The moment he stepped back inside, he tried to push the encounter with that strange man out of his mind.
Yakoya exhaled in relief, peeling off the heavy, rain-soaked layers that clung to his body. The sound of rain still lingered faintly through the nearby window — soft, steady, and almost comforting.
Then came his grandmother's voice, trembling slightly.
Grandmother: "Mitsuko… what happened to your face?"
He blinked, startled. Only then did he realize that the bruise on his cheek had caught her attention. Trying not to raise any concern, he forced a small, casual smile.
Yakoya: "I tripped. It's nothing serious."
But his words did nothing to ease her.
Her eyes filled with quiet tears that began to spill, and before he could react, she stepped closer, placing her hands gently on his shoulders.
Grandmother (voice breaking): "Did they hit you again?"
...
The world seemed to stop.
That single word — again — echoed in his mind like a dull, distant bell.
Yakoya (in his thoughts): Hit me… again? What does she mean by that
He opened his mouth to ask, but she spoke first.
Grandmother (bitterly): "I didn't think they'd do it even in this freezing weather… Oh, how I hate them."
He froze where he stood, unsure if he had misheard.
Yakoya (hesitant): "What are you talking about? Hit me?"
For a long moment, she looked at him — really looked at him — and something in her expression shifted. Then, as if realizing she had said too much, she turned away.
Grandmother (quickly): "It's nothing. Come, let's sit inside."
Yakoya followed her in silence. But his mind was a storm of questions.
What did she mean? Who were "they"?
A strange unease crept through his chest — a heavy, hollow feeling that made his heart beat faster.
Yakoya (thinking): Was Mitsuko… being bullied? No, that doesn't make sense. I've been to school in her body — no one acted strange. Then what did she mean by "again"?
He couldn't shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong — that there was a part of Mitsuko's life hidden beneath layers of silence.
Yakoya (whispering to himself): Why would she talk about being hit? If everything was normal… why does it feel like she's hiding something?
His gaze drifted to the small cut on his cheek. For the first time, he wondered if this pain — his pain — was connected somehow to hers.
When they entered the living room, the sound of the rain returned, faint but constant, seeping through the windows. The air was thick with unspoken words.
His grandmother stopped halfway across the room and pointed gently toward the couch.
"Sit, dear."
Yakoya obeyed — but his thoughts were far from still.
Somewhere between his heartbeat and the rain outside, a quiet truth seemed to whisper:
This life you've borrowed… it carries wounds you cannot see.
Grandmother (softly, though her tone carries quiet worry):
"Sit there, dear. I'll be right back."
Yakoya nodded silently and walked to the couch.
He sat down, his gaze wandering across the dimly lit room. His fingers brushed over the bruise on his cheek as if trying to understand everything that had happened—until the sound of slow footsteps pulled him back.
The grandmother returned, carrying a small first-aid box in her wrinkled hands.
She sat beside him, opened it with practiced ease, and began taking out the supplies one by one.
Grandmother (warmly, trying to reassure):
"Don't worry. Everything will be fine."
She dabbed a bit of antiseptic onto a cloth and gently cleaned the wound. The sting burned slightly, but Yakoya didn't flinch. Her hands moved with tenderness — not the hesitant kind, but the kind of care born from repetition… from habit.
When she finished, she placed a small bandage on his cheek, then opened a small tin of ointment and carefully applied it to the bruise near his lip.
Yakoya (thinking, unsettled):
Why does she seem… used to this? Has Mitsuko been hurt like this before?
The grandmother finally looked up, her eyes filled with a soft, aching affection.
Grandmother:
"All done. Tell me if it still hurts, alright?"
Yakoya nodded faintly, forcing a small smile, though his chest tightened with unease.
Every word, every gesture, carried an invisible weight—something he wasn't ready to confront. Not yet.
Grandmother:
"You need more rest, that's all. Don't worry, you'll be fine."
Yakoya sat quietly, lost in thought. The room felt heavy.
The bruise throbbed lightly — a reminder that this wasn't his pain, not truly. Yet it felt like his.
Yakoya (thinking):
Why does she care so much? Is it just worry… or is there something more she's not saying?
The grandmother's eyes softened again, watching him carefully.
Grandmother:
"Are you sure you're alright? You shouldn't have gone out like that — it's far too cold, and it'll rain again soon."
Yakoya (quietly):
"Yes… I'm fine. Thank you."
But as he said the words, a strange thought gnawed at him.
This unease that had shadowed him all day wasn't from the cold or the bruise — it was something deeper. Something that belonged to Mitsuko.
Yakoya (thinking):
What if something's been happening to her… something I can't see? Could this pain be more than coincidence?
He had no answers — only an overwhelming need to find them.
That night, he retreated to Mitsuko's room and collapsed onto her bed, his mind swirling with questions.
Sleep came slowly, dragging him down into uneasy silence.
Yakoya awoke with a jolt.
The room was dark, still. For a moment, he couldn't tell where he was. His hand instinctively touched his cheek — and froze. The bruise… was gone. Completely.
Yakoya (thinking, confused):
What happened? Where am I? Did it end?
He jumped up and ran to the mirror.
His reflection stared back — his own reflection. He was back in his body. The relief washed over him like warm light, but the confusion stayed. He had lived a full day in someone else's skin, yet understood nothing of what it meant.
Then — soft footsteps.
He turned to see Lumia standing in the doorway.
Lumia:
"Brother! You're awake! I was so worried."
Yakoya's heart slowed. He was home.
But the unease didn't fade. There was something in Lumia's eyes — something that made him wonder if she, too, had felt… something.
Yakoya (quietly):
"Did… anything strange happen?"
Lumia (frowning):
"What do you mean? Are you okay? You look pale."
He closed his eyes, trying to make sense of it all. Was it a dream? A hallucination? Or something far beyond understanding?
After a pause, he spoke softly:
Yakoya:
"Nothing… I'm just tired. I'll rest for a while."
He lay back down, but peace didn't come.
Though he had returned to his own body, the questions still clung to him — silent and heavy.
And deep inside, a whisper echoed through his mind:
You may have left her world… but her pain is still with you.
Meanwhile...
Mitsuko woke with a start. Her first instinct was relief — the weight on her chest, gone.
She touched her face and smiled faintly. She was back.
But that smile faded when she caught sight of herself in the mirror.
A bruise beneath her lip. A bandage on her cheek. Her eyes widened in disbelief.
The door opened quietly.
Her grandmother entered, her face soft with concern.
Grandmother:
"What happened to your face, dear?"
Mitsuko (shaken):
"M–my face?"
Her fingers trembled as they brushed the bandage. The bruise was real.
A chill ran through her — part fear, part confusion. She said nothing, only smiled faintly as her grandmother approached.
But deep down… something told her that what had happened wasn't just a dream.