Prologue: The weight of average
Haruto Takahashi stood on the deserted school rooftop, the cold metal railing digging into his palms. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the concrete, but it did nothing to warm the hollow ache in his chest. His cheap phone was still open to the messages—Aiko’s final ones.
“We need to talk tomorrow. At lunch. In front of everyone.”
She had planned this. He could see it now in hindsight. The way she had slowly distanced herself over the last few months, posting pictures with “friends” that included the more popular guys, liking their comments while barely replying to his. She had known exactly how it would destroy him. And she had chosen to do it publicly anyway.
The breakup itself had been surgical.
“Haruto, I’m sorry, but I can’t do this anymore,” Aiko had said, flipping her perfectly styled hair as the entire class watched. Her voice carried that sweet, pitying tone she used when she wanted to look like the reasonable one. “You’re just… too average. Honestly, average doesn’t even cover it. I’ve been carrying this relationship for months while you do nothing but exist. I need someone who actually excites me. Someone with a future.”
She had smiled while saying it. A small, satisfied curve at the corner of her lips—like she had rehearsed this moment and was finally getting the payoff. The whispers and muffled laughter from their classmates had sealed it. She had timed everything perfectly: waited until he was at his lowest, until the bullying had already started nibbling at the edges of his sanity, then delivered the killing blow where it would hurt most.
She knew, Haruto thought, staring blankly at the skyline. She knew what this would do to me and she still chose the stage.
He wasn’t tall. He wasn’t handsome. His grades were mediocre at best. He had no club activities, no notable talents, no rich parents. Just a plain face that blended into every crowd and a personality shaped by years of trying not to be noticed—only to fail spectacularly at even that.
The rooftop door banged open.
“Still sulking up here, Takahashi?” Kenta’s voice dripped with mockery. Three of his friends followed, smirking like they’d won the lottery.
Haruto didn’t turn. “Just leave me alone.”
“Aw, poor baby. Did Aiko finally dump your worthless ass?” Kenta stepped closer, shoving Haruto’s shoulder. “She told us everything yesterday. Said she’d been bored for ages but kept you around because you were ‘easy to manage.’ Pathetic.”
The words landed like fresh punches. Haruto’s hands clenched. He had tried everything to fix his crumbling life. Apologizing to Aiko the day after, only for her to laugh and walk away with her new circle. Begging the teacher to do something about the escalating “pranks” — books thrown in the mud, locker trashed, constant whispers of “loser” and “NPC.” Going home to parents who barely looked up from their phones, muttering “study harder” before disappearing into work again.
Every attempt had backfired. Every mistake compounded. The weight of being nothing had finally crushed him.
That night, after another silent dinner in an empty house, Haruto made the worst choice of his life.
Heartbreak and rage mixed into something ugly. He grabbed a kitchen knife—not with a clear plan, but with the desperate, stupid idea that if he scared Kenta’s group, maybe they would finally stop. Maybe he could feel in control for once.
This is insane. You’re going to make everything worse, one part of his mind screamed.
The other part, exhausted and broken, answered: There’s nothing left to make worse.
The park was dimly lit. Kenta’s group was larger than expected—six of them, laughing and drinking. They spotted him immediately.
“What the hell? Takahashi with a knife?” Kenta’s laugh turned ugly. “You finally lost it, huh?”
Haruto’s hands shook as he held it out. “Just… stop. Leave me alone. Please.”
It escalated in seconds. Someone lunged. The knife was knocked away. Fists and feet came from every direction—stomach, ribs, face. He tasted blood. Heard bones crack. Someone stomped on his hand. Pain exploded through his skull as his head slammed against the ground.
In the haze, he caught a glimpse of Aiko’s face in his mind—smiling as she delivered that final line. She had won. Completely.
Heartbreak and wrong choices, he thought as darkness closed in. That’s all I ever was. Pathetic until the end.
One last kick. Then silence.
Warmth.
Haruto’s awareness returned slowly, fragmented. Everything felt wrong—his body tiny, weak, limbs flailing without coordination. He tried to speak and only managed a thin, helpless cry.
A woman’s soft, tired voice spoke gently above him, using words he didn’t recognize. The language had a flowing, melodic rhythm completely unlike Japanese. A man’s deeper voice answered, warm with quiet pride.
“Our son… He’s healthy. Look at those strong lungs.”
The woman laughed softly, rocking him. “He’ll grow up well in the village. We’ll make sure of it.”
Haruto’s mind reeled. What is this? A dream? Hospital? The voices, the strange language, the way the air itself felt subtly different—none of it fit. But his memories were crystal clear: Japan, Aiko’s calculated cruelty, the beating, the knife, the blood, death.
He should be gone. Instead, he was here. Reborn. A newborn baby in someone else’s body.
Panic surged, but his new body could only thrash weakly. Second chance? The thought cut through the fear and confusion. To rewrite everything. To not be average. To not let people like Aiko destroy me again.
He didn’t understand where he was. The language, the voices, the faint unfamiliar scents—none of it made sense yet. But one thing was certain: he refused to repeat the same failures. No more trusting too easily. No more fading into the background. No more letting resentment and bad decisions drag him down.
This time, he would build something real. Something that made him happy.
Even if he had to fight his own rotten personality every step of the way.
Exhaustion pulled at him. The woman—his new mother—hummed a soothing lullaby as she held him close. Haruto closed his eyes, the weight of his past life settling heavily inside this fragile new body.
The real story was only beginning