Chapter 5: Going home 

"Are you sure Takumi, ready to be discharged, isn't kinda soon." worried laced in the voice.

Dr. Sakura leaned back in her seat, her relaxed posture contrasting the tension etched across Tatsumi's face. She smiled, an easygoing expression that seemed to diffuse the weight of the conversation.

"It's true," she began, tapping a pen lightly against her notepad. "This is faster than we initially projected. Not only has Takumi healed remarkably well, but his commitment to his own recovery has far exceeded our expectations. All that boy wants is get the hell out of this hospital."

Her smirk deepened as she glanced at Shoko, Takumi's mother, who was staring out the office window, her hands clenched tightly against her abdomen. "Miss Kage, is Takumi still out for his noon run?"

"Run?" Tatsumi interjected, his voice rising with alarm before Shoko could respond.

Dr. Sakura chuckled, clearly amused by the protective father's reaction. "Relax, Mr. Kage. Look for yourself."

She rose from her chair and joined Shoko by the window, gesturing for Tatsumi to follow. The three of them peered through the glass, their eyes settling on the courtyard below.

There, a young boy darted across the gravel path with surprising speed. His dirty blonde hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat. Each stride was steady and purposeful, his movements a testament to sheer willpower. His dull grey eyes, once lifeless and unfocused, now burned with quiet determination as he pushed himself forward, step by step.

"That," Dr. Sakura said, her voice soft but firm, "is why I'm confident about discharging him. The fact that he's able to run, let alone walk unaided, speaks volumes about his recovery."

"But is it really safe for him to go so fast?" Shoko asked, her voice edged with worry.

"No need to worry," Dr. Sakura reassured her. "Nurse Rumi is out there with him. The moment he crossed the beam on his own, he insisted on running. We figured it was safer to supervise him rather than fight his stubborn streak." Her tone playful with a hint of sarcasm.

Down in the courtyard, Nurse Rumi called out, "Alright, Takumi, that's thirty minutes! How're you feeling?"

Takumi slowed to a stop, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. His body glistened with sweat, evidence of his exertion.

He walked over to Nurse Rumi, who handed him a water bottle. He tilted it back, gulping greedily as water dripped down his chin, tracing the faint line of his jaw before catching on the curve of his forming Adam's apple.

"It was better," Takumi managed between breaths. "I didn't feel as tired, and I also didn't up my speed, I can go faster."

"Patient! geez, don't let this fluke of a recovery get to your head. Your body is still recovering" Nurse Rumi snared, her tone light, "learn to pace yourself and the result will come without injury."

Takumi didn't respond. Instead, his gaze drifted to Rumi's left forearm, which was wrapped in a light cast.

"How's your arm, Nurse Rumi?" he asked, his voice low but laced with genuine concern.

Rumi waved him off with a grin. "It's fine. I wouldn't be out here if it wasn't. But hey, since it's your last day, you should sign it."

"Um..." Takumi hesitated, unsure.

"Oh, come on," she pleaded, shaking the cast in front of him. He rejected the office but nurse Rumi could be surprisingly stubborn.

"Fine," he relented with a sigh, his lips twitching into a reluctant frown.

Rumi grinned as she handed him a marker. Watching him sign, her thoughts wandered. He's changed, she mused, an unconscious smile softening her face.

"What are you smiling about?" Takumi asked, his brow furrowing. "Why are you so happy?"

Rumi burst out laughing, and Takumi, caught off guard, shook his head in exasperation.

This wasn't the same boy from six weeks ago. Once frail and ghostly pale, Takumi now looked healthier, stronger. Though still skinny he's not that far for being slim, he'd gained ten pounds, the faint outlines of muscle beginning to show on his arms and legs. His complexion had warmed from sickly pallor to a fairer tone, thanks to his increasing time outdoors.

Dr. Sakura's words echoed in Tatsumi's mind as he watched his son from the window: "The fact that he's even able to walk, let alone run, is a testament to his willpower."

" so when can we leave" shoko ask. A smile escape her lip proud and relieved. Doctor Sakura pick up a files of paper and handed it to the parents.

" just fill out these paper and we can discharge as soon as he gets cleaned up."

I was finally saying goodbye to the hospital. Honestly? I wasn't going to miss it. But… it had its moments. Even if the walls sometimes closed in like a prison rather than a recovery room.

"You ready, Takumi?"

My eyes shifted from the building, the one I had stared at far too long back to her. My mom… or, well, this world's mom. Her eyes locked with mine, and I could see it. That raw, unfiltered affection. The kind only a mother could have for her son. It twisted something inside me. She loved this body, this boy, with every fiber of her being. But that boy wasn't me.

I couldn't tell her, though. I wouldn't. Why ruin that fragile bliss she had? Her son was coming home, and she didn't deserve the truth that would shatter that.

"You have no idea," I replied.

Sliding into the backseat, I watched her take her place behind the wheel while my dad, this world's dad settled into the passenger seat. The car smelled faintly of lavender and leather, clean and comforting. The ride was mostly quiet, save for the questions they peppered me with, the ones I half-answered with a polite indifference. I didn't care about the hospital food or whether I liked the nurses. I just wanted to see what was waiting for me. I just wanted to get started. To get into border.

When we finally pulled into the driveway, my first thought was, they're doing well for themselves.

The house wasn't massive, but it was more than respectable. Three stories, sleek black and brown tones that gave it a modern yet earthy vibe, and a two-car garage that seamlessly blended with the design. The lawn was immaculate, the kind you'd see in a real estate ad. The wooden stairs leading to the door were freshly stained, flanked by neat gravel paths that added a nice touch. It was… homey. Not mine, but I could see how it could be for someone else.

"Taken aback by the house, huh?" my dad teased, glancing back at me with a knowing smirk.

"I didn't think you two were doing this well," I replied, keeping my face neutral.

"Well, we worked hard for it. This is our forever home," my mom chimed in, her voice brimming with pride.

She paused for a moment, then added, "But you know, this forever home's been missing something."

"What? It seems fine to me," I said, raising an eyebrow.

"You!" she practically squealed, pulling me into a tight hug before I could even react.

I froze. The warmth of her arms was suffocating, and the enthusiasm radiating off her was almost too much. "So… we're not asking for permission anymore?" I deadpanned, my voice cutting through the moment like a knife.

Her cheeks flushed red as she pulled back, her arms retreating awkwardly. "Sorry, Takumi," she mumbled. "I just got so excited that you're finally home. Awake. Healthy. I couldn't help myself."

She looked so genuinely apologetic that I sighed, letting my guard down slightly. One of the first conversations we had when I woke up was about boundaries, especially when it came to physical affection. She'd been trying her best to respect them.

"Just don't make it a habit," I muttered, brushing it off.

"Of course," she promised, her smile returning, albeit smaller this time.

"You're probably tired," my dad chimed in, steering the conversation away from the awkwardness. "Eight months in a hospital bed… How about a real mattress for a change?"

That? That got my attention. My eyes lit up, a flicker of something I hadn't felt in a while, satisfaction. "I would like that," I said, my voice quieter, more sincere. "A lot."

I stepped inside, and the warmth of the place wrapped around me like a heavy blanket I didn't ask for. The walls were lined with photos, smiling faces, laughter frozen in time. Faces that weren't mine but were supposed to be. They felt like a script I was supposed to learn, like I was walking into a play already in progress.

The furniture was practical, not flashy. Worn in just enough to feel inviting, like the couches were made for afternoon naps, not to impress guests. A coffee table sat in the middle of the living room, its surface scratched up in a way that hinted at years of real life kids' toys, cups of coffee, maybe a pet or two jumping up on it if I had to guess.

"This is your room," my mom said, leading me up the stairs to a door near the end of the hallway. 

I followed her in, and the first thing that hit me was how personal it felt. This wasn't just a room it was a time capsule. The boy who lived here before, the one whose body I was now borrowing, had left his mark on every corner.

Posters of intricate drawings covered the walls, animated characters, or fantasy worlds he'd dreamed of escaping to. Shelves crammed with books, some old and worn, others crisp and untouched. A skateboard hung above the bed, covered with self made sketches and notes that felt too private to look at too closely.

The color scheme was metallic blue and matte gray. Clean. Organized. But still alive in a way that made my chest ache a little.

"We left everything the same," my mom said, standing in the doorway, her voice soft like she was afraid of breaking something. "Just gave it a little clean."

I nodded, not trusting my voice yet. My eyes landed on a tank near the window, and I froze.

"You probably don't remember your pet," she said, her tone lightening as she tried to fill the silence. "Koi the koi fish. Original, right?"

That got a chuckle out of my dad, who had wandered in behind her. "He named it himself," he added with a shrug, like that explained everything.

But I wasn't listening. My attention was locked on the tank. The fish floated near the glass, its black body streaked with red gills. A sharp stripe of crimson cut across its eyes, giving it an almost eerie look.

It swam closer, its movements slow and deliberate, until it was face-to-face with me. We just stared at each other, the world around us fading out for a moment.

It didn't dart around like most fish would. It didn't seem confused or startled by my presence. It just… watched me.

"Strange little guy, isn't he?" my dad said, leaning in to take a look.

"Yeah," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. "Weird."

The tank was spotless, the water crystal clear. It was obvious someone had been taking care of it. The thought made my chest tighten. The boy who lived here before, me. must've really cared about this thing.

"You're lucky he made it," my mom said, her voice turning soft again. "I wasn't sure he'd be okay with you gone so long, but… here he is. Still waiting for you."

Waiting. The word echoed in my head, heavier than it should've been.

I tore my eyes away from the fish and nodded, forcing myself to focus on the room again. It wasn't mine, not really, but I guessed it was going to have to be.

I walked toward the bed, barely making it past the desk before I dropped my bags with a thud. They hit the floor, but I didn't even glance at them. All I wanted was the bed, to finally feel something soft beneath me that didn't scream "sterile."

The moment I hit the mattress, it was like the world let out a sigh with me. The sheets wrapped around me, soft and warm, and the faint scent of lavender replaced the chemical sting of hospital sanitizer that had clung to me for months. My body melted into the pillow, its softness cradling my head in a way that felt almost foreign.

I closed my eyes, taking slow, deliberate breaths, letting the rhythm of it settle something deep inside me. With every exhale, I felt a weight lift, one I hadn't even realized I was carrying. The oppressive heaviness that had been my constant companion since I woke up in that hospital finally started to fade, like smoke dissipating after a fire.

I felt… lighter.

But it wasn't just physical exhaustion I was shedding. It was something deeper, something harder to name. It wasn't about my body or the weeks spent recovering, forcing myself to get up and move when at times it felt pointless . No, this was something that sat deeper in my chest.

It was the kind of tired that comes from existing in a space where nothing feels like yours. The kind of exhaustion that creeps into your bones when you're pretending, pretending to remember, pretending to belong, pretending this life is mine when it's not.

I realized then just how tired I really was. Not just from the hospital, not just from pushing my body to heal. It was more than that. It was the weight of something I couldn't touch but could feel everywhere, a heaviness that wasn't going to disappear just because I was home now.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding and sank deeper into the bed, the rhythm of my breathing the only thing tethering me to the moment.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn't fighting anything. Not the memories I didn't have, not the strange new family trying so hard to welcome me, I was just… here. And for now, that was enough. And before I knew sleep took me away.

The aroma hit me first, subtle but impossible to ignore. My nostrils flared as I breathed it in, the scent wrapping itself around me. It was spicy, sharp, with a hint of something smoky. The kind of smell that prickles at the back of your throat and makes you imagine the sizzle of heat on your tongue before you've even taken a bite.

Next came the hollow ache in my stomach, an emptiness that grumbled its complaint loud enough for me to notice. Hunger hit me like a punch, raw and demanding, as if my body had just remembered it hadn't been fed anything worth savoring in months.

Then there was the sound.

It wasn't overwhelming or chaotic, not the kind of noise that would leave you feeling drained. But it wasn't peaceful either, not the soft coo of doves or the gentle rustle of leaves at dawn. No, this was something in between. It was alive.

Chatter floated through the air, punctuated by the occasional laugh. The clinking of dishes, the shuffle of footsteps, and the faint hum of a stove running in the background created a kind of rhythm. It was casual, warm, like the heartbeat of a place that had its own soul.

I awoke.

My mind was already on the move before my eyes opened. I lifted my face from the bed that seemed to cling to my sheets. Still unaware of what was going on it seemed that I had fallen asleep. Still fully cloth I got up from my bed and set my destination to the scent that woke me up.

I stepped out of my room, closing the door behind me with a soft click. The hallway was quiet, but the muffled sounds of life downstairs reached me. Laughter, casual conversation, the hum of voices blending together like a warm undercurrent.

As I made my way down the stairs, a yawn crept up on me, escaping my lips just as I hit the bottom step.

"Thank you, Daddy!" a young voice shouted, high-pitched and hurried.

Before I could even process it, a small figure came barreling toward me. The collision wasn't hard, but it was sudden, making me step back to steady myself. A startled squeal escaped her as she looked up at me, her eyes wide with panic that quickly melted into shock.

We locked eyes.

Her hair was onyx black, tied back in a low ponytail that framed her face, with bangs falling neatly over her forehead. But it was her eyes that stood out, bright emeralds, alive and flared with recognition .

For a moment, neither of us moved.

"Takumi?" she whispered, her voice trembling just a little, like she was afraid to believe it was me.

I nodded slowly, unsure of what to say. The way she looked at me, like I was some kind of ghost, made my chest tighten.

Her lips parted, and her whole face lit up with a mixture of relief and joy. "You're really home!"

I barely managed a nod again before she lunged at me, throwing her arms around my waist. It was a clumsy hug, full of all the energy and enthusiasm of a kid who didn't know the meaning of restraint.

"Whoa, hey," I said, my voice softer than I expected.

"You're really here," she mumbled into my shirt, her voice muffled but full of emotion.

I froze for a moment, my arms hovering awkwardly before I slowly patted her back. "Yeah… I'm here."

"So this is my sister." I thought

Her excitement was infectious, but it also felt heavy, like there was a weight behind it I wasn't ready to unpack.

"Okay, okay, don't suffocate him," another voice chimed in from the kitchen, playful but firm.

The girl pulled back, looking up at me with a grin so wide it almost didn't fit her face. "I missed you!"

I didn't know what to say to that, so I just nodded again, offering a small smile that felt more like a reflex than anything else. 

" You should go put that permission slip in your bag before you lose it plum." Our father voice broke through this moment.

" Oh yeah, you're staying here right yuyu?" My little sister asked. Her eyes full of hope.

"Where else would I go?" I replied, the words slipping out without much thought.

Her face lit up with a smile, one of those big, genuine ones that made it hard not to smile back, even just a little. She gave me a quick nod before turning and bolting up the stairs, her footsteps echoing as she disappeared.

"Take a seat, Takumi. Dinner's almost ready," my mom called out from the kitchen, her voice warm and inviting.

I wandered into the dining room, pulling out a chair at the table. It felt strange, sitting there, surrounded by pieces of a life I was still trying to fit into. My eyes drifted around the room, landing on my other sister.

"So, how does it feel to finally be out of the hospital?" she asked, her voice cutting through my thoughts.

I glanced at her, taking her in for a moment. She was the spitting image of our mom, just younger, with longer hair that flowed down her back. Her bangs framed her face, softening her sharp features in a way that made her look both familiar and distant.

"Better," I said with a shrug. "So… what's for dinner?"

"Pork barbecue with white rice and steamed vegetables," Mom chimed in as she moved around the kitchen, her voice carrying a hint of pride.

Dad was setting the table, placing plates and utensils with a kind of practiced ease, like this was his domain.

Before long, my little sister came bounding back down the stairs, sliding into her chair at the table with the energy only a kid her age could have.

The food was set, warm and fragrant, filling the air with a comforting aroma that made my stomach growl in anticipation. Everyone took their seats, the atmosphere shifting into something light and easy.

Miyu, my younger sister, dove headfirst into a rant about all the things I'd apparently missed. She talked fast, her words spilling out in a chaotic stream as she tried to catch me up on everything. School drama, family moments, random bits of news it was like she was trying to fill in the months of silence all at once.

The chatter around the table had been warm, filling the room like a soothing hum, with Mom and Dad throwing in their own anecdotes to complement Miyu's enthusiastic stories. Miyu's voice was the loudest, peppered with little interruptions and wild hand gestures. She was midway through telling us about her friends' latest escapades when Aiko's voice sliced through, quieter but loaded with intent.

"So, Takumi," she started, setting her chopsticks down and leaning forward just a bit. Her eyes locked onto mine, unflinching. "Do you… actually remember anything? About us?"

Her words sucked the air out of the room. It wasn't like she was trying to make it tense, but it happened anyway. I could feel the weight of their stares settle on me like a lead blanket.

I took my time, chewing on a piece of pork that suddenly felt like it might choke me. Stalling wouldn't help, but I needed a second. "Nothing," I said finally, my voice steady despite the knot in my stomach. "I mean, I know the basics of math, language, stuff like that but anything personal? It's like someone wiped the slate clean."

Aiko's lips pressed into a thin line, her expression unreadable, though her eyes betrayed something heavier. Guilt? Pain? Maybe both. "So you don't remember me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

I shook my head. The air felt thick, like the room itself was holding its breath.

"Well, I'm Miyu!" my little sister burst out, her energy breaking through the tension like a wrecking ball. She practically bounced in her seat, grinning from ear to ear. "I'm the fun one. Your favorite, obviously!"

"That sounds biased," I shot back, arching an eyebrow.

"Because it's true!" she declared, sticking out her tongue.

Aiko sighed, rubbing her temple like Miyu was physically giving her a headache. But then, with a small smile, she leaned into the game. "Well, I'm Aiko, your older sister. I'm the smart one, the best looking one, and, let's face it, the star of the family." Her smirk was sharp, but her tone was playful.

"Debatable," Miyu muttered, earning a sharp glare from Aiko.

Mom chuckled, shaking her head. "God, when did we raise you two to have such egos?"

"Right? You're not all that great, Aiko," Miyu shot back, crossing her arms with a triumphant grin. "You literally still sleep with a nightlight and your childhood blanket."

Aiko's face went red in an instant. "Shut up, Miyu!" she hissed, leaning over the table like she might strangle her little sister.

Miyu just laughed, leaning away dramatically. "Truth hurts, huh?"

The table broke into laughter, everyone's voices overlapping as Aiko fumed and Miyu reveled in her victory. I sat quietly, watching the scene unfold like an outsider looking in on a painting.

They were vibrant, this family. Alive in a way that made my chest ache. They were everything a family should be, messy, loving, and loud. I could see the history in their movements, the way they leaned into each other, the unspoken understanding in their banter.

And then there was me, a ghost haunting someone else's life.

As they laughed, I felt my mind drift back to Zebc, to the faces of my friends, my family, the real one. My chest tightened. I was here, safe, warm, surrounded by love, while they… they were gone.

The thought hit like a gut punch, souring the laughter around me.

"Are you okay, honey?" Mom's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts, soft and warm, pulling me back.

The question hung in the air, echoing in my head. Was I okay? No. I wasn't. How could I tell her that, though? How could I look this woman in the eyes and say, No, I'm not okay, because everything I've ever known, everyone I've ever loved, is gone. I'm standing here in your son's body, living a life that isn't mine, surrounded by love that I don't deserve.

I plastered on a smile that felt like it might crack under the pressure. "Yeah," I lied. "Everything's perfect."

The moment passed, the conversation picking up again like nothing had happened. The room filled with laughter and warmth, but I didn't join in. I just sat there, eating mechanically, watching this portrait of a family I was supposed to call my own.

One thought dug its claws into my mind, refusing to let go.

This isn't my family. Aftokrater took them. And this? This is only the beginning. My solace lies in my revenge.