Chapter 4 - The Shadow of the Old World
The next morning didn't begin like the others. It didn't carry the same quiet rhythm of textbooks and routine. Something different waited in the air—something heavier, sharper, almost electric.
It had been a week since Akio Hukitaske found himself reborn into his fourteen-year-old body. A week since he'd woken from the chaos of adulthood—torn from fluorescent office lights, caffeine-drenched deadlines, and the blur of coding sprints—to the strange peace of a high school courtyard. It was, in every possible sense, a miracle dressed in confusion.
At first, the days felt dreamlike. Chalk dust and cherry blossoms. Bells marking time instead of alarms. The feeling of belonging somewhere he thought he'd lost forever. He'd even begun to believe the universe was giving him a second chance—not just to live again, but to live better.
He'd made up his mind: this time, he would become the pharmacist he'd once dreamed of being. No more corporate decay. No more wasted years on meaningless work. He'd study hard, reconnect with what mattered, and maybe—just maybe—find happiness again.
Then the universe laughed.
It came in the form of a thwack—a sudden, thunderous slap to the back that nearly sent him face-first into the pavement.
"Watch where you're going, four-eyes!"
The voice was deep, rough, and brimming with the kind of confidence only chaos could breed. Akio's back stung. His glasses nearly slid off. Slowly, he turned.
Standing there, framed by the morning sun, was Riki Yamahade.
He looked like the kind of student teachers whispered about in the faculty room. Tall. Broad-shouldered. His uniform untucked, collar popped, tie nowhere to be seen. His hair—bleached to a reckless shade of gold—caught the light like a challenge. The smirk on his face said try me, and his posture dared anyone to do so.
Around them, students began to slow, their conversations faltering. Even birds seemed to pause mid-song.
Akio remembered this sort of kid. Loud, physical, untamed. In his old life, he'd worked with men like that—people who shouted over others just to hide their own fear of being unheard.
He straightened his spine and met Riki's gaze head-on.
"You're the new guy, right?" Riki said, stepping forward until the scent of cheap cologne and trouble filled the space between them. "The one with the know-it-all look."
Akio blinked once. Calm. Centered. He could feel the gazes of the other students pressing in. Hikata, halfway through a rice ball, had frozen mid-bite, eyes wide with alarm.
"I could say the same about you," Akio said quietly.
Riki tilted his head. "You calling me weird, huh?"
"I'm calling you loud. Because you're scared of being ignored."
The words slipped out like instinct. Maybe a little too sharp, a little too adult, but honest.
The courtyard went silent.
Riki stared at him for a long, dangerous moment. Then, unexpectedly—he laughed.
A deep, thunderous, genuine laugh that broke through the tension like thunder.
"Wow," he said between chuckles. "You've got guts, four-eyes. Most kids around here see me coming and suddenly remember an appointment with their mom."
Akio allowed himself the smallest of smiles. "Maybe they're just smarter than me."
Riki grinned, all teeth. "Nah. Smarter's boring. You're different. I like that."
That was how it began.
For the next few days, Riki shadowed him everywhere. Hallways. Lunchtime. Even gym class. At first, it was harassment in its purest form—mocking his answers, bumping his shoulder, calling him "Professor."
When Akio correctly balanced a chemical equation in front of the class, Riki theatrically clutched his stomach and shouted, "Somebody stop him! He's too powerful!"
The teacher sighed. The students laughed. Hikata almost choked on his sandwich.
But somewhere in the middle of the teasing and the noise, something unexpected started to happen.
Riki stopped being cruel.
The shoulder bumps became casual nudges. The mocking gave way to genuine curiosity. The smirk softened into something that resembled… respect.
One afternoon, Akio found himself carrying boxes of lab equipment across the courtyard to the science club room. Glass vials rattled inside as he walked, sunlight streaking across the polished floors. Behind him, footsteps echoed—a little too close, a little too casual.
"Yo, Professor," Riki called out. "Need a hand?"
"I'm fine," Akio replied automatically.
Riki ignored him, taking the heaviest box with one arm like it weighed nothing. "You really love this chemistry junk, don't you?"
Akio hesitated. "It's not junk. It's… a way to make sense of things. When everything else gets complicated, chemistry stays honest."
Riki leaned against the windowsill, the sunlight catching in his blond hair. "Huh. Never thought of it that way."
Akio set his box down, curious. "What did you want to be, before all this?"
Riki scoffed. "Before what? Before being the school's favorite troublemaker?"
"Yes."
The kid was quiet for a moment. Then, softly, he said, "A vet. I liked animals. Still do. Used to bring home strays. Drove my dad crazy." He laughed without humor. "But he told me it was stupid. Said smart people don't waste their time patching up cats."
Akio watched him. For once, the smirk was gone. In its place stood something fragile—an honesty Riki didn't often show.
"You know," Akio said carefully, "smart people fail all the time. It's not failure that ruins them. It's giving up on what made them care in the first place."
Riki looked up, his dark eyes meeting Akio's. Then he smirked again, but this time it was smaller. Genuine. "You talk weird, Professor. But… you're not wrong."
"Neither are you, delinquent."
The nickname stuck.
From that day on, their friendship became something solid, forged through jabs and jokes and quiet conversations behind the noise. Riki began showing up early to chemistry club—"just to annoy you," he claimed—but Akio noticed how he stayed late, actually asking questions about reactions and compounds.
And then there was Hikata.
The whirlwind of chaos, comic relief, and unfiltered honesty that glued everything together. Hikata had a gift for intruding on any moment without warning.
"Yo!" he shouted one afternoon, slamming open the clubroom door with all the grace of a meteor. "I brought snacks and emotional support!"
Riki groaned. "Please tell me you didn't use the last of my lunch money again."
"Define 'use,'" Hikata replied. "Also, I'm declaring myself official morale officer of this chemistry gang!"
Akio rubbed his temples. "There is no chemistry gang."
"Not with that attitude," Hikata said, plopping down beside him.
That became their rhythm. After school, the three of them would sit under the old sakura tree that crowned the back hill. The world seemed smaller up there—peaceful. The wind carried petals across their shoes, and for a few precious minutes each day, time didn't feel like an enemy.
Hikata would always be the loudest. He ate takoyaki like it was a competitive sport, waving his chopsticks like drumsticks as he declared, "This! This right here! This is what life's about! Friends, snacks, and the illusion of no homework!"
"We do have homework," Akio reminded him.
"Details!" Hikata said, mouth full.
Riki chuckled from where he lounged against the tree. "Never thought I'd say this, but you nerds make school tolerable."
"Careful," Hikata teased. "Next thing you know, you'll be joining the science club officially."
"Don't push your luck."
Akio leaned back on his hands, watching the sun dip below the horizon. The city beyond the school glowed in streaks of orange and violet, and for a moment, it felt like a painting—one where everything was exactly where it needed to be.
This, he thought, was what he had missed most. Not youth itself, but connection.
In his first life, he had built walls around himself—walls made of logic, deadlines, and exhaustion. He had mistaken solitude for strength, believing that caring too deeply was a distraction from progress. He'd told himself he didn't need friends, that ambition was enough.
But ambition hadn't saved him. It had drained him.
Now, in this strange second life, he understood something simpler, something purer: people are the real medicine.
As the sky dimmed and the cicadas began their nightly chorus, Riki stretched. "You ever think about how weird life is?"
Akio looked over. "Constantly."
"I mean… one minute you're just getting through it, and the next—bam—you meet people who make you wanna try again."
Hikata paused mid-bite. "Bro, that was weirdly deep. Did you just have a character arc?"
Riki threw a pebble at him. "Shut up."
Akio laughed softly. "He's not wrong, though."
The laughter faded into a comfortable silence. The kind only true friends can share—where words aren't needed, and the presence itself is enough.
Below the hill, the school lights flickered on, one by one. The day had ended, but Akio's thoughts didn't rest.
The shadow of his old life was still there, always at the edge of awareness—the memories of failure, burnout, and the bitter taste of regret. But that shadow no longer ruled him. It had become something else now. A reminder.
The old world was gone, but it had taught him what mattered most.
As the stars began to shimmer faintly overhead, Akio closed his eyes and let the breeze brush against his turquoise hair. He thought of the pharmacy shelves he'd once dreamed of stocking, the formulas he'd memorized, the patients he'd wanted to help. He thought of how fragile those dreams had felt back then, and how solid they felt now.
He wasn't just chasing a goal anymore. He was chasing meaning.
And this time, he wouldn't do it alone.
The bell tower rang in the distance, marking curfew. Hikata jumped up, scrambling to pack his things, muttering something about his mom's wrath being worse than nuclear fallout. Riki followed at his usual lazy pace, hands in pockets, whistling softly.
Akio lingered a moment longer beneath the sakura tree, staring out over the city lights. The old world's shadow still whispered—but now, it whispered possibility.
He smiled faintly.
"I'll do it right this time," he murmured. "No more running from who I am."
When he finally turned to follow his friends down the hill, the last light of the sunset framed them all in gold—the delinquent, the dreamer, and the fool. An unlikely trio, walking toward something bigger than any of them could yet name.
The night deepened.
Tomorrow waited.
And Akio, for the first time in years, didn't dread waking up.
He looked forward to it.
[To be continued in Chapter 5: Unlikely Trios and Club Invitations]