Shattered Reality

Isn't it weird how so many versions of you exist in people's minds? Some know you as the shy person who doesn't talk, some see you as the annoying person who won't shut up, some see you as cold and mean, and others find you caring and kind. The gist is that the person you think of as yourself exists only for you. Every person you meet, have a relationship with, or even make eye contact with creates a version of you, and there are a thousand different versions of yourself out there in people's minds. I'm not a philosopher or anything, but when people already have preconceived notions about you from your first encounter, it can be bothersome. And I'm speaking from experience. I learned from a young age how disappointing and useless life can be. One fact ingrained into my mind: someone will always be better than you, no matter how much effort you put in. Whether it was thinking I was the best at math because of doting parents or running in a track meet only to always get second place to someone who never trained yet was always better—knowing this made me give up on any dreams or goals. I could feel my excitement towards new things waning, and I found competing with others pointless. Even if I beat them, there would always be someone better. It might be a defeatist philosophy, but I don't want to argue and hear how I'm lazy or pathetic.

Nowadays, I spend most of my time reading novels and watching anime. Seeing people chase their dreams and succeed is refreshing—especially since I don't have any, knowing I would never succeed even if I tried. Now, I'm just going through the motions.

After another repetitive day at school, I walked a few blocks toward my house at the end of the street after being dropped off by the bus. My weekdays were a monotonous routine: wake up, go to school, finish school, watch TV, and repeat. I guess you could say I'm the definition of a loner. Whenever someone tries to talk to me, I give short responses and avoid further interaction. At lunch, I sit in secluded spots specifically to avoid people. What can I say? I'm a textbook introvert.

I hadn't grown up with any major troubles. My parents were perfectly balanced—not too strict, not too lax. Because of this, I became the epitome of an introvert. I wasn't forced to go out often, and when I was, I always brought a distraction, whether it was a phone or a book. I never got homework because I always finished it at school. Despite never studying, I consistently earned high B's, so there was never a sense of stress. I avoided anything that seemed like hard work. As a result, I had no hopes, no dreams, nothing to look forward to. My parents told me to find a job, but I couldn't find anything I wanted to do.

Despite this, the strange thing was that I was extremely competitive. Not that I challenged others, but if they challenged me—whether it was sports or video games—I would do everything I could to crush them.

Walking up the stairs to my bedroom, my mind was tired. Slowly pulling back the curtain I used as a makeshift door, my eyes scanned my bookshelves filled with comics and manga, mostly fantasy-oriented. I didn't have the energy to read right now.

With a slow saunter to the foot of my bed, I closed my eyes, held out my arms horizontally, and prepared to flop onto my mattress.

Then, panic gripped me.

I don't even know how to describe it. It was like my soul—or consciousness—was being pulled outside my body. All sensations ceased to exist, yet I was still thinking. It felt like I was falling for an eternity, then—

SLAM.

The sensation of regaining my lost senses hit all at once.

Is this a stroke?

Bludgeoning pain shot through my lower back. My head throbbed like it had been struck by lightning—tingling, aching—

And then everything went dark.

I woke up in a cold sweat, not knowing why I suddenly felt pain all over my body. The room that I was in could only be described as royal, with lavish decorations like sculptures and paintings placed all around. Beside me, on the nearby bedside table, there were flowers and fruit, such as grapes and things you would see in an ancient Greek movie, as well as a hand mirror and sunglasses, which seemed really out of place for the genre. On the right, half on the bed, a dorky-looking young man with yellow-blond hair was drooling in his sleep, dressed in a white shirt embroidered with gold sleeves. He had a small stature and looked like he hadn't yet hit puberty. He wore Harry Potter-style glasses.

Confused by the absurdity of this situation, I accidentally let out a weird noise from the back of my throat.

"Agfhugh!"

Immediately, the young man shot up straight like a spring.

"Valkesh duhra! Xin'to frelka! Jiyah veru'dan! Kreshna, kreshna!"

Making a bunch of excited noises that sounded like gibberish, from what I could understand, he was thrilled that I was awake.

"…"

I clearly can't communicate with this guy, so I just stared at him blankly. Blondie seemed to remember something and looked at me with a sad expression. His face was filled with a mix of depression and annoyance. He clearly forced a smile and handed me a piece of fruit from the bedside table. It looked like a Granny Smith apple. He then quickly walked out.

It was now time I tried to make sense of my situation. If I narrate to myself, it might make more sense.

"Okay, I am currently in a fancy room that is not mine, with someone in 1700s-looking PJs who doesn't speak English…"

"What the hell happened?"

I tried to get up from the bed, but my legs wouldn't move. Panicking, I started to hyperventilate.

"I am dreaming. I am dreaming. I am dreaming. I am dreaming," repeating this religiously, I felt my breathing stabilizing.

"Unless this is some isekai-type shit, I am definitely dreaming."

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized this wasn't a dream for two reasons. First, everything I was seeing and feeling was too real. Second, when you realize you are in a dream, one of two things happens: you either wake up, or you can use your imagination to do whatever you want, and clearly, being crippled was not my preferred fantasy.

"So… this is real, not a dream," I said firmly. But how did I get here? When I was unconscious, I tried to recall my last memories—I went to fall on my bed, then…

It clicked. I was falling for too long and felt a lot of pain in my lower back. I tried to get out of bed and couldn't move. My legs wouldn't move. It was then that I felt the most fear I had ever experienced in my entire life.

"Am I paralyzed from the waist down? And if so, how did I injure myself?" I asked myself aloud. I reached beneath the covers with my right hand and squeezed my thigh. I felt nothing.

Just before I could start crying, I heard a masculine voice inside my head. That gave me a weird sense of déjà vu.

"Oh, you are finally awake."

My mind suddenly blanked. "What are you?" I shouted out loud, my voice tinged with fear and anger that I didn't know I had. It sounded almost subconscious.

As soon as I said that, the voice responded as if amused, "Do you want to seem crazy? Think what you want to say, and I'll hear it."

I realized my mistake and instantly quieted down. If other people hear me talk to myself, that would probably already make my situation worse. "What are you?" I thought.

Responding in a joking tone, the voice quipped back, "I'm the strongest person you will ever meet…" the voice took on a more serious and sincere tone. "and the only one you can trust"

Ignoring the absurdity of this situation, I decided to milk this voice for info. "So, you can speak English? Do you know what the hell is going on?" My tone was excessively aggressive. I probably should have been nicer since, for all I know, it's the only one I can communicate with, but I hate pleasantries.

The voice responded calmly, "Yes, I'll give you a basic rundown. You are currently in a hospital. Look in a mirror, and you'll figure the rest out," the voice said.

I suddenly felt an urge to attack the figure in my head. "I don't know if you realize, but I can't move my legs to a mirror." Feeling a sudden wave of embarrassment, I remembered previously seeing the hand mirror on the side of the bed.

The voice slowly responded as if remembering, "Ah, yes, well… that's part of my point. If you look at your arms, you'll find that they're more muscular, and if you look at your face, you'll realize your hair is longer. That's my fault—I really should have cut it sooner. Sorry."

I felt for my dirty blonde hair, which was indeed longer, and—was that a streak of silver? I looked at the side of the bed to the bedside table and found a gold hand mirror. Leaning over and pulling it to my face, I saw my reflection. My face was exactly the same, but the hair that covered it was so long that I could've probably been mistaken for a girl. Part of my bangs was silver. I'm not even that old. My eyes, which were supposed to be hazel green, had a silver tint to them, as if they were shining from within. And if that wasn't enough, I also realized I was wearing someone else's clothes. Not my usual t-shirt and sweatpants—my clothes were quite similar to Blondie's PJs.

A new realization started to dawn on me. My many hours of reading transmigration novels kicked in and painted me a conclusion. "Wait, did I take your body? If I did, I swear it wasn't on purpose, so don't expect me to apologize."

"…"

The drawn-out silence was abruptly ended when I heard strange noises.

"Pbffff hahahahahahhhh, you are so cute, you little tsundere."

Someone called me cute?

"That sounds kinda gay when said by a dude, so please never call me cute."

"Haha, technically, you are talking to yourself, so it would be narcissistic, but if you don't want your Big brother to call you that, I won't."

Big brother?

"Are you saying that you are me?" I was getting more annoyed at this voice for not answering anything and leaving me with more questions.

"Oh, right, you need to relearn the language. This is annoying." The Voice suddenly sounded like it put me on hold.

Suddenly, it felt like my brain was on fire.

"ArghhhhhhhAHHHHHHH!"

 I could only grab the sides of my head as if trying to crush the pain as information poured in too quickly. It felt like I was downloading data directly into my brain, like a computer. After what felt like an eternity, the pain suddenly stopped. When I tried to speak, I knew what I was saying, but I didn't recognize it.

"What language is this?" I asked in bewilderment.

"You can think of it as the common language here, and without it, it would be pretty hard to survive. Or it would be if you weren't you. I'll be back soon." His voice took an abrupt shift, as if talking about someone he despised. "Your big bro has to deal with someone meddling." His voice then changed to something more thoughtful.

"Here's some advice from your big bro. I made quite a reputation for myself, so only bigshots and idiots will go after you. So bluff—hide yourself behind a mask of malevolence. Act cocky—heck, you deserve to. That way, you won't get hurt. If you feel like you need help, I'll switch with you. I won't let anyone hurt you."

"..."

"Stay safe… I need to give you a pet name, give me three options when I come back."

I could feel whatever connection between us disappear like a hung-up phone.

This (big bro) was a slightly goofy character. He was definitely annoying and arrogant. Something about him felt broken, empty, and alone, which confused me. He seemed very similar to someone that I knew but couldn't quite place. But why is he in my head? Usually, in novels, souls merge, or the MC would slowly gain his counterpart's memories, but I would never think he would be a backseat driver and would be happy that I am taking his body. It felt like his fondness only extended to me. He really was treating me like a little brother. Not that I would know, since I am an only child, but I always wanted a sibling.

Wait…

He better not be happy that I'm in the driver's seat cause his body's crippled, right?

THAT BASTARD!