Akiko stretched. Even though she had only inhabited this body once before, it already felt familiar — like the weight of her robes, strange at first, but easier with time.
Now that she expected the noise of Tokyo — the hum of electric signs, distant sirens, voices in the street rising and fading like waves — it no longer clawed at her senses the way it had before. Her body didn't flinch from the sound anymore. Instead, it simply was. A constant storm she had no choice but to walk through.
She wandered through the apartment, bare feet soft against the cold floor. Then, a note caught her eye — a post-it, stuck like a commandment beside the doorframe.
LIGHT SWITCH — up for on, down for off. When you're not home, ALWAYS TURN IT OFF.
She scoffed, flipping the switch. Really, Sora? Did he think she was a fool? She had figured this one out last time. Still, as the light blinked on, bathing the tiny apartment in synthetic yellow glow, she had to admit — it was nice. The sudden burst of brightness lit up everything: the sink, the table, the half-crumpled blanket on the bed. And outside, still dark, the city continued to blink and shimmer, reflected faintly in the apartment window. One more electric glow among thousands. A star among stars. Tokyo never seemed to sleep.
She turned around.
Her eyes widened.
Every single surface — the fridge, the microwave, the kettle, the shoes by the door, even the toilet seat — had a note stuck to it. Paper, written on in sharp black ink painted with letters. Some taped flat, some curling at the corners like drying leaves.
This boy... She stepped closer to a note by the sink. Why did he waste all these resources? she thought. This amount of paper could last her old household a season, maybe longer. He'd turned the whole room into a map of survival.
Akiko held up her hands, turning them over slowly, palm to back, then back again. My hands–his hands.
Slim, long-fingered, pale against the dim light. She looked down at her feet, her legs, felt the weight of the clothes still loose on her. The unfamiliar made familiar, simply through repetition. And somehow, in the middle of all this noise and light and wasteful instructions, she didn't feel so foreign anymore.
Sora might not be here — not in this time, not in this place — but his handwriting was. His thoughts were. Scattered all over the room like breadcrumbs.
And she, the girl who once carried water in the quiet hills of Heian, was following them — one note at a time.
A deep rumble broke through Akiko's focus, pulling her out of her paper trance. She turned her gaze downward, her eyes settling on her stomach. How tall is he? she wondered, observing the distance between the top of her head and the floor. At least a foot taller than me... quite tall. She thought quietly to herself.
Stepping forward, she moved towards a label that read:
FRIDGEKeeps food cool and preserved longer.MAKE SURE TO SHUT IT CLOSE.
Fridge? she mused, speaking the word aloud. She carefully peeled the paper off and placed it on the small dining table, which already held a growing stack of about ten other papers and sticky notes, remnants from surfaces all around. With a small tug and a bit of resistance, she opened the fridge. Even the contents inside were meticulously labeled.
DO NOT EAT.
YOU CAN EAT.
HEAT THIS FIRST.
Heat? Akiko wondered, puzzled. How would I do that? She thought, glancing around. There's no fireplace inside here... and if I made one, everything else would catch fire.
She removed something with the label YOU CAN EAT.Onigiri tuna-mayo, it said. It was a triangle-shaped ball of rice, with what looked like green seaweed-paper wrapped around it. She did not know what tuna or mayo was, but she was about to find out.
She sat down at the small dinner table, in her hands, she cradled the triangle-shaped food, wrapped in a strange, crinkling material that whispered when she touched it — not paper, not silk, not anything she knew. She studied the numbers on the plastic and followed the instruction.
When the onigiri finally emerged in her palms — soft white rice encased in an impossibly thin, jet-black seaweed sheet — it looked simple, humble. But as she bit into it, the world slipped sideways.
The rice was familiar, though stickier than what she remembered. But then — the center. Creamy, salty, soft — like fish, but not grilled or dried or stewed. It was cool and smooth, mixed with some sort of tangy richness that melted on her tongue. Her eyes widened. Her body, Sora's body, shivered lightly.
What is this magic? she thought.
She paused mid-bite, savoring the way the flavors unfolded like petals. Tuna. Mayo, the package said. She didn't know what "mayo" was — perhaps a shortening of some foreign ingredient — but it was divine. Balanced. Silky. Luxurious.
Akiko chewed slowly, reverently. In 1000 AD, fish was grilled over open flames or simmered in miso. This was cool, delicate, fresh — yet prepared who knows how long ago, sealed in a package, and still tasting like it had been crafted with care. That was what struck her most: the efficiency. Food, available anytime, for anyone. Not served by a cook or gathered from fields — but summoned, almost, from thin air.
She looked down at the wrapper, at the tiny barcode, the colours, the label in clean, sharp kanji. A quiet laugh escaped her.
She had traveled through time, across centuries of war, poetry, and silence — only to find that even a humble rice ball could be a revelation.
She ate the last of her onigiri and started shifting through the paper pile that stood right in front of her. Until she finally found it.
The paper explaining how the phone worked. Sora's black rectangle. It lit up at her touch — the glow almost familiar now. At the top, more numbers. Some still blinking.
"Half an hour," Kazuki had said.
But how long was that? She didn't know what any of it meant — the hours, the minutes, the rhythm of time cut into little glowing shapes.
No note for this.
Sora had written how to unlock it:
How to Use the Phone (Read This First, Akiko)
Black rectangle = phone. Don't throw it.Press round button on the side to wake screen.Use right thumb to unlock (biometric lock).If it buzzes/vibrates = message or call.Red button (with alarm icon) = EMERGENCY ONLY.
→ Only press if you're dying. Or bleeding. Or on fire.To go back: swipe from the left edge or tap the arrow.Battery = top right corner. If it hits 1%, find a charger.Charger = white cord, plugs into small hole on bottom.Green phone icon = make a call.
→ Don't use this function please!Blue speech bubble = messages.
→ Tap, read. Don't reply unless you understand.Do not open TikTok. You'll lose your soul.Pocket it when not in use. Keep it safe.If confused: breathe. Tap slowly. Don't panic.
—Sora
Nowhere in Sora's neat scribbles did it explain how to read the time.
He left notes on everything else — how to unlock the black mirror with her finger, which button not to touch unless the house was on fire, even how to open the sliding door without making it scream. But not the time.
She squinted at the glowing device again. A row of numbers. Some blinking. One had two dots in the middle.
What did that mean? Was it morning? Afternoon? How long had she been here?
No way to tell. So she didn't waste it.
She turned to the chair.
Just like before, the clothes were folded. Neat. Intentional. The stiff black jacket on top. The white shirt underneath. The narrow pants. This time, even the socks were waiting — laid flat like offering.
On the bottom of the stack was the sash she'd worn last time. Not a sash — a tie, she now knew. A note was pinned to it:
This is a tie. I already made sure it is the right length.
Just put it underneath your collar and pull the short part.
She did. It slid into place easier than last time. Tighter. Cleaner. She buttoned the jacket, checking her reflection in the dark glass of the black mirror. Sora's face looked back, unreadable as always.
She stepped into the shoes. Still strange. Better then last time, now that she is wearing socks.
Just as she reached for the door — of course — there was one final note, taped at eye level.
Don't forget the bag.
She blinked. Then turned.
There it was. Black. Square. Hanging on the hook by the door, as if it had been waiting all night.
She opened the door, greeted not just by the cool freshness of a spring breeze but also by the broad, beaming face of Kazuki.
"Good morning, lovebird," he teased, his grin wide and playful.
Sora woke to the sharp chill of the morning air, his bed—no, her bed—now a futon, Akiko's futon. A small laugh escaped him, as if to reassure himself. Yes. Yes, she's alive. He whispered it aloud, no longer startled by the unfamiliar tone of Akiko's voice coming from his own lips.
Quickly, he rose to his feet, the unfamiliar weight of Akiko's slender frame shifting under him. He glanced down at the simple, humble clothes Akiko wore—a commoner's garb, nothing like the fine silks or robes of a noble. A fleeting thought passed through his mind: Why commoner's clothes? But the relief flooded him so deeply that it overwhelmed any lingering curiosity. She was alive, and that's all that mattered. Tears welled up in his eyes.
Footsteps echoed on the wooden floor. Bare feet. A voice followed:
"Lady… granddaughter, is everything okay?" Yasuhiro's voice, laced with a touch of worry.
Granddaughter? What's happening? What did I miss in just one day?
Sora couldn't stop the tears from flowing, slowly at first, but now they streamed down his face. He had only known these people for a day, yet they had fought fiercely to protect him—to protect her.
The sliding door creaked open, then nearly slammed against the frame as Yasuhiro, seeing the tears, rushed into the room. Despite his age, his movements were quick, and in moments, he was standing before her. His old body hunched slightly, but his height still gave him a sense of authority. He lowered himself to her level, hands gently but firmly settling on Akiko's shoulders.
"L-Lady… Akiko, what is wrong? Are you hurt?" His voice quivered with concern, his eyes scanning her for any signs of injury.
Sora could only shake his head, his breath shaky. "I had a bad dream," he whispered, his voice soft and shaky, as if trying to convince himself as much as Yasuhiro. "Glad it was just a dream, Yasu."
A smile spread across his face despite the tears that kept streaming, rolling down his cheeks and dripping from his chin. The flood of emotions was almost unbearable—grief, relief, confusion, love.
Yasuhiro, ever the caretaker, gently wiped her tears with the sleeve of his worn kimono. "As long as we are here, you are safe."
Yasuhiro paused at the sound of the name—Yasu. She called me Yasu again? It was a small, yet profound shift. There was a familiarity here that he hadn't anticipated, something that tied them together even in the midst of confusion.
Sora sat still for a moment, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. His hands trembled slightly as he wiped his tears, and he took a long breath to steady himself. He was Akiko now—there was no denying it. Her body, her voice, her thoughts. He was inhabiting her life, in her world, and with it came an overwhelming responsibility.
He had realized it the moment he opened his eyes: If she dies, I die. He wasn't sure if it was a certainty, but the thought gripped him nonetheless. They weren't just protecting Akiko—they were protecting him. His heart hammered in his chest. Akiko's life was now intertwined with his, and the mere idea of losing it felt like losing himself. But they didn't know that. They thought they were simply looking after Akiko. They had no idea it was Sora in her body. How could they?
Footsteps echoed again, this time soft at first, before they quickened. Sora's attention shifted, his eyes still red from the tears. Tsukasa entered the room. His expression was softer than Yasuhiro's, but the concern in his eyes was just as apparent. He moved swiftly, closing the distance between them, his knee sinking to the floor as he lowered himself to meet Akiko's eye level.
"Is everything okay?" Tsukasa asked, his voice full of genuine worry. It wasn't just about their mission, Sora realized. Tsukasa seemed to care deeply, even beyond that. He could see the growing connection between them—the bond that had formed despite the differences in their stations. Tsukasa had only seen Akiko from afar, but there was something undeniable about their connection. His voice softened even further as he spoke. "Akiko, are you all right?"
Sora blinked, feeling the sting of the question. Am I all right? he wondered. He hadn't even fully processed what had happened the day before, and now he was being asked to play the role of Akiko, to protect her life as if it were his own. Which, in this moment, it truly was.
Yasuhiro stood a few paces behind Tsukasa, his eyes narrowing slightly. The two men exchanged a silent look, their gazes meeting with a level of understanding Sora couldn't quite grasp.
Can they really use telepathy? Sora thought, stunned by the unspoken communication that passed between the two. The moment their eyes met, he could almost feel the tension in the room ease. Yasuhiro's shoulders relaxed, and he stood straighter, his worried expression softening.
"A bad dream," Yasuhiro said, his voice now more at ease, "nothing to worry about."
Sora quickly wiped away the last of his tears, his hands shaking slightly as he tried to regain control. He could feel the weight of their eyes on him—on Akiko—and the last thing he wanted was to seem weak in front of them. He took a deep breath, gathering himself before responding.
"You're right," he said, trying his best to sound like Akiko. "After we procure food, we should leave as soon as possible." He forced the words out, trying to sound convincing. His mind raced as he spoke, trying to piece together what was happening. What happened yesterday? Akiko was herself then. He had no knowledge of the events that took place the day before, but his instincts told him it had something to do with the archer ambush they had narrowly escaped.
He glanced down at Akiko's bags, which lay neatly beside the bed. They would need to leave this place, to move on, and quickly. It was clear that Yasuhiro and Tsukasa were expecting her to take charge, to lead them as they continued their mission. He couldn't afford to falter now. Not when everything depended on his ability to keep up the charade.
He stepped forward, his feet dragging a little as he moved to gather the bags. His heart felt heavy, like the weight of his own life and Akiko's were being carried in those simple bundles. But he couldn't let his fear show. He couldn't afford to be weak. Not now.
Yasuhiro and Tsukasa, who had been standing anxiously, both relaxed visibly as Akiko—Sora—took charge. They exchanged another look, their silent communication confirming what they both knew. This was the right move. They had to leave. Quickly.
"Agreed," they said in unison, the word echoing in the room like a shared understanding.
Sora nodded, though part of him still felt a deep unease. They had no idea what was really at stake here. But he would play his part. He would protect Akiko's life as his own, even if it meant he was slowly losing his sense of self. It didn't matter. She was alive, and that's all that mattered right now.
He carefully placed the bags over his shoulder, a small sigh escaping him. "Let's go then." The words came out more confidently than he felt, but it was enough to give the others the reassurance they needed.
As they left the room, the weight of the unknown settled over Sora. The road ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear: his journey was far from over.
Bonus :
Asuka's key turned in the lock of her front door, a smooth click echoing through the quiet entryway. The door itself was extravagant—a crisp white, almost out of place against the typical buildings of central Tokyo. It was rare to find a home with a front and backyard here, especially in a neighborhood like Ōtsuka, just a short walk from the station. Yet here she was, stepping inside a home that felt both cozy and oddly disconnected from the bustle outside.
She placed her bag gently on the floor, the weight of the day pressing against her shoulders as she leaned back against the door. A long, heavy sigh escaped her lips, and her hand immediately went to her face. I can't believe I just did that, she thought, her heart fluttering as she replayed the day in her mind.
Sora. The name alone made her smile, a goofy grin tugging at her lips as she remembered the date. I took him to a history museum. We shared a meal. Her mind swirled with excitement and a touch of nervousness. I hope I didn't come off as too pushy… I hope he didn't think I was annoying. The thought made her stomach flip, but the memory of Sora's genuine interest in the museum's exhibits was enough to calm her fears.
When he had looked at the artifacts, his eyes lighting up like a kid with a brand-new toy, Asuka couldn't help but feel her heart skip a beat. He was so engaged, so innocent in his curiosity, like a puppy getting its first tennis ball. It was adorable.
But then, she remembered the skeletons. The way Sora had stiffened, his face clouding over as he stared at the remains of ancient humans. The way his eyes had looked so vulnerable, almost troubled. It made Asuka pause. He must be sensitive, she thought, biting her lip as she climbed the stairs to her room. Empathetic too, I think.
She couldn't help but make a small sound, her hands covering her cheeks as she giggled quietly to herself. Was this what it felt like to be in love?
Arriving at her room, Asuka flung open the door, her mind still caught in the reverie of the date. She called out, almost instinctively, "Mommmm, I'm homeeee!"
But as soon as the words left her mouth, she was hit by an overwhelming stench—alcohol. It was the familiar smell of beer, mixed with the stale air of an apartment left untouched for too long. Asuka's enthusiasm immediately faltered, her mood deflating as she glanced down the hallway toward her parents' room.
Her parents worked long hours at grueling jobs—her mother as a nurse, her father as an office worker—and in the evenings, they turned to alcohol to cope with the stresses of their day. It wasn't something Asuka was proud of, but it was something she had grown used to. Still, it always made her feel guilty when she had a good day, when she got to enjoy a fun date while they worked hard.
Asuka took a deep breath, pushing down the knot in her stomach as she entered their room. The scene that greeted her was familiar, though no less disheartening. Her parents were sprawled across their bed, passed out drunk. Empty cans of beer littered the floor, some still half-full, others tipped over and spilled.
The sight of them like this never failed to stir a sense of guilt within Asuka. She had been so wrapped up in her own world, in the joy of her date with Sora, that she hadn't even thought of how her parents might be coping. Asuka didn't want to resent them. She didn't want to feel anger toward their escape mechanisms, but sometimes, it was hard to avoid.
With a sigh, she knelt down and began cleaning up the beer cans, her movements methodical as she worked. She picked up each can, tossing it into a trash bag as quietly as possible, careful not to disturb her parents. When she had gathered them all, she made her way to the kitchen and filled a glass with cold water.
She returned to their room and placed the water on the nightstand next to her mother. She whispered, her voice soft but filled with sincerity, "I'm sorry, Mom. Dad." It was a silent apology for the things they couldn't control—their work, their habits, the things that weighed them down.
Asuka stood there for a moment, her heart heavy, before she walked away. Her earlier excitement had drained from her, leaving her feeling small and unsure. She walked to her own room and closed the door behind her, collapsing onto her bed. The joy of the day felt distant now, like a fleeting dream.
Asuka curled up under the covers, her thoughts swirling around Sora, her parents, and everything that she hadn't considered. The stark contrast between the excitement of a new crush and the sobering reality of her family left her feeling conflicted. She wasn't sure how to balance it all, how to feel okay about it. But one thing was certain: life was messy. Love was messy. And somehow, in the chaos, she had to figure out where she fit in.