"Ms. Hayasaka, this is unacceptable."
Amy stood in the center of the office, fluorescent lights humming above her, the entire floor unusually silent. Her manager—Mr. Seto—glared at her over a printout of the error log she didn't cause.
It was Hikari, the ever-smiling snake in lipstick, who had messed up. Everyone knew. But Amy didn't say a word. She just stood there, quiet, swallowing the burn in her throat.
"I trusted you with one thing," Seto continued, voice tight with forced restraint. "One file. One deadline. And you blew it."
Amy's jaw clenched. "Sir, with all due respect—"
"You're fired."
She blinked. "What?"
"You heard me. Pack up and leave. This is a corporate environment, not a daycare."
Her heart sank. "Mr. Seto, this isn't fair—"
"I don't want to hear it."
That was it. No second chance. No HR meeting. Just a scolding, a public shaming, and a pink slip. Amy gathered her things in silence as Hikari watched with an almost sympathetic pout, like a vulture pretending to mourn its kill.
---
The air outside hit her like ice. Her feet moved on autopilot while her brain spun in place.
No job. No money. No health insurance.
No way to pay for Ren's surgery.
Her little brother was clinging to life in a hospital bed—ten years old and smiling through pain no kid should know. And now she had nothing. Again.
Tears threatened, but she blinked them back. Her mind was loud with panic.
"How am I going to pay rent? What about groceries? What about the surgery? God, please, don't let him—"
She didn't see the red light.
Didn't hear the honking horn.
Just the sudden screech of tires.
And pain.
---
She woke up gasping.
The ceiling above her wasn't made of cracked plaster and fluorescent tubes. It was stone—smooth, cream-colored, and detailed with delicate carvings. She sat up too fast, her vision swimming.
A man rushed over. He looked like a doctor… or a nobleman cosplaying one. His voice was calm, refined.
"You're awake. How do you feel?"
Amy blinked. "Where… what is this…?"
"You've been unconscious for two days. You were found near the southern market. You don't remember?"
"I… I don't…"
Her voice cracked. She clutched the blanket. Her hands looked different—pale, elegant, soft. Not her hands.
She scanned the room, panic creeping in. A mirror stood in the corner. She got up shakily and staggered toward it.
What she saw wasn't Amy Hayasaka.
It was a girl with blonde hair, flowing past her shoulders like silk, and crystal blue eyes that gleamed with otherworldly light. A royal-looking cloak hung from her shoulders.
No. No. No. This isn't real.
Then it hit her. That face. That exact face—she'd seen it before.
Lyra Ishen. The doomed noble girl from that tragic comic she had been reading last week.
"What the hell is going on…?" she whispered.
---
Outside, the world was even stranger. The street buzzed with life—people in tunics and cloaks bartering with coins, carriages rolling by, horses stamping. The air smelled of bread and incense.
Amy walked aimlessly, heart racing. None of this made sense.
She turned into a narrow alley to breathe. That's when she saw him.
A man, slumped against the wall, blood on his shirt. He looked barely alive.
Amy knelt beside him. "Hey—are you okay? Are you—?"
He stirred, eyes fluttering open—dark, intense, and piercing even half-lidded.
Relief flooded her… then confusion.
A red string.
Glowing faintly from her wrist… trailing across the air… straight into the man's chest.
She reached out, but her fingers passed right through it.
It wasn't real. Not exactly. Not physical.
It shimmered like magic.
"No," she breathed. "This can't be…"