"Ichikawa Sou."
My name is Ichikawa Sou.
He whispered it again — softly this time, as if saying it might make it real.
He turned toward the window. The blinds were slightly open, and the first ray of morning sunlight slipped into the room, casting a golden stripe across the floor. Outside, birds were chirping gently. The world was calm, but inside his chest, a quiet storm stirred.
He gave a hollow, mocking laugh.
"I guess life is strange too… When I wanted to live again, it woke me up in someone's body and gave me life instead of a rebirth."
His expression darkened.
"But what about this Sou guy…? Basically, I've taken over his body… so what, two souls in one body?"
He stood near the desk, lost in thought. His eyes wandered across its surface, then locked onto a medicine bottle — tipped on its side, with a few scattered pills nearby.
He muttered, "Sleeping pills…"
Another bottle caught his eye, lying near a small trash bin.
"Dark circles… and multiple sleeping pills. Anxiety and depression…?"
Then he looked toward the bed and saw yet another identical bottle, with more pills still resting on the bedsheet.
"Don't tell me he ate too much and died?!" he snapped, anger rising in his voice. "What's wrong with this boy?!"
He went quiet again, staring at the bottle on the bed.
He died…
The room was silent. Only the gentle chirping of birds from outside filled the void.
The MC stepped toward the desk and started searching, opening drawers one by one.
"There it is," he said, pulling open the middle drawer.
Most depressed people write books or notes to maintain their emotions…
Inside were three thin notebooks, each secured with a small latch lock. The handwritten titles read:
- "The start where none's beside me?"
- "My thoughts"
- "That Regretful Day"
"Huh… locks," he muttered.
He grabbed the phone again and opened the calendar app. There were five marked birthdates. One of them had a flower emoji beside it.
This one…? Same emoji at the end of the book but it is withered. Let's try this one.
He entered the date into the lock of the first notebook.
Click.
It opened.
He turned the first page carefully and began to read:
"I am now in high school. It's been half a month. At the start of my high school days, I am writing this because I am sad."
"It all started from asking advice from my childhood friend. She used to be timid and shy in middle school, but after that, she stopped talking and visiting me after it ended."
"At the beginning of high school, I saw her again. She had changed — from timid to confident and beautiful. She was like a different person."
"The timid girl I knew turned into an amazing person. I was happy to meet her again. I thought I could apologize for the past, if I had done something wrong… and we could talk again. Or so I thought."
"We were assigned to the same class. Seatmates. I tried to talk to her. But her words… they were like mocking knives."
"I asked why she stopped being in contact. She laughed and said, 'You don't know?' And then she said… 'I guess it was good we stopped.'"
"Those words broke me."
"Day after day, her popularity rose. Because of her beauty and confidence, she became the top idol of the school. Boys confessed to her. Girls admired her. Whenever I tried to talk to her… she would say things that cut me down. And everyone around her started to see me as a pest."
"Their words felt like knives piercing my heart. 'He doesn't even look like her childhood friend.' 'Any boy can replace him if they becomes our idol's boyfriend.' 'Isn't he too clingy?'"
"It felt like a huge wall had risen between us."
"Two people from the same past… living in different worlds now."
"Then my cute little sister — the one I adored — started to distance herself too. I don't know whether it was because of my reputation at school… or because I angered my childhood friend."
"I'm feeling lonely. There's no one beside me."
The remaining pages were blank.
He ran his fingers gently along the edge of the last written page.
Blank.
Not a single word after that painful confession.
So he gave up writing… just like he gave up trying to connect.
The MC placed the first journal down carefully, eyes scanning the other two.
"My thoughts… and That Regretful Day," he read aloud quietly. His hand hovered over the second one.
He picked it up and turned it slowly in his hands.
Locked… of course.
The first one had a hint of a withering flower at the end of the book, so it maybe his childhood's birthday date. Diary ended with his little sister without revealing too much about her sister.
He turned back to the phone, searching through the calendar again. Then opened the memo pad.
One note. Short.
"Sis: March 28. Her birthday. Don't forget. She always cries when I do."
He muttered, "March 28…"
Please work!!
He tried it on the lock.
Click.
It opened.
The cover page had no decoration — just plain black ink in small, tired handwriting.
"I don't know why I feel like writing. Maybe it's to remind myself I still exist."
"Every day feels the same. Wake up. Go to school. Avoid stares. Pretend not to hear the whispers."
"Sometimes I wonder what people see when they look at me. A clingy childhood friend? A pathetic boy who couldn't move on? Or maybe just a shadow of who I used to be."
"Even I don't know who I am anymore."
"I just wanted to be happy, I want to live a true life."
"I guess it is not possible."
He stopped reading for a moment. His throat felt tight.
This isn't a diary. This is a mirror into someone's broken mind…
He read on.
"When I come home, I hear laughter from my sister's room. I stop myself from knocking. I want to ask, 'Did I do something wrong?' But I can't. I'm scared she'll say yes."
"Sometimes, I stare at the pills and wonder what it would feel like to sleep forever. But I'm afraid… afraid I won't dream. Afraid it'll just be more of this blank silence."
"I wear makeup now. Just under my eyes. Not because I want to look better, but because I'm tired of teachers asking if I'm okay. I'm not. I just… don't want to talk about it."
The last sentence sat on its own line:
"No one notices you until you're gone from their days. So maybe I should try disappearing before that."
"That day is possible."
The next pages were blank.
The MC closed the notebook slowly and set it down beside the other.
He looked down at his hands again — pale, slender fingers with bitten nails.
This is the life I've been dropped into…
He turned slowly toward the mirror on the wardrobe. The morning sun had risen higher now, flooding the room with soft, white light. His reflection stared back — the messy hair, the faint traces of makeup smudged under his eyes, and a face weighed down by silent sorrow.
"…You were screaming the whole time, weren't you?" he whispered.
His eyes drifted toward the final journal — That Regretful Day.
Still locked. Still unread.
He didn't reach for it.
Not yet.
He reached for it again, held it gently in both hands. It felt heavier than the others.
If the first book was about how everything started… and the second was about how it kept breaking… Then maybe this one… is about the moment everything started to shatter.
He stared at the lock.
Middle school… something must've happened back then. Something big enough to destroy friendships, break reputations, and twist a sweet boy into someone who wanted to disappear.
He didn't try to force it. Not yet.
Hmm, 'That day is possible' and 'That Regretful Day', maybe a clue. Clues are given at the end of the diaries. Is he trying to show the reader that life of the owner has ended. Date linked to that day. It will require some past indulging.
He sighed.
Maybe it isn't time yet… or maybe… I'm not ready to know. At least I unlocked two diaries. And what is this game of making lock diaries. Doesn't he want others to read his diaries, or it is also part of hint?
He placed the notebook back in the drawer, gently — like he was setting down something fragile.
The weight of everything caught up to him again. The sunlight was brighter now, brushing over the walls. But the room still felt dim inside.
He stepped over to the bed and sat down slowly. The bedsheet was slightly wrinkled where the pills had once been. He moved them aside and laid down, his body sinking into the mattress with a slow exhale.
His eyes stared up at the ceiling — unfamiliar, just like everything else.
So… this was the life he lived. This was the pain he carried. Quiet. Lonely. Mocked. Ignored.
He closed his eyes, the morning light washing over his tired face.
First, waking up in someone's body and now this messy life. It's too much — overbearing after suddenly waking up. I really need some sleep to calm down.
With this, before going to a deep slumber he gave one last thought.
What kind of regret turns a life into this?
And then, finally, for the first time since waking up in this strange new body…
He fell asleep.