Chapter 1: The Thought That Shouldn’t Have Been

A House That Never Slept

The house was never quiet.

With eight people living under one roof, silence was a foreign concept in the Aoyama household. Mornings were filled with the clatter of plates, the hum of a television broadcasting morning news, and the occasional wailing of his two-year-old cousin, who had no sense of time or patience.

Renji Aoyama sat at the dining table, nursing a cup of black coffee. He didn't particularly like it, but he drank it anyway—because somewhere in the back of his mind, he had convinced himself that successful people drank their coffee black.

His younger brother, Riku, was already deep in his textbooks, underlining notes with an intensity that made Renji's own laziness feel more apparent. His father occasionally glanced over at them, offering the usual morning commentary.

"Renji, eat something," his mother said, setting a plate of tamagoyaki in front of him.

"Not hungry," he muttered, nudging the plate away slightly.

"You always skip breakfast. No wonder you don't have the energy to keep up with Riku," his father sighed.

That was the usual comparison.

Renji didn't hate his family. He didn't even resent them for their expectations. He just… didn't feel connected to them. He could talk to them just fine, laugh with them when necessary, but deep down, he was emotionally detached—an outsider in his own home.

His grandmother smiled at him. "Renji is smart in his own way. He just has his own pace."

That was the usual defense. Smart but unremarkable. Talented but inconsistent.

Renji didn't argue. He never did.

---

The School That Never Changed

School was routine.

Renji arrived just before the bell, walking with his hands in his pockets, half-listening to the conversations around him.

His friends—if they could be called that—were waiting for him. The strange thing about their group was that they weren't really friends with each other. They all had different personalities, different goals, different ways of living. The only thing that connected them was him.

Shun was the effortless charmer, the kind of guy who could talk his way into anything. Teachers either loved or hated him.

Haruto was the top student in their year, the definition of discipline and focus. He had no patience for nonsense.

Kazuya was the athlete, obsessed with self-improvement, constantly training to be better than the day before.

Renji was none of those things. He wasn't bad at anything, but he wasn't great either.

"You look half-dead," Shun said, slapping Renji on the back.

"Didn't sleep much," Renji muttered.

"Overthinking again?" Haruto asked without looking up from his notes.

Renji smirked slightly but didn't deny it. Last night, it hadn't been an existential crisis that kept him up.

It had been a movie.

A blind girl with dissociative identity disorder had developed an alternate personality that could see. The idea had fascinated him. Not the horror of it, not the tragedy—but the concept itself.

Could the human mind override its own limits? Could a person create a version of themselves that was better?

The thought stayed with him all day.

What if he could do the same?

---

The First Attempt

That night, Renji sat alone in his room, his laptop open, dim light reflecting off his glasses. His research had started simple—articles about dissociative identity disorder, psychology forums, real-life cases. He skimmed through them all, looking for something specific.

Most cases involved trauma. People created alternate personalities to protect themselves.

But what if someone did it on purpose?

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple.

What does my ideal self look like?

Someone with his face, but sharper eyes. Someone who didn't hesitate. Someone who didn't get bored and quit halfway through things.

"You exist," Renji whispered to the empty room. "You're inside me. Wake up."

Nothing happened.

Of course, nothing happened.

With an irritated sigh, he shut his laptop and fell onto his bed. Maybe this was just another one of his passing obsessions—like that time he thought he'd master chess in a month, or when he tried to build a perfect gym routine but quit after two weeks.

As his thoughts drifted, sleep finally started creeping in.

Then—

"You shouldn't give up so easily, you know."

Renji's eyes snapped open.

For a second, he was completely awake. He sat up in bed, his breathing steady but his heartbeat slightly faster.

Had someone spoken just now?

His room was silent except for the faint ticking of his desk clock.

He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head.

He must have imagined it.

Right?

---

End of Chapter 1