Chapter 91: The Weight of Reality
"I am home~!" Ren called out, his voice carrying an odd lilt as he entered the house. The familiar sound of the door creaking shut behind him echoed softly. He kicked off his shoes, a practiced motion, though today it felt more like a routine than a homecoming.
Ryuga, his father, appeared at the end of the hallway, wearing his usual jolly grin. "Someone took their time?" he teased lightly. "So, where were you?"
"At a friend's house," Ren answered, a broad smile plastered on his face. The smile looked real, but Ryuga, who knew Ren better than most, noticed something was off.
There was a subtle tension in Ren's words that Ryuga had never heard before. Still, he chose to brush it off for now, chuckling instead. "Hahaha! Great! My son's finally hanging out with friends! So tell me, what did you do?"
Ren nodded casually, the smile still glued to his face. "Sure, sounds about right," he said, his tone detached, the words rolling off his tongue as if they were spoken by someone else entirely.
They walked further into the house, Ryuga a few steps behind Ren, watching him closely. Ren's posture was deliberate, too deliberate, as though every step he took was calculated. Ryuga's eyes drifted down to Ren's feet, noticing something unusual.
"Did you play football?" Ryuga asked, his voice light, but there was an underlying sense of curiosity.
Ren blinked, momentarily thrown off. How did his father know? He was about to ask if Ryuga had been near the football field, but his father, as usual, was one step ahead.
"Your feet. You've been hitting something hard—repeatedly," Ryuga explained, his eyes narrowing. "It's pretty obvious."
"Ah~..." Ren nodded, a bit too late, his thoughts elsewhere. Although they were having a normal conversation, a gap had already opened between them. Ryuga could feel it, like a faint, invisible barrier that neither of them could cross.
He furrowed his brow, still smiling but worried now. He wasn't sure why, but something about Ren felt... distant. He searched for the cause in his mind, going through the list of usual concerns.
'Love? No, it's Shimo. No problem there. Friendship? No, it's Tarazune, so there's no problem with that either... Studies? Definitely not. He's been doing well these past few days...'
Everything seemed fine on the surface. Ren was handling his studies, his friendships, his romantic relationship with Shimo—all the things that would typically concern a parent. So what was wrong?
Then it hit him.
'Pressure...?'
Ryuga's gaze shifted again, more focused this time. He observed the way Ren carried himself—his back, though relaxed in appearance, was unnaturally stiff. His left hand, buried in his pocket, seemed tense.
'As I thought...' Ryuga sighed inwardly. Ren was under pressure, but from what?
The two of them finally reached the living room, a space they often shared. Ren sat down with a heavy sigh, as if bracing himself for something he wasn't ready to confront. Ryuga, too, sat across from him, watching his son with growing concern.
Ren's mind, however, was far from here. It was spinning, racing through thoughts that felt foreign and unnerving.
'This isn't my world.'
It was a thought he been considering for some time but after he had the talk with Akeshi the thoughts seemed to have calmed down for some time but now it clawed at him, gnawing at the edges of his consciousness. As if he was standing in front of a cliff of a mountain , standing at the edge of it.
'Right... He isn't my father...' Ren's inner voice whispered. His eyes fell on Ryuga, and though he saw the familiar face of the man who had raised him, something felt... wrong.
'This world isn't mine,' Ren thought, the truth of it settling like lead in his stomach. Reincarnation... transmigration..... He doesn't know.
Then a question suddenly appeared inside his head , one that terrified him to his core , 'what happened to this world's version of me?'
The more he thought about it, the more pieces started falling into place, forming a picture that both terrified and paralyzed him. He wasn't just a version of Ren. He was an outsider in a world that didn't belong to him. An intruder.
If he was to believe that he was the "best" version of Ren in all realities, then surely, he should have felt complete—wealth, knowledge, power... But what did he lack? His humanity? Sense of self? He wasn't sure.
That was what was slipping away, day by day, as he clung to this reality that wasn't his.
His father's voice cut through his thoughts, jolting him back to the present. "Ren, have you ever heard of the 16-piece game?"
Ren blinked, momentarily confused by the question. "16-piece game?"
He shook his head, genuinely puzzled. He had heard of countless games, played many of them, but this one? Never.
"I'll give you a rough idea," Ryuga said as he got up, rummaging through the nearby cabinet for a marker. He knelt by the coffee table and began drawing something that resembled a grid.
Ren watched silently as his father sketched out four squares, five lines, and two triangles, each element placed meticulously on the table. Ryuga grinned like a kid sneaking candy before dinner.
Ren would have laughed but he can't. He , for a moment, seems to have forgotten how to laugh.
"Don't worry," Ryuga said cheekily, "It'll wipe off with some effort. So don't tell Mom."
Ren barely responded, his mind still clouded. Ryuga continued drawing, writing numbers across the lines, carefully arranging everything until it looked like some sort of game board.
"What's this supposed to be?" Ren asked, his interest piqued but his heart still heavy.
Ryuga smiled, proud of his work. "It's a game we used to play during the blackout, back when Japan lost power for months. An inhuman attack years ago."
Ren looked down, his face somber. "Inhumans, huh..."
That word—inhuman—was the spark that ignited the unraveling. It was the moment he realized the world he thought was his had always belonged to someone else. The word had echoed in his mind, hollow and cold, gnawing at the fragile certainty he once had.
Inhumans... beings that didn't belong, that were outside the natural order. It was then that Ren began to see the cracks in his own existence. Just like them, he felt out of place, like a fragment of something that didn't fit in this world. The more he thought about it, the more it became clear. He had been living in a world that wasn't his, breathing in air that felt foreign to his lungs.
The word alone was enough to tear down the illusion.
"Yeah," Ryuga continued, "there was a time when the power was out for so long, none of us had anything to do. No TV, no phones, no video games... just endless hours with nothing but ourselves. So we had to find ways to keep ourselves entertained."
Ren nodded, though his mind was still a few steps behind. Ryuga, however, was more animated, clearly excited to teach his son this old pastime.
"The rich kids wanted to play chess or something that needed too much brainpower," Ryuga explained, "but we wanted something simpler, more about instinct. And Souichi—Shimo's dad—came up with this."
Ren's fingers traced the lines on the table, but his mind wasn't truly in the game. Instead, his thoughts spiraled into a deeper hole.
None of this is real, he thought again, his father's words fading into the background. This isn't my world...
But then, why was he here? Why did he feel like he had to keep pretending?
Ryuga noticed Ren's distraction and waved a hand in front of him. "Ren? You listening?"
"Yeah, yeah," Ren mumbled, shaking himself from his thoughts. "I got it."
Ryuga didn't press him, though concern still lingered in his eyes. Something was off, and it wasn't just Ren's posture. It was something deeper, something Ryuga couldn't quite put his finger on.
"All right," Ryuga said with a small sigh. "Let's play."
Ren nodded, but inside, he felt a hollow emptiness gnawing at him. He picked up one of the rocks his father had prepared, staring at it for a moment. His hand trembled slightly before placing it on the board.
This world wasn't his. But for now, he would play along.
---
As the game progressed, Ryuga explained the rules, but Ren barely heard them. His mind was elsewhere, lost in a sea of uncertainty. The pieces in front of him, the strategy Ryuga outlined, it all felt meaningless.
Everything felt meaningless.
What was the point of anything if this world wasn't even his? If the life he lived belonged to someone else?
A part of him wanted to scream, to tear down the facade and demand answers. But another part, a quieter, more insidious part, whispered that it didn't matter. That he could pretend, play the part of Ren in this world, and no one would ever know.
The existential weight bore down on him, crushing his spirit. Was there even a point in trying to be himself anymore? Or had he lost himself somewhere along the way?
As Ryuga continued explaining the nuances of the 16-piece game, Ren placed his final stone on the board, not caring about the outcome. Victory, defeat—it didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was the emptiness that filled his chest, the creeping realization that nothing in this world truly belonged to him.
And maybe, just maybe, it never would.
He hoped—hoped that somehow, somewhere, he would find a place in this world. But deep down, that hope felt fragile, like a whisper in the wind, always slipping away just as he reached for it.