Chapter 1
Chapter 1 — The Girl Who Was Supposed to Die
“A young woman was found dead in her apartment in the Meguro district tonight. Police are still investigating the cause of death. The victim has been identified as Yumeko Kisaragi, twenty-four years old.”
The news anchor’s voice lingered in the air like cheap cigarette smoke—cold, detached, utterly devoid of sympathy. The small television mounted in the corner of the ramen shop flickered weakly beneath the buzzing neon lights. Outside, the rain had faded into a thin drizzle clinging to the windows like tears too stubborn to fall.
Yumeko Kisaragi stood frozen.
Coldness crept upward from the soles of her bare feet. In her left hand, she still held a bowl of ramen gone lukewarm, faint steam curling upward like a reluctant spirit refusing to leave. Around her, the other customers remained hunched over their meals, slurping noodles as though the world had not just announced someone’s death.
My death.
The thought slid into her chest like a blade pushed in slowly. Yumeko stared at the television longer, trying to reconcile the name she had heard with herself.
Yumeko Kisaragi.Twenty-four years old.Apartment in Meguro.
Everything matched.
Too perfectly.
And yet she was standing here. Breathing. Feeling the frantic pulse hammering in her throat.
If I’m dead… then who the hell is standing here holding this damn bowl of ramen?
Her trembling hands lowered the bowl onto the counter. The scent of salty broth and sesame oil—usually comforting—now smelled like smoke from a funeral pyre. She stepped backward, bumping into a chair hard enough for it to screech across the floor. A few people glanced up briefly before returning to their food.
Yumeko shoved the shop door open.
Tokyo’s damp night air swallowed her whole, carrying the scent of wet asphalt and flickering neon signs. She walked aimlessly, her bare feet numb against the cold pavement.
When had she taken off her shoes?
Why couldn’t she remember?
The farther she walked, the blurrier her memories became.
A balcony.Spring wind.A cup of coffee gone cold.
Then—
A violent shove.
The sky flipping upside down.
Wind screaming in her ears.
Darkness devouring everything.
So this is what dying feels like, she thought bitterly. No white light. No angels. Just ramen and irritating late-night news.
But death was not supposed to hurt this much.
A tightness twisted inside her chest, as though an invisible string were pulling her somewhere far away. Every step felt heavy, as if her body no longer entirely belonged to her.
She stopped in front of a dark storefront window.
The reflection staring back at her was unfamiliar.
Longer hair.Slimmer shoulders.A face that was—
Not hers.
Yumeko touched her cheek. The girl in the reflection mirrored the motion exactly.
“What the hell…?” she whispered.
Even her voice sounded wrong—lower, softer, touched by an unfamiliar accent.
Pain throbbed behind her eyes. The world tilted violently. Pressing a hand against her temple, she fought the sudden wave of nausea threatening to drag her under.
Fragments of memories that did not belong to her seeped into her mind like whispers in the dark.
A luxurious bedroom.Towering ceilings.The suffocating scent of expensive perfume.
And beneath it all—
The overwhelming certainty that she had never been wanted there.
Yumeko stumbled.
Her knees hit the pavement hard as rain began falling again, soaking through her long black hair.
This isn’t a dream. Dreams aren’t supposed to hurt like this.
Then darkness swallowed her once more.
When consciousness returned, the first thing she felt was softness.
Far too soft.
Cold silk brushed against the bare skin of her shoulders. The air smelled of polished wood, metal, and something sharp beneath it all—something faintly reminiscent of iron.
Yumeko slowly opened her eyes.
Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead, their light blinding enough to make her squint.
This was not her tiny apartment in Meguro.
This wasn’t even Tokyo.
The room was vast, shadowed, and suffocatingly elegant. Dark wooden walls carved with intricate patterns loomed around her, ancient and expensive. Tall windows were hidden behind thick burgundy curtains. The king-sized bed beneath her felt large enough to drown in.
Yumeko sat up slowly.
Her body felt light.
Foreign.
Her limbs obeyed her, but with a strange delay that unsettled her deeply. She raised her hand in front of her face.
Long fingers.Perfectly manicured nails.
Not the rough hands she had earned from endless hours typing in front of an office computer.
“Who…” she murmured weakly. “Who is this?”
She climbed out of bed. A white silk nightgown slid smoothly across her skin as her feet sank into thick carpet that swallowed every sound.
Every movement felt watched.
As if the room itself had eyes.
The enormous mirror above the vanity waited for her like the entrance to a private hell.
Yumeko stopped in front of it.
The girl staring back possessed a cold, breathtaking beauty—high cheekbones, full lips, and dark eyes sharpened by constant vigilance. Long black hair cascaded down to her waist.
She touched that unfamiliar face.
Cold.
Beautiful.
Not hers.
Okay, calm down, Yumeko. This has to be some nightmare caused by binge-watching too many Korean dramas. Or maybe I’m in a coma and my brain is writing bizarre fanfiction.
But the ache in her chest felt too real.
That suffocating tightness grew stronger, as though something inside her was desperately trying to call out to someone.
She closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe.
More foreign memories surged through her mind—faces she did not recognize, lavish halls drenched in luxury, mocking laughter echoing through endless corridors…
And the silhouette of a tall man with eyes capable of killing.
Yumeko shook her head violently.
No. Don’t think too hard about it. If I think too hard, I’m going to lose my mind.
Soft footsteps echoed from beyond the bedroom door.
Yumeko stiffened instantly.
She hurried back to bed, pulling the blanket to her chest and forcing herself to appear weak and freshly awakened.
The door opened without a knock.
A middle-aged maid entered carrying a silver tray. The moment she saw Yumeko awake, her expression shifted.
Shock.
Then something dangerously close to fear.
“Miss… you’re awake,” the woman said carefully, her voice thin as though she were walking across shattered glass. “We feared you might not wake tonight.”
Yumeko forced a faint smile.
“I’m… fine.”
The maid set the tray beside the bed. Steam curled from a porcelain teacup carrying the scent of lavender mixed with something bitter. She glanced at Yumeko briefly before lowering her gaze again.
“Lord will be arriving tonight,” she whispered. “For dinner. He… requested your presence.”
Lord.
The word lingered in the air like a death sentence.
The tightness in Yumeko’s chest worsened instantly. Heat crawled up her spine to the back of her neck before vanishing just as quickly.
She bit the inside of her cheek.
Lord who? A father? A boss? An executioner? Why does that word sound like a warning?
“Understood,” Yumeko replied evenly, despite the panic screaming inside her head. “I’ll be ready.”
The maid nodded quickly and stepped toward the door. Before leaving, she hesitated.
“Miss… please be careful tonight.”
The door closed with a quiet click.
Yumeko stared at it for a long moment.
The room suddenly felt darker.
She rose again and walked toward the window, pulling the curtain aside just enough to peek outside.
An unfamiliar city glittered beneath the rain-soaked night.
Not Tokyo.
These buildings were taller. Colder. Crueler.
Skyscrapers pierced the darkness like the fangs of some enormous beast.
New York?
The thought surfaced instinctively. She had no idea how she knew, yet it felt undeniably correct.
Yumeko let the curtain fall shut again.
Her heartbeat thundered violently in her chest.
Returning to the mirror, she stared intensely at the unfamiliar girl reflected there.
“Who are you really?” she whispered. “And why do I feel like… you were supposed to be dead?”
A faint smile curved across the girl’s lips.
Not Yumeko’s smile.
Something colder.
Sharper.
Far more dangerous.
Yumeko stepped back instinctively.
Outside the room, heavy footsteps echoed through the corridor.
Steady.
Unhurried.
Powerful.
Every step sounded like the ticking of a clock counting down toward something inevitable.
She swallowed hard.
The heat in her chest returned again—stronger this time.
As though something inside her had awakened.
Something that longed for the owner of those footsteps.
Or feared him.
Wonderful, Yumeko thought dryly, wrapping her arms around herself. I wake up in another person’s body, and now there’s already some mysterious “Lord” coming for dinner. This feels like a cheap drama, except I’m the unlucky replacement victim.
She inhaled slowly.
Tonight had only just begun.
And she had the terrible feeling that the man approaching her bedroom door was not someone she could ever escape from.
The footsteps stopped directly outside.
Yumeko stared at the doorknob as it slowly began to turn.
To Be Continued...
