touch. Studio Brilliance had loved his work. Hated him for creating it. The dichotomy had stopped hurting years ago—pain required the capacity to hope for something different, and hope was a language Raito had forgotten how to speak.
The station was empty except for a worker sleeping while drunk on a bench, and the ever-present security cameras recording everything and seeing nothing that mattered.
Raito's phone buzzed. A text from his supervisor Nakamura: "Got the files. Good work. Don't forget to clock out."
No "thank you." Never that. Just the reminder that his existence was transactional—valuable output, disposable person. The same dynamic his family had established when he was six years old and they'd needed someone to absorb their rage at poverty, at failure, at the fundamental unfairness of existence itself.
The rumble of the approaching train vibrated through the platform, a physical sensation that traveled up through his feet and settled somewhere in his stomach where his heart still technically beat.
At least nobody will miss me enough to make up another story, he thought with that bitter humor that came from surviving things that should have killed the soul.
That's when he felt them—the hands on his back.
Not a push. Not yet. Just pressure, the promise of violence. The same sensation he'd felt every day of his childhood, that split-second before his father's fist connected or his sister's first hit him in or his mother's open palm found his face.
Raito's sky-blue eyes went wide. He started to turn, started to see who—the push was efficient. Practiced. Like someone who'd done this before, or at least fantasized about it enough to know exactly how much force was needed.
He fell forward into the space where the train was arriving, his mind absurdly calm even as his body experienced pure terror. His last coherent thought wasn't fear or rage or even curiosity about who'd killed him.
It was: So I get to die twice after all. The impact was instantaneous. No pain, actually—his consciousness simply scattered like pixels in a corrupted animation file, the world fragmenting into—light.
Pure, impossible, overwhelming light that felt impossible.
[REINCARNATION]
The first thing Fuku Raito experienced in his new existence was seeing a face. Not him being restrained, not beaten, not pinned down the way his family had held him while they beat him. This face was different—caring.
He was to dizzy, to make things out right now from the train incident, but he could hear voices breaking through.
"Are you alright?" a person said, her voice showing emotion so pure it physically hurt something in Raito's scattered consciousness. "Look at him, Kasuke. Are son seems really sick still."
Son. The word resonated through his brain like a bell, like a promise, like something that had never applied to him before.
"He's alright, Rina," another person replied, and there was wonder in his voice, unguarded joy that Raito's previous-life experience told him couldn't possibly be real. "I'm sure he's fine. Our son Kagayaku is tough after all. So don't get so overworked, alright Rina."
Kagayaku. Not Raito anymore. Something new. Something that meant "shining" instead of "coming disaster."
With tremendous effort, he forced himself to snap open to reality again. The world was blurry, unfocused, but he could make out shapes—his mothers face, impossibly curious not because of personality right now, but because of the expression on it. She was looking at him like he mattered. Like his existence was a miracle instead of a mistake.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, but they were happy tears. Raito had never seen happy tears before. He'd seen his mother cry while hitting him, seen his sister cry while lying to police, but never this—pure joy at another person's health.
The person beside her—tall, gentle-faced, eyes red from crying too—reached out to touch his with one hand on the head. "We were getting worried about you son, you suddenly collapsed and stopped moving from a random fever that we thought you were dead. I'm glad your alright. Wow I didn't expect. None of us did, but we're glad you're okay now." The father whispered. "We've been waiting for you to wake up. We love you so much son."
Love.
The word detonated something in the consciousness that had been Fuku Raito. Some wall he'd built at age six, some defense mechanism that had calcified over three decades, suddenly cracked wide open.
And for some reason he started crying.
Not from discomfort or his depression—but from years of being unloved and finally being told by someone that they love him, from something deeper. From relief. From the stunning, overwhelming, terrifying relief of being wanted for the first time in two lifetimes.
His new parents smiled, they had no idea they were looking at something supernatural—a soul given a second chance at the one thing it had never experienced.
In the corner of the hospital room, the television played quietly. A news segment about the entertainment industry, about an idol named Ai Hoshino who'd been found murdered by an obsessed fan earlier that year.
But Rina and Kasuke weren't watching. They only had eyes for their son at the current time, their Kagayaku, their shining star who would surely have a better life than some poor Hoshino twins, who were currently suffering at this very moment from Ai's death.
And also Raito felt bad for this bodies previous owner. Thinking they still had much life ahead of them. But he had no choice but accept what fate had done to him. Because he didn't want to throw away this persons legacy away like trash. And so Raito would have a happy life moving forward.
Surely.
[FOUR YEARS LATER]
The memories came back slowly, like water seeping through cracks in a dam until the whole structure gave way.
By many many months later, Kagayaku had full recall of his previous life after the trains hazy death for him through the fog of reincarnation. Every beating. Every false accusation. Every moment of watching his sister Yumiko cry crocodile tears to police while destroying him. Every year in that coffin apartment in Nakano, working himself to death for people who loved his output and loathed his existence.
It should have broken him again. Instead, it forged something new. Because this life—this impossible, precious second chance—was different in every way that mattered.
His mother Rina was a former idol, part of the same generation as the late Ai Hoshino. She'd been B-list, never achieving Ai's stratospheric fame, but beloved by a dedicated fanbase. She'd retired at her peak to focus on being a parent, a decision the industry had judged her for but she'd never regretted.
His father Kasuke managed talent in the same industry, working with the agency that had employed both Rina and Ai. He was gone often for work, but when he came home, he'd scoop four-year-old Kagayaku into his arms and spin him around until they both got dizzy.
"How's my star doing today? Did you shine bright for Mama?"
They lived in a comfortable apartment in Setagaya—not rich, but warm. Filled with laughter instead of screaming. With encouragement instead of insults. With love instead of violence.
It was perfect. It was too perfect. And Kagayaku, with his adult consciousness trapped in his new life, knew with creeping dread that perfection in his life had always been temporary.
His eyes had stayed the same—those striking sky-blue eyes. But something new had developed. Sometimes, when he felt strong emotions, stars would appear in them. Orange stars, burning bright.
The first time it happened, Rina had gasped in wonder. "Kagayaku! Your eyes! They're sparkling like real stars!" Kasuke had laughed, delighted. "Like a real star. Our son Kagayaku really is special."
They didn't know the stars appeared when he remembered his old life. When rage bubbled up at Yumiko, at his old family, at the cosmic injustice of everything stolen from him. When fear gripped him that this new happiness would be ripped away too.
At four years old, Hoshino Kagayaku had already decided: he would protect this. Whatever it took. He would not lose this family the way he'd lost everything before.
[THE LAST NORMAL DAY]
Thursday, April 18th. The apartment smelled like Rina's incent—jasmine and vanilla—and the too-strong coffee Kasuke always made. Afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, turning everything golden.
Kagayaku sat on the living room floor, supposedly playing with building blocks but actually eavesdropping on his parents' conversation in the kitchen.
"I'm worried about the messages," Rina said quietly, her voice carrying an edge of fear she tried to hide. "They've been getting more specific. More... threatening."
"The police are handling it," Kasuke replied, but his voice lacked conviction. "You're retired now. You're safe. The agency has security protocols—" "Ai was murdered by a fan, Kasuke." Rina's voice broke. "She had security too. She was careful too. And her—those kids, watching their mother—"
Kagayaku's hands froze on the blocks. No.
This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. He knew this pattern. He'd seen it in many other families before. Families he got to meet while working as a famous animator in the animation industry.
His stars flared orange in both eyes, burning with fear he couldn't articulate. He stood up on shaky legs, moved to the kitchen, and got his mothers attention.
Rina looked down, and her worried expression instantly transformed into that smile—that genuine, loving smile that still felt like a miracle every time he saw it.
"Kagayaku-kun! What's wrong, are you alright?" "Scared," he managed, his voice trembling. Not a lie. Never a lie about this. "Bad person. Mama, bad person coming."
His parents exchanged glances. Kasuke knelt down, running gentle fingers through Kagayaku's black hair. "Hey, hey. No bad person is going to hurt Mama. Or Papa. Or you. Okay? We're safe. I promise."
Promises. Empty promises. The same kind authorities had made while his sister lied and his family corroborated and his life was destroyed. But Kagayaku wanted to believe. Desperately, achingly wanted to believe that this time would be different.
That night, he couldn't sleep. He would lay in his bed.
His consciousness split between the new him he appeared to be and the traumatized person he used to be, both of them understanding with horrible clarity that tomorrow was not guaranteed. Confused about the whole matter at hand.
Please, he thought to whatever force had given him this second chance. Please don't take this from me too.
Outside his window, Tokyo glittered against the night sky. Somewhere in that same city, Aqua and Ruby Hoshino were growing up without their mother. Somewhere, the entertainment industry continued its endless consumption of dreams and dreamers.
And somewhere, a person named Natsuki was composing her final message to the idol she believed belonged to her. Kagayaku's orange stars pulsed in the darkness, warning lights that nobody else could see.
[THE LAST HOUR]
Friday, April 19th, 8:47 PM.
Kasuke was at work—some emergency meeting about a new idol group's debut. He'd hugged Rina and Kagayaku goodbye at 6 PM, promising to be home by midnight.
"Take care of Mama for me, Kagayaku," he'd said, ruffling his son's hair.
Kagayaku had nodded, his orange stars flickering briefly before he controlled them back to normal blue. And soon he was being said good night to by his mother.
Then—the doorbell. Rina paused mid-verse. "Who could that be so late?" She stood, hugged Kagayaku. "Stay here, alright. Mama will be right back."
Everything in Kagayaku screamed. His stars flared—not orange, but black. Pure black, the color of rage and fear combined, appearing in both eyes like twin voids. "Mama!" he called out, scrambling from bed. "Mama, don't—"
But she'd already walked into the hallway, her silhouette visible through his cracked bedroom door. Kagayaku's legs carried him as fast as they could. He rounded the corner just in time to see Rina opening the front door—
Three figures stood in the hallway. Two people in nondescript clothes, faces he didn't recognize. And a person—mid-thirties, ordinary-looking except for her eyes. Those eyes burned with the kind of obsession that had murdered Ai Hoshino, the kind of madness that turned admiration into ownership.
"Rina," the person—Natsuki—said, her voice trembling with emotion. "Finally. We can finally talk. Really talk. Without the agency between us. Without your family. Just you and me."
Rina's face went pale. "Natsuki... how did you find my home address? The restraining order—"
"Restraining order?" Natsuki's face twisted. "You THANKED me at your retirement concert. You said your fans made you who you were. I made you who you were! And then you just... left. And acted like I didn't exist!"
One of the people shifted, and Kagayaku saw the glint of steel in his hand. A knife. "Mama!" Kagayaku screamed, his voice breaking. "MAMA!"
Rina turned at his voice, her eyes widening in horror—not for herself, but for him. Her son, seeing this. Her shining star, watching this nightmare unfold. "Kagayaku, go back to your—" The two people grabbed her arms. Fast. Practiced. Like they'd rehearsed this.
Natsuki pulled the knife from one of the persons pockets, and her hands were shaking, tears streaming down her face.
"You were supposed to be an idol," she sobbed. "Amazing. We were supposed to be best friends. You chose your family over me. Over US. Over everyone who cared for you!"
"Please," Rina gasped, struggling against the peoples grip, her eyes locked on Kagayaku standing frozen in the hallway. "Please, not in front of my son—"
The knife plunged into her stomach. Once. "NO!" Kagayaku ran forward, his body feeling fear and being useless because of it, powerless, too weak to do anything but witness—
Twice. The sound Rina made was worse than screaming. A choked gasp, shock and pain and disbelief that this was happening, that being an idol had twisted into this. Three times. Then the attackers ran. Just fled down the stairwell, disappearing into Tokyo's labyrinth like they'd never existed.
Rina collapsed against the doorframe, blood spreading across her clothes like a blooming flower. So much blood. Too much blood.
Kagayaku fell to his knees beside her, his hands trying to press against the wounds. "Mama! MAMA! No, please, please don't go—" Rina's hand, slick with blood, touched his face. Her eyes were already unfocusing, life draining away with every heartbeat.
"Ka...gayaku..." she whispered, blood on her lips. "My... star... shine... bright... for Mama... okay?" "Don't leave me! Please! MAMA!"
"Love...you...so...much...my...perfect..." The light left her eyes mid-word. Just like that. The warmth that had defined his new life for many years now—gone.
Kagayaku felt something inside him shatter. Not the way it had shattered in his previous life—that had been erosion, decades of pain wearing him down grain by grain.
This was instant obliteration. A building demolished in seconds.
The scream that tore from him wasn't a normal cry. It was the accumulated anguish of two lifetimes, the sound of someone who'd finally found hope only to watch it murdered in front of him.
His black stars blazed so bright they seemed to glow in the dimly lit hallway, tears streaming down his four-year-old face, his hands and clothes covered in his mother's blood. Somewhere in the distance, sirens. A neighbor had heard the screaming, called emergency services.
Too late. Always too late. Kagayaku knelt there, laying his mother's head in his lap, his black stars burning. In his previous life, he'd died alone on a train platform and nobody had mourned.
In this life, he'd been loved for four years and now had to learn how to live with the memory of that love being stolen. He didn't know which was worse.
Tokyo's night sky stretched above the apartment building, indifferent to the tragedy that had just unfolded. Somewhere in that same city, Aqua Hoshino was probably doing homework and continuing his revenge play, Ruby Hoshino was probably practicing dance routines, and the entertainment industry that had facilitated this murder would continue spinning, consuming, destroying.
And four-year-old Hoshino Kagayaku, the kid who'd died twice and been reincarnated once, learned the lesson that would define his second life: Love was real. Love was possible. Love was the most precious thing in existence.
And love could be murdered by obsession wearing its face. His mother's last word echoed in his mind: "Perfect..." He hadn't been perfect. He'd failed to save her. Four years old and useless.
But he wouldn't always be four. The black stars in his eyes pulsed once, then settled into a color that flickered between orange and black, rage and grief, fear and determination.
I'll shine bright, Mama, he promised silently, his child's voice barely a whisper in the blood-soaked hallway. I'll shine so bright that when the person who did this sees me, they'll burn.
The sirens grew louder. A new life had begun. A revenge had been born.
TO BE CONTINUED... [Next Episode: "Six Months of Hell"]