Chapter 1: Katsunori
It was one of those days where the sky looked fake. That kind of still blue where the clouds don't move and nothing feels urgent.
We were sitting on the grass behind the library, our legs stretched out and our shoes half off. The air was too warm for May.
Himani had her head tilted back, eyes closed. Her headphones dangled around her neck, still faintly buzzing. I couldn't hear what she was listening to, but I could guess. Something with soft drums and lyrics that sound like apologies.
"You ever feel like things should've already changed by now?" she asked, not looking at me.
I picked at a blade of grass. "Like how?"
"I don't know. Just... life. Everything," she replied.
I didn't answer right away. She cracked one eye open and looked at me like she wanted me to say something important. I didn't have anything.
"I guess I thought high school would feel more like a movie," I said.
She smiled, but only barely. "Yeah. But not the main character part," she said.
"Just the background noise," I replied.
She rolled onto her side, propping her head up with her hand. "I think I liked last year better. When we used to sneak into the auditorium and dare each other to sing," she said.
"You always picked sad songs," I reminded her.
"And you always chickened out," she replied.
I shrugged. "I didn't want to ruin the acoustics," I said.
She laughed—soft, real. It caught me off guard.
But then she went quiet again. The kind of quiet that feels like it wants something, a greedy quiet that never asks before it takes.
"I got into that summer thing in Portland," she said, after a beat.
"Oh," I replied, trying to keep my voice even. "That's cool."
"Three weeks. Starts in July," she added.
"Right," I said, pulling at the grass again. Made a little pile I wasn't gonna do anything with.
"I'm not sure if I'm gonna go," she said.
My heart kicked, then immediately told itself to calm down. "Why not?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. Just..."
"Scared?"
"Maybe."
Another pause. Longer this time.
I wanted to ask if she'd miss me. If that even mattered.
Instead, I said, "You should go. You'd be good at it."
She didn't say thanks. Just looked away and said, "You'd manage just fine on your own. Without me."
I didn't correct her.
The sun kept shining, oblivious to our conversation. Somewhere nearby, a bell rang for the next period we weren't going to.
She leaned her head on my shoulder. Not close, not far. Just there.
Neither of us moved.
Back then, moments like these used to mean something. Now they felt... automatic, like we'd run this exact script before and neither of us had the heart to rewrite it. We wanted it to last longer, but also be over already.
I looped my arm through hers as we crossed the lot. Some teacher called out, something about space or school rules, but neither of us reacted. Just before we split off—she squeezed my hand.
We met up later at a small café off the main road, the kind of place with warped tabletops and secondhand chairs that pretended to be vintage.
She was already there when I walked in. Hoodie sleeves over her hands, phone in one of them. Two drinks on the table. Mine untouched, hers already sweating into the paper sleeve.
I sat across from her. The seat creaked. She didn't look up right away.
For a second, I let myself stare. Her eyes were glassy, deep, a little tired, like marbles someone once painted carefully, now dulled just a little with time. Before anything else, before the shift between us had a name, I was just… lost in her. And maybe that was the problem.
I didn't touch my coffee. Not yet.
She finally said, "Are your parents leaving too?"
Her voice was light, but the question landed hard.
I opened my mouth, closed it, and watched as her eyes flicked back down to her phone. Whatever she was looking at seemed to matter more than whatever I might've said.
I nodded, even though she wasn't looking.
"Yeah," I said, after a second. "They are."
She didn't answer.
The silence came back, familiar now, heavy in the middle, hollow at the edges.
I didn't mean to knock over the mug. It just kind of... tipped, like my hand forgot how to hold things. The sound was louder than it should have been—ceramic on wood, sharp, final.
"Shit. Sorry," I said, already grabbing napkins.
Himani didn't look up from her phone. "It's fine."
I wiped faster than I needed to. Coffee soaked into the table like it was trying to disappear too.
She scrolled. Thumb slow, eyes blank. The kind of scrolling that meant she wasn't really reading anything.
"You good?" I asked, not really meaning to say it out loud.
Her shoulders shifted. Not a full shrug. Just enough to say I heard you without the effort of a reply.
I let the silence stretch, let it fill the cracks between us. A week ago, we were sharing playlists and arguing about the best flavor of ice cream like it mattered. Now I couldn't tell if I was annoying her or if this was just how things were now.
She finally set her phone down, face down. Her nail tapped the table once. Then again.
"You ever think about just… not trying so hard with people?" she asked, eyes still on her hand.
My chest tightened. "What, like giving up?"
"No. Just… letting things be what they are."
She glanced up then. Not long. Just a flick of eye contact that felt like a dare.
I swallowed. "Yeah. I guess."
Neither of us said anything for a bit. The air buzzed with everything we weren't naming. I thought about asking if I'd done something wrong. But that sounded too close to I miss you.
She pulled her sleeves over her hands, a habit she never used to have. I remembered when she used to pick at the corners of her notebooks instead, always leaving little paper curls behind.
"I might skip the beach thing Friday," she said.
I nodded. "Cool. I wasn't sure if I was going either."
Another lie.
She stood up before I could think of anything else. Pushed in her chair, slowly.
"See you."
I didn't answer until she was halfway to the door.
"Yeah. See you."
The door shut like a whisper. I sat there, napkins still in my hand, the coffee stain already drying.
I stayed in the café a little longer than I should have. Didn't order anything else. Just sat there with the half-wiped mess in front of me like it might explain something if I stared at it long enough.
The kid at the counter gave me a glance when I got up. Not annoyed, not friendly either. Just a glance, like you again.
Outside, the sky had gone from still-blue to nothing-special gray. Overcast in that lazy, indecisive way. I tugged my sleeves down and started walking. No music. No real direction.
I wasn't going home yet.
Cut through the side streets like I always do. Past the fence with the chipped paint, past the cracked mural with half the faces faded out.
Everything looked exactly how it always did, but something felt off. Like the world had forgotten how to pretend it was real.
My phone buzzed once. Himani.
"Made it home."
No punctuation. No emoji. Just that.
I stared at the screen too long. Thought about typing something. Didn't. Slipped it back into my pocket and kept walking.
I passed the alley behind Leila's florist—the shortcut I always took when I didn't want to be seen.
Except this time, I stopped.
I don't know why. There wasn't anything there. Just a narrow strip of cracked asphalt, one flickering overhead light, and a sagging dumpster that always smelled like warm rot.
But the air felt... wrong. Still. Like when a song cuts mid-beat and you don't notice until the silence hits.
Something cold moved through me. Not wind—colder than that. Like a thought I shouldn't be having.
I took one step in. Then another.
Halfway down, my chest tightened. Not panic. Not fear. Just this pull.
Then a sound. Not loud. Barely even there. Like static. Like something shifting behind the walls of the world.
I blinked.
The light above me sparked, then died.
The alley stretched longer than it should have. I swear it did. Like it unrolled itself while I wasn't looking.
My phone buzzed again.
Except it wasn't Himani.
No caller ID. Just one word on the screen.
★ REPLACE ★
Then the screen went black.
I looked up.
And there was someone else standing at the end of the alley.
Same height. Same shoes. Same jacket.
Same face.
He didn't move. Didn't say anything.
Just stared at me like he was waiting.
The last thing I felt was the ground tilt—not like I was falling, but like the world was.
Then everything folded in.
Not pain.
Not fear.
Just... silence.
And then I wasn't there anymore.
The alley was empty. Just a phone buzzing in the dirt. A smear of coffee still on the edge from where he wiped his hand hours ago.
It buzzed once more, then went still.
No one picked it up.
—————
A kitchen lit by the glow of a fridge that had been left open too long. The hum of it was the only sound besides her voice.
"Our daughter needs our help, Ray!" Her hand trembled as she pressed the phone harder to her ear, as if that might make him stay on the line longer. "She's been in critical condition for weeks now, you have the money to pay for her surgery, I don't—"
She sat down slowly, as if she didn't want to collapse.
On the other end, a long pause. The kind that says everything before a word is even spoken.
"I told you," Ray finally said. His voice was flat. Distant. "It's not that simple."
"It is that simple," she snapped, tears streaking across her cheeks. "You're just afraid of losing control. But guess what, Ray? She's slipping through our hands, and you're still worried about your accounts—"
"I said I'd look into it."
"Look into it?" Her laugh was sharp and ragged. "You're acting like this is some spreadsheet error—she's dying, Ray."
Another silence. Shorter this time.
"I can't have this fight again," he said. "Not tonight."
The call ended.
She stared at the phone screen. The contact name still glowed: Ray (Work Line Only).
She set it down, not gently.
Behind her, a small photo frame on the counter rattled slightly. A girl in a hospital bed, mid-laugh, head wrapped, eyes too bright for what she'd been through.
She turned away.
—————
The world was dim, caught between light and dark. Like being inside a storm cloud—everything soft and wrong. A static hum beneath the air, pulsing slow.
He opened his eyes.
Or thought he did.
There was no body. No weight. Just awareness—raw, floating, too large for itself.
A voice came from nowhere.
No tone. No echo. Just presence.
"SUBJECT ERROR: CONSCIOUSNESS NON-NATIVE. DESIGNATE: STRAY."
Then another voice. Lower. Older. A whisper that folded under the first like a second page beneath a signature.
"...let him keep it."
Silence.
Then a flash of memory. Grass behind a library. A laugh, short and real. A door closing.
Another flash. Cold air. A still-blue sky. A hand reaching toward nothing.
"TRANSFER COMPLETE."
And suddenly, breath.
Real. Sharp. Burning.
He gasped awake into a world he didn't know. Wood beams. Dust motes. A ceiling too high. The scent of smoke and ink and something sweet beneath it all.
He sat up.
He had hands. Not his hands. Thicker. Older. Scarred across the knuckles.
A mirror leaned against the far wall.
He stood.
Walked to it like it might shatter if he got too close.
The boy in the glass wasn't him.
But it was the only face left.