The light in the hallway was always off.
I used to wonder if they forgot to fix it, or if they just didn't care. But eventually, I stopped wondering. I stopped asking anything at all.
I was fourteen. My name was Yuki. And the house I lived in didn't feel like home anymore.
Not since my mother died.
She used to hum while she cooked, brushing my hair back with gentle fingers. Her laughter used to fill the walls like sunlight. Then one day, she was gone. Just gone. I never saw the inside of her casket.
After that, my father remarried.
I remember thinking she seemed kind at first. Soft voice. Pretty eyes. A smile that never quite reached them.
But something changed. Or maybe it had always been there, hiding.
The first time it happened, I was frozen.
I had just taken a shower. I walked past her room—her door was open.
"Yuki," she called. "Can you help me with something?"
I hesitated, then stepped inside.
She was sitting on the edge of the bed. Her robe was loose. Too loose. She looked at me and smiled in a way that made my stomach twist.
"I miss your father," she said. "He's always angry now."
I didn't know what to say.
She stood up slowly. Came closer. Her hands reached out—first to my face, then lower.
I flinched.
"Please… don't," I said.
Her expression didn't change.
> "You're so tense," she whispered.
"Why are you so hard…? Don't lie."
She pushed me down. I tried to sit up.
She climbed on top of me.
I remember saying it—"Please stop. I don't want to do this."
> "But your body does," she said.
And then she began.
I cried.
She didn't stop.
Days passed like that. Weeks.
I stopped talking in school. I stopped looking people in the eye. I thought maybe someone would notice. That someone would ask.
No one ever did.
My father started drinking more. He grew meaner. Harsher. I tried to avoid him.
Until the day he walked in.
She was on top of me again. I was crying. She didn't care.
Then the door slammed open.
"YUKI?!"
He stood there, breathing hard. His eyes moved from me to her. To our clothes. To the position.
And he didn't see the truth.
---
> "You little fucking whore."
"She's your mother!"
"No—please," I begged.
"She—she forced me—"
His fist hit before I could finish.
The second blow cracked my lip.
The third, I stopped counting.
Blood in my eyes. My head bouncing off the floor. His voice echoing somewhere distant.
I felt my ribs give. My spine go numb.
The world went dark.
My last thought was:
> "I never asked to be born."
And then, silence.
Until a voice spoke.
> "You have nothing left. No name. No family. No hope."
> "Do you want to disappear?"
I floated in blackness. My body was gone.
But the pain was still there.
> "Do you want to be reborn?"
> "But you must give something in return."
> "Your name. Your memories. Your soul — piece by piece."
I whispered:
> "Yes."
The pact was sealed.
And my second life began.