The silence in the cramped, humble wooden house was broken only by the boy's ragged breathing.
He lay on the cold, dirt-packed floor, a figure of stark contrast against the gloom with his strikingly white hair, a genetic quirk that made him stand out in the small village, though currently, no one was around to see it. He looked no older than eleven or twelve.
A sudden, jarring shock ripped through his skull, forcing a guttural groan from his lips.
His hands shot up instinctively, clamping over his temples as if to physically restrain the explosion of pain behind his eyes.
He squeezed them shut, his small body trembling as he reeled from a massive headache that felt less like an ailment and more like a violent intrusion.
As abruptly as it began, the agonizing pain began to subside, leaving behind a disconcerting void that was instantly filled. It wasn't a memory resurfacing; it was a flood of an entirely separate existence, a complete life that had somehow been transplanted into his young mind.
He was Ishiki, a name he hadn't answered to in this life, yet now it felt like his most fundamental identity.
Ishiki had been a ghost in the concrete jungle a dedicated, almost pathetic, corporate worker in modern Japan.
His days bled into one another, a monotonous cycle of fluorescent lights and keyboard clicks. He was perpetually isolated, an island in a sea of cubicles. The simple human connections of friends or a girlfriend were alien concepts to him.
The workplace, though teeming with people, was a landscape of strictly transactional, professional interactions.
There were no casual lunches, no after-hours drinks, just tasks assigned and reports filed.
Ishiki speculated on the reasons for his solitude was it because he was an orphan, lacking the family ties and social safety nets others took for granted? Or was it simply his quiet, perhaps unapproachable appearance, or the aura of perpetual exhaustion he carried?
His sole, fervent escape from the soul-crushing boredom and loneliness was anime. T
he vibrant, heroic narratives offered a contrast to his gray existence. His greatest devotion was to Naruto, the story of an underdog orphan who defied the odds.
Just today, in that previous life, Ishiki had achieved a small moment of profound contentment.
Huddled over his phone during a short break at the office, he had finally finished the final episode.
A genuine, soft smile touched his lips as he witnessed the culmination of years of story: Naruto finally marry and fulfill his lifelong dream of becoming the Hokage. It was a victory by proxy, a resolution that offered him a fleeting sense of peace.
The feeling of completion, however, was quickly overshadowed by the harsh reality of his job.
He settled back into his ergonomic chair, staring at the intimidating stack of digital files.
His colleagues, all eager to enjoy their Thursday night, had casually dumped their overtime work onto him before heading out.
They were off to a party, a social gathering that, predictably, he hadn't been invited to.
Yet, Ishiki didn't rage.
He merely offered a small, almost self-deprecating smile, and focused on the looming tasks, resigning himself to the night's labor.
As he typed, his vision blurred, the words on the screen melting into meaningless shapes.
A sudden, sharp pressure built in his head, culminating in a gush of warm liquid.
His nose began to bleed.
His weary body gave out, and he collapsed onto his keyboard, the sound of his head hitting the plastic a muffled punctuation mark to his life.
The young boy in the wooden house, who was now irrevocably both himself and Ishiki, slowly lowered his hands from his head. The throbbing was gone, replaced by a cold, unsettling certainty.
"So, that's how I died in my previous life," he murmured, the words tasting unfamiliar and metallic on his young tongue. The realization settled deep in his chest, a dark, heavy stone. "Alone and Lonely".
A wry smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
It was a tragicomedy, wasn't it? Dying alone, overworked, thinking about a fictional hero achieving his dreams.
He saw the threads of sorrow connecting his two lives the loneliness of the corporate drone and the current isolation of the young boy.
He recognized the tragedy in both his past and present lives.