Ch.1Chapter 1. A Familiar Year (1)

After I first assessed the situation, I wondered if I’d received some kind of reward for living a good life.

I’ve sometimes looked in the mirror and wished I could have been born more handsome, or thought it wouldn’t hurt to be born with more talent.

I’ve even prayed to skip this life and move on to the next one.

For a life I’d been dragging through—not wanting to live but not wanting to die either—ending it without any pain and moving on to the next life seemed like a decent reward.

…..

But looking at this empty house with just me sitting here alone, I wonder if that deity made some kind of mistake.

The room, by no means spacious, seemed too small for a family to live in. Still, it would be manageable for one person.

Outside the window, I could see the glow of a streetlight. The orange light made it possible to vaguely make out the surroundings even in the middle of the night.

A residential area.

But the atmosphere was different from the neighborhoods I was used to.

There were no red brick villas or small tile-roofed houses that I used to see. Most buildings were two-story houses.

And they looked somewhat unfamiliar.

If I listened carefully, I could hear a dog barking in the distance. I could also hear cars driving by, and someone must have left their window open because I could faintly hear a TV.

Indeed, it wasn’t the language I used to speak. Strangely enough, I could understand the content.

“…”

I moved away from the window.

Was it just my imagination? Or was it because my location had changed? I felt like I’d gotten shorter.

No, I definitely had gotten shorter. If the area I was in had changed this much, why would my body remain the same?

“Mirror.”

As I muttered that, a young girl’s voice flowed from my mouth, giving me chills.

Looking around again, the room was completely empty. Not even a single piece of furniture was visible.

Only a few pieces of clothing were neatly folded in the corner of the room, with a document bag placed beside them.

That terrible neatness gave me goosebumps.

Was this supposed to be some kind of consideration?

“Mirror.”

I muttered again. I’m not sure why.

That’s when I started to feel a bit scared. I was trapped in someone else’s body that I’d never seen before, in a place I knew nothing about, in a state I knew nothing about.

Snore.

Someone was snoring as if they were about to stop breathing. Probably from next door. This house, which looked old at a glance, must have walls as thin as paper.

Ironically, that snoring sound had a strange sense of reality to it, and I came to my senses. Even though I knew nothing, I was here now.

Right, first I need a mirror.

When I slid open the only thing that could be called a door in the room besides the window, I saw the front door and kitchen right in front of me.

Old but neatly organized sink and cupboard. The first proper furniture I’d seen since coming here.

Next to what appeared to be the front door was something like a small room door.

When I opened it, I found a bathroom combined with a toilet, where a toilet and bathtub had somehow been crammed into one space.

The bathtub was a perfect square. Was I supposed to sit in formal seiza position in there? Someone must have desperately wanted a bathtub in this bathroom where it didn’t quite fit.

No, more importantly, the mirror.

I found the switch next to the door. It was an old-fashioned type that moved up and down, the kind I’d only seen at my grandmother’s house back home.

The bathroom light was, of course, an incandescent bulb.

I entered the somewhat eerie and gloomy bathroom despite the light being on, and when I looked at my face in the mirror, I flinched.

The girl in the mirror was staring straight at my face.

Eyes as black as if looking into a well. Skin as white as paper.

Long hair covered her face.

I don’t know if you’re familiar with the character Sadako. That famous ghost who crawls out of the well on TV.

The hairstyle was like that, with the face visible through the hair.

When I raised my hand, the girl slowly raised hers too. When I gently stroked my cheek with my fingertips, the girl stroked her cheek too. When I pinched it slightly, it hurt a bit.

If there wasn’t a ghost in the mirror mimicking my actions, then this appearance was mine.

It even hurt, so it wasn’t a dream.

The hair was… long. Almost reaching down to my thighs?

I only just realized that I was completely naked because my hair covered most of my upper body.

A somewhat meager figure. A skinny body.

Carefully pushing the hair away from my face, I could see the face of a girl who could also be described as somewhat thin.

She looked about in her teens. If in middle school, she’d be in third year, and if in high school, she’d be a first-year or just about to become a second-year.

But that girl is me.

“…”

I let go of the hair I was holding.

The black, long hair fell over my face, and I once again looked like a ghost.

*

I had no intention of going out all night.

How could I just go out when I hadn’t even adjusted to the situation? If I got lost, what would I do? Since all I had was what was in this room, it would be safer to carefully look around the surroundings after daybreak.

First, I put on the clothes in the room.

The clothes were a sailor uniform.

And I didn’t notice at first because they were both black, but there was also a bra and panties. On top of the sailor uniform.

What kind of sense is that?

I struggled for a while before I could finally put on the bra. I wasn’t sure if I’d put it on correctly. I just did the best I could to wear it comfortably within my capabilities. It still felt a bit tight.

A black sailor uniform with a red ribbon.

How should I put it? Stereotypical? Old-fashioned?

It was actually an outfit that’s hard to see in everyday life.

Was it for cosplay? Or some kind of fashion sense?

That question didn’t remain unanswered for long.

The bag that looked like a document case was, upon closer inspection, a student bag like the ones I’d seen in old Japanese animations.

Sitting on the floor, I rummaged through the bag and found a notebook labeled “Student Handbook,” a wallet with some cash, a bankbook, a phone, and a charger.

…Not a smartphone, but what used to be called a flip phone.

Looking at the student handbook with Japanese kanji—I have no idea how I could distinguish it—it seemed that the clothes I was wearing were indeed a school uniform.

On the first page of the student handbook was a picture of my face that I’d seen in the bathroom earlier. Strangely, it was slightly more organized than before, with hair covering the middle of my face.

Is this acceptable? For an ID photo?

For a moment I wondered if this was some kind of merchandise, but that’s not the issue right now.

The name written below the photo. That was important.

Kotone Kurosawa (黒沢琴音).

I’m not sure if this is a normal name or not. I’ve never been Japanese to begin with. I’m just going with it.

The handbook also had the school address and this address written in it. The fact that it was Tokyo was welcome to me, but the “city” within Tokyo was different.

I don’t know how far that distance is.

If I at least had a smartphone, I could search for information.

Does this deity have some kind of twisted taste?

As I was closing the student handbook, I noticed something through the gap where the uniform had slipped down my skinny arm.

Rolling up my sleeve, I discovered what I hadn’t noticed at first… a tattoo?

The reason I couldn’t be sure it was a tattoo was because I had no way of knowing if it could be erased or not. It would be nice if someone forced a tutorial on me, but this world didn’t have that.

The scribble on the lower part of my left palm, right where you’d cut if you were slitting your wrist, was… a pentagram.

A pentagram inside a circle, with some unknown characters swirling around it.

I suddenly felt a wave of regret.

Even though I hadn’t put it there myself.

…Middle school syndrome? Is there a black dragon sealed in my left arm?

I can only hope this isn’t a tattoo but something drawn with a pen or something similar.

Sighing deeply, I put the student handbook back in the bag and picked up the phone.

Having been used to holding flat smartphones, it felt strange to hold such a classic design phone after so long.

The color was also a very old-looking silver.

But strangely, it didn’t seem worn out at all. Judging by the production year, it must be at least 15 years old.

I examined the phone carefully before flipping it open.

The background was black.

And in white letters on top of it, it showed that it was now 00:13 PM.

The date was April 13th.

The year was 2004.

I quietly closed the phone again.

And closed my eyes, letting out a small sigh.