I woke up in bed.
For a moment, my mind was blank. The events that had led to this point eluded me, but the bandages wrapped around my head quickly reminded me—I'd fallen down the stairs and lost consciousness.
But that wasn't the real issue.
The familiar surroundings of my bedroom now felt foreign, as though I were seeing it for the first time. Despite having lived here for sixteen years, the room seemed entirely out of place.
The first thing that struck me was the lack of any modern appliances. No electric lights, no television, no air conditioning. No computer, phone, or gaming console. The only furnishings were antiquated wooden furniture and an unplugged lamp sitting idly on the nightstand.
It felt wrong. Deeply wrong.
Why does this suddenly bother me now?
"How long… was I out?" I muttered, my voice scratchy. My gaze shifted to the window.
Through the glass, I could see the faint red and gold hues of dawn breaking across the sky.
I thought back to the fall. It had been right after breakfast, hadn't it? If the sun was rising again, that meant…
"At least a full day must've passed," I murmured.
Just as I was piecing together the situation, the door creaked open. My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of cautious footsteps.
Peeking in was a young girl in a maid's uniform, her freckled face filled with concern.
"Oh! Y-you're awake, Master Ronnie…"
She stepped inside hesitantly. I recognized her immediately—Carla, a girl of about thirteen or fourteen with chestnut hair and a nervous disposition.
"Carla," I said.
She was one of the few servants who still treated me with respect, likely because she'd only started working here recently and hadn't yet adopted the household's disdain for me.
"Are you… sure you should be getting up already? Your head, it… um, it was bleeding quite a bit. The stairs were—oh, it was terrible!" she stammered, her voice trembling as she approached me with a cloth and fresh bandages in hand.
"It's fine," I replied. "There's some pain, but it seems like it's only a surface wound."
"Oh, oh, that's good to hear. I was so worried…"
She hesitated before stepping closer, her hands fidgeting nervously as if unsure of her place.
"How long was I unconscious?" I asked.
"W-what? Oh, um, you mean me? My sleep schedule? I always get a perfect eight hours—"
"Not you, Carla. I meant me. How long have I been out since the fall?"
"Oh! I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, her face turning red. "Uh, let's see… Master Ronnie, you've been asleep for about three days straight."
"Three days?" I muttered, surprised. "That explains why I'm starving."
"Oh, of course! I'll fetch something for you right away! Do you feel like eating? Maybe a sandwich? I could—"
"That'll do," I interrupted with a nod. "But first, could you help me change these bandages?"
"Ah! R-right, of course. My apologies! Let me get started immediately," she said, fumbling slightly as she reached for the cloth.
Three days. I couldn't help but feel unsettled by the gap in time. To me, it had felt instantaneous—one moment, everything went black, and the next, I woke up here. Yet seventy hours had apparently passed.
As Carla worked on my bandages, I flexed my right hand experimentally, opening and closing it. There didn't seem to be any lingering pain or numbness.
The only lingering issue was this strange sense of disorientation.
It wasn't just the fall. It was the memories. Memories that didn't belong to Ronnie F. Narazario.
The impact on my head, the resulting concussion—it had to be the trigger for this phenomenon.
Until now, I had scoffed at the idea of past-life memories. Urban legends. Ghost stories. But now? I could no longer deny it.
I wasn't just Ronnie F. Narazario anymore.
I was also Yoichi Yamada—a 28-year-old physicist from another world.
Every moment of Yoichi's life was clear in my mind. His parents' names, the elementary school he'd attended, the university he'd graduated from, and even the circumstances of his death. It was all there, vivid and undeniable.
And yet, my life as Ronnie was just as real. Sixteen years of memories existed alongside Yoichi's. It felt as if I were seeing two worlds at once, layered over each other in a way that defied comprehension.
The experience was… surreal.
But no matter how I tried to rationalize it, my instincts told me it was real.
"Master Ronnie?" Carla's voice broke through my thoughts.
She stepped back, her task complete, and looked up at me with concern. "All done. Does it feel too tight?"
"No, it's fine. Thanks," I said.
"From what I can tell, the bleeding has stopped. Once the wound has closed a little more, you should be able to bathe safely," she added nervously.
"Ah. Sorry if I… smell," I said with a small, wry smile. "I should've taken care of the bandages myself."
"Oh! No, no! That's not what I meant!" she yelped, waving her hands. "Um, Master Ronnie, are you sure you're okay? You hit your head so hard… even if the wound heals, there might be other effects."
"Do I seem strange to you?" I asked.
"W-well… a little," she admitted hesitantly. "It's just… you seem different. Like your atmosphere has changed. But I don't mean it in a bad way! Really, I—"
"It's fine, Carla," I said with a chuckle. "Don't worry about it."
I pulled the blanket from my lap and swung my legs over the side of the bed, standing up.
"Master Ronnie?!" Carla exclaimed, startled by my sudden movement.
"Even a useless son has a duty to report his recovery to his father," I said lightly. "Do you know where he is right now?"