I slowly came to, a heavy weight pressing down on my chest, disorienting me in the way only a body unfamiliar to its owner could. My arms and legs felt thick and awkward, like they weren't quite mine—soft, with an unnatural heaviness, as if they had been padded too much. The discomfort was immediate, the sensation of being trapped in a body that wasn't meant for me.
When my blurry vision cleared, I found myself sitting in a wooden desk that was too small for my frame. I was back in a classroom, but nothing about this place felt familiar. The beige walls seemed older, worn by years of neglect, with faded posters of historical figures and tired motivational quotes hanging crooked above chalkboards that had once been white, now covered in a dusting of chalk. The air smelled faintly of stale paper, and the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead in a low, constant hum.
Around me, students went about their business—some scribbling notes, others talking quietly to each other. But I wasn't focusing on them. The teacher stood at my desk, glaring down at me with a look that could cut through steel. His arms were crossed, his eyes narrowed in disapproval. His intensity made my heart race as if I'd done something wrong, but I couldn't figure out what.
The last thing I remembered was the crash. The accident. And now, here I was, in this strange body, sitting in a classroom surrounded by faces that meant nothing to me. My mind couldn't process the jumbled images fast enough, and panic crept up my throat.
Before I could gather myself, the teacher's voice snapped through my confusion. "This isn't the time for daydreaming, young man!" His tone was sharp, like a lash across my skin. I blinked rapidly, unsure what was happening, then stumbled over my words. "I... I'm sorry. I'm not feeling well." I winced at how weak I sounded, but it was the first thing that came to mind, and to my surprise, it worked.
The bell rang a moment later, slicing through the tension like a knife. I hurried to gather my things, feeling the heat of the teacher's lingering gaze on my back. His expression softened just slightly, but I couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling that something was wrong.
I looked around the room, needing to focus on something other than my own panic. The students were nothing like I had ever seen before. Some of them had hair so vibrant it looked like they'd stepped out of a comic book—bright blues, fiery reds, deep purples. Others had physical traits that hinted at strange quirks, like a girl with fur-covered arms or a boy whose eyes glowed a faint yellow. One girl near the back even had wings protruding from her back, folding awkwardly against the desk. The room itself felt like a strange blend of normal and surreal, as if I had walked into a world that didn't quite follow the rules I knew.
Suddenly, a translucent screen flickered to life before me, so out of place that it made my heart skip a beat. It was a message from a system I couldn't even begin to understand: "Do you want to synchronize the memories?"
I froze. The words seemed to echo in my mind, sending a chill down my spine. Synchronize? What did that even mean? My stomach twisted with uncertainty. What would happen if I chose "Yes"? The room, the faces, this bizarre new reality... It all felt like too much to handle. There was no way I was making that decision in the middle of a classroom full of strangers. My gut screamed at me to wait. I ignored the screen, pushing it out of my mind as best I could.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. My body felt sluggish, the weight of it dragging at me with every step. When the bell finally rang, I shot up from my seat, desperate to leave the classroom behind. My legs were stiff, my movements awkward, but I forced myself forward, determined to get home.
The walk back felt longer than it should have, my body complaining every step of the way. It was hard to move in this strange body, every muscle aching from the extra weight. I could see my home in the distance—a two-story building with a worn, familiar exterior. The first floor housed a medium-sized supermarket, its windows cluttered with colorful signage and rows of products. The faint sounds of customers chatting, the clink of coins, and the jingle of the doorbell as people came and went filled the air.
Above it, the second floor housed our three-bedroom apartment. The entrance was on the side of the building, where a staircase led up, protected by an iron grill. It was a small, private space—almost like a boundary between my home and the rest of the world.
I reached into my pocket and found the keys. The cold metal felt oddly familiar, like it was mine, even though I couldn't remember how. I unlocked the door with a sigh of relief and stepped inside, the apartment's quiet greeting me. The air inside smelled faintly of old wood and lingering spices from the kitchen.
No one was home yet. It seems my parents worked late, and for now, I had a few moments of solitude to try and make sense of everything that had happened. I hurried upstairs to my room, locking the door behind me once I entered. The room was simple—almost bare. A small desk cluttered with school supplies and textbooks stood against one wall. A single bed, its blue sheets rumpled, sat across from it. A bookshelf on the far side was filled with old, dusty books and a few figurines I had collected years ago. The light from a single lamp cast shadows along the walls, making the room feel dim like I was hiding from the rest of the world.
I collapsed onto the bed, the weight of my body sinking into the mattress. My mind was spinning—how did I end up like this? What was going on? The system screen appeared again in my vision, almost as if it had been waiting for me to be alone. This time, I didn't hesitate. I selected "Yes" in my head.
And in an instant, everything went dark.
The last thing I felt was the overwhelming sensation of my consciousness slipping away as if the world was swallowing me whole.