He used to imagine dying dramatically. A heroic sacrifice, maybe, or a tragic accident that'd make people mourn. But the truth was uglier. If he died, no one would notice. The landlord might find him eventually, pissed about the unpaid rent.
The thought twisted something in his chest. Not sadness—anger. At himself. At the world. At the unfairness of it all.
He set the sake bottle down, its glass clinking against the table. His hands shook—not from the cold, but from the weight of doing nothing. Always nothing.
Outside, the storm raged harder. Wind howled through the cracks in the window frame, a low wail that sent a shiver down his spine. He pulled his knees up, curling into himself.
The manga stack caught his eye again. A vampire's face stared from the top cover—pale, sharp, commanding. Kazu had wanted to be that. Strong. Feared. Desired. Instead, he was a nobody, bleeding out his days in silence.
He closed his eyes again, tighter this time. The rain was all he had left—a soundtrack to his collapse. He let it pull him under, sinking into the dark.
He didn't hear the truck. Didn't hear the brakes scream as they failed. Didn't hear the glass shatter when it came through the wall.
But he felt it. For one brief, blinding moment, he felt everything.
The impact was a thunderclap in his bones. Metal twisted, glass flew, and his body crumpled like paper. Pain roared through him—sharp, hot, endless. Blood filled his mouth, coppery and thick.
His vision blurred. The neon lights outside smeared into a kaleidoscope, then faded. The rain's rhythm slowed, a distant echo. His chest heaved once, twice, then stopped.
Darkness took him. Not the soft fade he'd imagined, but a void—cold, absolute. Kazu floated there, weightless, his thoughts unraveling. No second chance. No fantasy world. Just the end he'd always feared.
Then—light. Faint, warm, pressing against him. Not from outside, but inside, like a spark igniting. He tried to move, to scream, but his body wouldn't obey.
Something squeezed him, tight and wet. Pressure, everywhere. His limbs felt wrong—small, fragile, trapped. Panic flared, but he couldn't fight it.
A voice broke through, muffled but close. "Push, my lady! Almost there!"
Push? Kazu's mind spun. The pressure shifted, pulling him forward. Air hit his face—cool, sharp, stinging his lungs. He gasped, a high, thin wail escaping him.
He was… crying? His eyes cracked open, blurry and weak. Shapes loomed above him—faces, soft and glowing, haloed by lantern light.
"There he is!" A woman's voice, warm but tired. "Oh, Veyra, he's perfect."
Hands lifted him, gentle but firm. He flailed, tiny fists waving. Tiny? He looked down—chubby arms, wrinkled skin, a body no bigger than a loaf of bread. A baby.
His heart—or whatever beat in this new chest—raced. He'd died. The truck had killed him. And now… this? Reincarnation?
The woman holding him smiled, her face flushed and damp with sweat. Dark hair stuck to her forehead, framing eyes the color of storm clouds. She was young, maybe mid-twenties, beautiful in a raw, exhausted way.
"My little boy," she murmured, cradling him against her chest. Her skin was warm, her heartbeat steady under his cheek. A scent hit him—milk, salt, and something deeper. Blood.
His mouth watered. A sharp pang stabbed his gums, fierce and unfamiliar. He squirmed, instinct driving him toward her neck.
"Whoa, easy now." A man's voice, deep and rough, cut in. Another face appeared—broad, tanned, with a short beard and hazel eyes. He grinned, resting a hand on the woman's shoulder. "He's got spirit already, Veyra."
Veyra laughed, soft and breathless. "Like his father, Talren. Look at those eyes—red as embers."
Red eyes? Kazu froze, his infant body trembling. He couldn't see himself, but the words sank in. Not human. Not entirely.
Talren leaned closer, his grin fading to curiosity. "Red, huh? Never seen that in the family. Maybe he's blessed by the old gods."
"Or cursed," Veyra teased, brushing a finger over Kazu's cheek. Her touch was electric, stirring that pang again. He wanted her—not as a mother, but as… something else.
His mind reeled. He was a baby, damn it. A newborn with a thirty-four-year-old pervert's brain. And yet, that hunger wasn't just for milk. It was darker, sharper, alive in his tiny veins.
The room came into focus—stone walls, a wooden ceiling, a fire crackling in a hearth. Simple, rustic, like a medieval cottage. A midwife bustled nearby, wiping her hands on a cloth, her gray hair tied back.
"Healthy boy," she said, nodding at Veyra. "Strong lungs, too. What'll you name him?"
Veyra looked at Talren, a silent question in her eyes. He scratched his beard, thinking. "Kaelith. Sounds fierce. Fits him."
"Kaelith," Veyra repeated, testing it. She smiled down at Kazu—or Kaelith now. "Welcome to the world, my Kaelith."
Kazu wanted to laugh, scream, something. Kaelith? Fine, he'd take it. But this—this body, this life—was insane. He was a baby, helpless, stuck in a fantasy world with parents straight out of a storybook.
And that hunger… He licked his lips, feeling tiny pricks against his tongue. Fangs? Already? They were small, barely there, but real.
Vampire. The word thudded in his skull. He'd dreamed of it in Tokyo, sprawled on his couch with manga and sake. Now it was him.
Veyra shifted, pulling him closer. Her neck was inches away, pale and smooth, a vein pulsing faintly beneath the skin. His gums throbbed, a craving he couldn't name tightening his chest.
No. He couldn't bite her. She was his mother here, for gods' sake. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the urge.
"Rest now," the midwife said, patting Veyra's arm. "You've earned it. I'll check on you tomorrow."
She left, the door creaking shut. Talren sank onto a stool, watching Veyra with a mix of pride and relief. "He's ours, huh? Hard to believe."
"Ours," Veyra echoed, her voice softening. She rocked Kazu gently, humming a tune he didn't know.
He let her warmth sink in, his tiny body relaxing despite itself. This was his start—his second chance.
His eyes drifted around the room. A sword hung on the wall, its blade nicked but polished. A woven rug covered the floor, frayed at the edges. A window showed a night sky—two moons now, one silver, one faint purple.