The walk home is uneventful, my mind still processing everything I've learned about my abilities.
The cool night air helps clear my head, and by the time I reach the apartment complex, my headache has subsided to a dull throb.
The building is a modest four-story structure in a decent part of town - not upscale by any means, but far from the worst places I've seen.
According to my implanted memories, Uncle Kenji managed to get us this place through a connection at the hospital where he works.
The rent is reasonable, and the neighbors mind their own business, which suits our situation perfectly.
I unlock the door to find the apartment dark and quiet, just as expected. Uncle Kenji won't be home until morning, after his night shift ends.
The place is small but clean - a living room that flows into a kitchenette, two bedrooms, and a bathroom that's perpetually in need of better ventilation.
It's not much, but it's home. Or at least, it's supposed to be.
A note sits on the kitchen counter next to a covered plate: "Dinner in the microwave. Don't forget your meeting with Ms. Chen tomorrow. - Uncle K."
I reheat the curry he's left - the man can't cook much, but what he does make is decent - and settle at the small kitchen table.
As I eat, I try to piece together more of my backstory from the fragmented memories.
Uncle Kenji Fushiguro, my father's younger brother. He took me in after the accident three years ago that claimed both my parents.
The details are hazy, but I get flashes of a rainy night, screeching tires, and the harsh glare of headlights.
The trauma of it apparently sent me spiraling, leading to my involvement with a local crew and eventually my arrest for aggravated assault when I was fifteen.
Judge Hoffman had seen something in me though - potential, maybe, or just a kid who'd lost his way after tragedy.
Instead of sending me to juvenile detention for the full term, she'd assigned me to the rehabilitation program under Washington's supervision.
Eight months clean now, with another four to go before my probation ends.
It's a neat backstory, I think as I finish my dinner. Tragic but not uncommon. The perfect cover for someone with unusual abilities awakened who needs to maintain a low profile.
After washing my dishes, I retreat to my bedroom. It's small but personalized in a way that gives me more insight into the Megumi of this world.
Posters of Japanese rock bands cover one wall, while another features framed anatomical diagrams - the human nervous system, musculature, and pressure points.
A bookshelf holds an eclectic mix of manga, medical textbooks (some in Japanese), and dog-eared paperbacks on martial arts philosophy.
On the desk sits a laptop and a neatly organized stack of schoolbooks. Next to them, a framed photo catches my eye - a younger version of me standing between a stern-looking Japanese man and a smiling woman with kind eyes.
My parents, I assume. I pick up the frame, studying their faces, trying to feel some connection to them. There's nothing, of course. They're strangers to me, even if they're supposed to be my family.
I set the photo down and open the laptop. Might as well see what else I can learn about this world and my place in it.
The password comes to me automatically - "TojiShadowfang92" - a combination of my father's name and what I assume was a gaming handle.
The desktop background is a stylized image of a wolf emerging from darkness, reinforcing the impression that this version of Megumi had a thing for the edgy and dramatic.
I spend the next hour browsing through files and social media accounts, building a more complete picture of my life here.
According to school records saved in a folder labeled "Probation Docs," I'm maintaining a solid B average - not exceptional, but respectable considering my circumstances.
My strongest subjects are biology and physical education, while I struggle with English literature and algebra.
My social media presence is minimal - a restriction of my probation terms, according to a document from Ms. Chen.
I'm allowed limited access under supervision, mainly to keep in touch with approved contacts.
Mark features prominently in the few photos I have posted, along with William Clockwell, a lanky kid with thick glasses who appears to be our mutual friend.
There's also a folder of medical documents - records of therapy sessions with Dr. Sarah Levine, who I apparently see bi-weekly as part of my rehabilitation.
The most recent notes mention "continued progress in anger management" and "decreased dissociative episodes." Great. So I'm not just a delinquent on probation; I'm also dealing with psychological issues.
A notification pops up on the screen - a calendar reminder for tomorrow: "4:30 PM - Meeting with Ms. Chen. Bring completed form and school progress report."
I close the laptop and lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow is Friday, which means school, followed by my probation check-in, and then video games at William's place. A perfectly normal day in the life of a reformed juvenile offender.
Except I'm not Megumi Fushiguro. I'm someone else entirely, trapped in his body, carrying the memories of a demonic curse king, in a world that's about to be torn apart by an alien invasion.
Sleep doesn't come easily, but when it does, my dreams are a chaotic blend of my past life, Sukuna's memories, and flashes of what might be Megumi's experiences.
I see fragments of battles fought with cursed energy, glimpses of a normal childhood shattered by loss, and visions of Viltrumites descending from the sky, their eyes cold and merciless.
I wake with a start at 6:15 AM, drenched in sweat despite the cool morning air coming through the cracked window.
The dreams fade quickly, leaving only a lingering sense of dread and a strange hunger that has nothing to do with food.
The sound of the front door opening tells me Uncle Kenji is home from his shift. I hear him moving around in the kitchen, the soft clink of a mug being set down, the rustle of a newspaper.
Part of me wants to stay in bed, to avoid the awkwardness of interacting with someone who thinks he knows me, but I know that would only raise suspicions.
I pull on a t-shirt and sweatpants and make my way to the kitchen.
Uncle Kenji is seated at the table, a steaming cup of tea in front of him, dark circles under his eyes betraying his exhaustion after a long night shift.
He looks up as I enter, offering a tired smile.
"Morning," he says, gesturing to the counter. "Made some rice. There's miso soup in the pot if you want it."
"Thanks," I reply, moving to serve myself. The familiarity with which I navigate the kitchen is disconcerting - muscle memory from a life I never lived.
"How was school yesterday?" he asks, taking a sip of his tea.
I shrug, keeping my back to him as I ladle soup into a bowl. "Same as always. Got a physics test back. Did okay."
"And your meeting with Washington?"
"Fine," I say, turning to face him with my breakfast. "He said you called about this weekend."
Uncle Kenji nods, running a hand through his short, graying hair.
He's in his mid-forties, with features similar to mine but more weathered, lines of fatigue and grief etched around his eyes. "I picked up extra shifts. The hospital's short-staffed, and the overtime will help with your college fund."
College fund. Right. Because in this world, I apparently have a future beyond the impending apocalypse.
"I'll be fine," I assure him, sitting across from him at the table. "I've got the cleanup on Saturday morning, and Mark invited me to stay over at his place tonight after we hang out at William's."
He studies me for a moment, and I can see the conflict in his eyes - the desire to trust me warring with the memory of past disappointments. "You'll make your check-in with Ms. Chen first?"
"Of course," I say, taking a bite of rice. "Four-thirty. I've got the form Washington gave me."
He seems satisfied with this. "Alright. But if you're staying at Mark's, I want a text when you get there. And remember-"
"No alcohol, no drugs, no staying out past curfew," I finish for him. "I know the rules, Uncle Kenji."
A small smile touches his lips. "Good to hear. I'm proud of you, Megumi. You've come a long way."
The praise makes me uncomfortable, both because it's not meant for me and because there's genuine affection behind it.
This man cares for the nephew he believes me to be, has sacrificed to give him - me - a second chance.
"Thanks," I mutter, focusing on my food to avoid his gaze.
We eat in companionable silence for a few minutes before he speaks again. "I saw Omni-Man on the news last night. Stopped some kind of disaster in Malaysia."
I nearly choke on my soup. "Oh?"
"Mmm. Impressive stuff." He shakes his head in admiration. "That guy makes all the other heroes look like amateurs."
If only he knew.
"I guess," I say carefully, focusing on my food to hide any reaction.
Uncle Kenji takes a sip of his tea. "You kids ever talk about the superheroes at school? Must be exciting living in a city with the Guardians of the Globe."
I shrug, keeping my expression neutral. "Not really. We've got more normal stuff to worry about."
Uncle Kenji nods thoughtfully. "Fair enough. When I was your age, I had posters of heroes all over my walls. Different times, I suppose."
He finishes his tea and stands, stretching with a barely suppressed yawn. "I'm going to get some sleep. Wake me up before you leave for William's, alright?"
"Sure," I agree, watching as he rinses his mug and places it in the dish rack.
He pauses at the entrance to the hallway, looking back at me with an expression I can't quite read. "You know you can talk to me if something's bothering you, right? About anything."
His words are kind, but I know pointless in my situation. For what if I do tell him who I really am, about Sukuna's memories, about the Viltrumite threat looming on the horizon? What good would it do?
Best case, he'd think I was having some kind of psychotic break. Worst case, he'd believe me and be burdened with knowledge he couldn't act on - knowledge that he 'lost' his nephew to an imposter.
One who didn't even intend to take his place.
"I know," I say instead. "Thanks, Uncle Kenji."
He nods, seemingly satisfied, and disappears down the hallway. A few moments later, I hear his bedroom door close.
I finish my breakfast in solitude, thinking about the day ahead. School, probation check-in, video games with friends.
Normal activities that feel anything but normal to me now. But they're my cover, my way of maintaining the life I've inherited while I figure out what to do about the larger threats.
As I wash my dishes and prepare for school, I can't shake the feeling that I'm playing a role in someone else's life, walking through scenes in a play where everyone knows their lines except me.
It's disorienting, but also oddly freeing. After all, if none of this is really mine, then I have nothing to lose by trying to save it.
With that thought in mind, I gather my school things and head for the shower, ready to face another day in this new life.
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(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all enjoyed the chapter!
Do tell me how you found it. I know it's slow right now, but I wish to establish and clear up the situation, because background will always be relevant to the future.
So yeah, I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)