What an Idiot

The second time Zeke woke up, he realized sleeping on broken glass wasn't the best idea. He could feel little needles of discomfort all across his body, and when he started rising off of the shards that prodded at his sides, he left trickles of blood.

"My head's killing me..." he groaned, rubbing his bruised face as he stood, tiny pebble-like chunks of glass digging into his feet. He winced, wondering what kind of idiot broke a mirror while barefoot, before glancing at the shards splattered across the ground.

"Who the hell am I," he wondered, touching the cut on his cheek and various injuries all over his skin. Shaggy lacquer brown hair and strikingly light aqua eyes. His fingers grazed the dark black and yellow bruise around his neck before slipping the broken rope off as he inspected the area. It immediately started bleeding, and he had to stop touching it.

"This sucks." He murmured, crouching on broken glass as he reached into the bottom cabinet. Searching for bandages or something else to hide the wound.

Nothing. Shocker.

"Thanks a lot, dude," Zeke muttered to whoever this had been. Walking out of the bathroom with bits of glass still digging into his foot, he was greeted with a single-room apartment. Damp and dark, lights turned off, and messy everywhere. The only thing of note was a crappy TV in the corner, a bed that hadn't been made in years, a depressing kitchen with half-eaten cereal, and a backpack and a bag of clothes to the side with some laminated bird insignia on it. 

There were also a bunch of crumpled bandaged and worn-out medical supplies in the bedside drawer, which meant that whoever this was didn't feel the need to stash his meds—probably because he was using them so often, it would've been a waste. 

"Your place sucks." Zeke talked to whoever he was living in. He didn't know if they could listen, or if this was some dream before he crossed the iron gates, but right now, his everything hurt, and the less he bled out of his feet, the better. 

Zeke walked towards his bed, his steps quickly turning into a sad limp as he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed. Keeping his bloody feet well off the ground, he reached over to the used medkit and opened it, seeing half a roll of bandages, a dozen or so used ones, and a mountain of used bandaids. Zeke nearly cursed at the sight. 

"I should've checked where he kept his makeup, " he grumbled, touching the bruises along his neck and finally noticing something rubbing against his torso. He peeked under the collar of his white shirt, spotting more bandages, smothering the bruises along his ribs and stomach.

"You idiot..." Zeke clicked his tongue. The dude wasted so many bandages for bruises no one could see. He had a shirt for a reason. If it didn't bleed through, just leave it or get a darker shirt. Dumbass. 

"If you're gonna use all this shit, at least use it right," Zeke huffed as he took the last roll of bandages and started wrapping around his arms and fingers. Ignoring the bruises and cuts on his face, he could play those off well enough. He wrapped the blotches on his neck. 

"Finally," Zeke sighed as he finished the last roll, tossing the carcass into the first aid box. He looked at his feet and began picking the glasses from his skin. Cursing whenever he pricked a nerve or got blood on the fingers he'd just bandaged, he freed his right foot from the canvas of glass bits stuck in it and moved onto the left. 

It took about half an hour to get his feet free of any glass, but in the end, he let his feet hang over the edge of the bed, a few inches from the ground, and sighed. "Really could've used those extra bandages right about now."

The bottom of his feet felt sticky and sensitive, and it would sting whenever he decided to walk, but no one could handle the soles of his feet, so he wouldn't prioritize finding more bandages for it. Maybe he'd see if this dude had a clean towel or something. 

"Sandals would be nice, too," Zeke murmured as he glanced at the bag of clothes by the door. He saw some old, tattered, deep red boots tossed to the side, socks, a black tracksuit, and a lot of white shirts and jeans. Whoever this was seemed to have had a style and stuck to it. 

And considering that the white T-shirt Zeke was wearing had tiny red dots blooming across it, courtesy of the glass that had pricked his sides, he was about to adopt it. 

"Sandals are for suckers, I guess." Zeke sighed as he got off the bed, biting back a hiss as his foot stuck to the ground like glue, and made his way toward the bag of clothes. Dragging it back to the bed and the backpack in case anything interesting was in it, he tossed it at the foot of the bed and searched both. Nearly celebrating when he found a fresh roll of bandages in the front pocket of the backpack, still packaged from the store. 

Zeke tore open the package and wrapped his side so it wouldn't bleed through more shirts. He nearly wrapped his feet, too, before deciding against it. 

"I don't need to go anywhere," He said, pocketing the roll and slipping off his old shirt for a new one. "Or at least I don't think I do."

Maybe he would in a little bit, but considering he didn't know who he was or where he was at. Or if he was dead or not, he decided leaving this shitty apartment wasn't his priority. 

"Now, who are you?" Zeke murmured as he searched the rest of the backpack. He found a wallet and a crusty old laptop—goldmines. He pulled out the kid's ID immediately and stopped. He tilted his head, blinking quietly, as he read the description at the top. It was a student ID. 

"Student of... Voxx Academy?" Zeke wondered, "Where the fuck is that?"

He'd never heard of it. At least not in the US. Who even uses the word Academy these days? 

"Was he a prep student?" Zeke wondered as he scanned the rest of the ID. The standard stuff was there. 

Name: Jay Haze

Age: 16

Program: Year 1 Student

Picture: (Provided)

And the less standard stuff was also there—downright cultish shit. 

Height: 177.3 centimeters

Weight: 154 lbs

Blood Type: O-

Eye color: Light Aquamarine

Hair color: Brown

Potential: D+

School Rank: 1920/2372

Registered Weapon: Spear

Status: Awakened

Zeke looked at the ID, flipped it over to see if it was fake, saw that it had an expiration date of fucking 2075, and tossed it to the side. 

That was the worst fake ID he'd ever seen in his life. 

"No wonder Jay killed himself," He said as he checked the laptop next, only to see a passcode. He scowled and threw the computer back in the bag. 

"Great," He frowned as he scratched his head, "Now what."

Now, nothing, apparently, because he was in someone else's body. With no clues except some fake ID that wasn't worth shit, and a computer he couldn't even use. 

"Am I in Purgatory or something?" He wondered as he reached for the remote, and his brain stumbled upon a random, near-forgotten memory of a light novel he'd read in high school. One of the hundreds he'd poured through in his I need an escape fantasy phase, where the MC was strong as fuck, and the world was built on the backs of Guilds, Heroes, Monsters, and Demons.

"Maybe this is what I get," Zeke snorted aloud as he grabbed the remote and pointed it at the TV. "Forced to wake up in a shitty apartment and wonder how anyone could make such a crappy fake ID."

It was stupid, so stupid. Expires 2075? The only way that fake ID could be legit is for Zeke to be in The Final Frontier, a light novel where the MC attends Voxx Academy, a school designed to produce heroes to fight monsters and defend against the looming demons.

"Who in their right mind would..."

Karma probably had a laugh when Zeke turned on the TV, and the MC's name, Ryu Orion, was all over the news.