On a clear Monday morning, the crisp air carried the scent of freshly cut grass as the students of Hoshizuki High gathered around the outdoor track for gym class. Chatter filled the air—a mix of groans from those who dreaded physical activity and the excited banter of the more athletic students.
Oliver stood among them, stretching absentmindedly, his mind drifting back to the strange sensation that had been lingering in his body since morning.
It was subtle—like a current of warmth flowing just beneath his skin—but unmistakably present. He'd felt it since waking up, but it was during homeroom that it had grown stronger. His senses sharper. His reflexes slightly more precise. His awareness of his own body heightened in a way that felt... unnatural.
Is this real? Or am I imagining things?
No way a lucid dream could've left something behind… right?
But… maybe it's not that unbelievable. I mean, real martial arts have breathing techniques that unlock a person's full strength. So maybe some of those so-called Cultivation Techniques could work in principle?
And if that's true... doesn't that mean some of Fang Lee's martial arts knowledge might actually hold water too...?
The thought stirred a quiet joy in Oliver's chest.
He hadn't taken it seriously at first—just half-hearted daydreams while adjusting to waking up. Sure, he'd entertained the idea of Qi, but only because the memory of the dream had felt so vivid. That was all.
Right?
But now… he was thinking more logically.
Fang Lee had lived for nearly thirty years.
Every single day, he had trained. Fought. Learned. Failed. And got back up again.
It wasn't just dreams. It was repetition. Discipline. Pain. Progress.
Even if it had all been fake—even if the formation, the beasts, the Qi, the life he'd lived—if none of it was real...
He still retained it all.
His memories had become Oliver's—and when he woke up this morning, something had changed. Not just memory—but instinct. Muscle. Breath.
He flexed his fingers absently, watching the tendons shift beneath his skin.
Is this what enlightenment is?
Not divine light or sudden power... but awareness. Clarity. A sense of control I didn't have before.
I may not have his Qi. But I've got something.
Twenty years' worth of martial experience, crammed into a single night's dream—fake or not, it carved itself into him.
And if even half of it held up in the real world… Then this body he was walking in?
It wasn't the same one that had gone to sleep last year.
Last year?
The words echoed, hollow and heavy.
His thoughts stuttered. Last year?
He tried to pin down the timeline, but something slippery twisted behind his eyes. Had it really been that long? When had he last opened the wardrobe?
The memory crept in—unbidden.
It had been a morning just like this—or was it this morning?—
Sky still golden with dawn haze.
The house too quiet.
He remembered running.
His shoes slapping the floorboards as he turned sharply into his room, heart thudding for reasons he couldn't explain. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was dread.
His eyes locked on the wardrobe.
He reached for the handle and pulled.
Locked.
It shouldn't have been locked.
His breath quickened. He crouched low, reaching for the small ceramic tray where the key always sat.
It was empty.
No keys. Just dust—and a hairpin that didn't belong to anyone in the house.
Then—
Quiet.
And then—
Breathing.
Slow. Raspy. Wrong.
It wasn't his.
It came from behind the wardrobe doors—thick and labored, like someone—no, something—was inside. His spine chilled.
He took a step back.
Thud.
The wardrobe rattled softly, as if something shifted inside.
His fingers trembled as he reached forward—not to open it, just… to see.
He pushed one of the doors inward, just enough to create a crack.
Darkness.
His eyes adjusted.
A figure crouched in the center—pale knees to her chest, damp crimson hair clinging to her skin. A single black horn jutted from her forehead, with a demon mask resting against the side of her head. Behind her, red masks hung on the dark wardrobe wall. Her red eyes stared forward, lips curled in a faint, unreadable smile.
And then—
Click.
Her fingers moved. The inner latch flicked open.
She looked up.
Their eyes met.
His breath caught.
The memory dissolved.
"Alright, today we're doing relay sprints!" the coach's gruff voice barked across the track, jolting Oliver back.
He blinked.
Sunlight. Grass. Teenagers chatting.
He was still standing in place—but sweat now dotted his brow, and his breath came shallow. He swallowed thickly, heart still pounding from a memory that hadn't felt like a memory at all.
It had felt close.
Too close.
A collective groan rippled through the class.
He let out a breath, foggy-headed. As everyone began organizing themselves, his world realigned—snapping back into a linear thread.
Yesterday, he'd received a printout for the Dream Pattern.
Last night, he'd performed its ritual.
He'd gone on a lucid adventure.
This morning, he woke up and ate breakfast.
And now, here he was.
Self-reflecting on enlightenment.
In seconds, Oliver forgot the strangeness around him.
Who should I team up with? he thought, a smile forming on his face, something deep inside whispering:
Today's gonna be a good day.
He stretched lightly, feeling the warm sun on his skin as he breathed in a smooth rhythm. Lightness flowed through his limbs, his lungs expanding with each inhale, untying a wave of fleeting unease as his gaze rose toward the school building.
—
The flight from Taiwan to Haneda had been uneventful. Passengers slept, whispered, ate packaged meals.
Until turbulence struck.
The overhead lights flickered. A stewardess dropped her tray.
In the back row, a boy pointed out the window. "Mom, look!"
She followed his gaze.
It wasn't a storm. It wasn't a rainbow.
It was... a ring.
Vast. Dimly geometric. Barely visible—like it existed behind the sky itself. Beneath it, the ocean churned strangely.
The plane jolted again—but this time, it didn't level out.
With a low whump, like a heartbeat through clouds, the airliner vanished.
Gone from the sky.
It reappeared two seconds later—low. Too low. Scraping treetops before crashing into the dark green sprawl of forest.
Flames rose. Wings torn. Smoke coiled upward as birds scattered into the sky.
Click.
Ripples fanned outward across a tranquil lake.
Then—
Snap.
A house appeared.
It dropped into the lake with a thunderous splash, water surging. The structure cracked, groaned, and settled half-submerged as if it had always been there.
Inside the house, a young boy stared out from behind a paper screen door, blinking rapidly.
Moments ago, he had been brushing his teeth.
Now… water surrounded his home on all sides. Pine trees reflected off the surface in all directions. Mist clung low to the lake's edges.
He stepped backward, heart hammering.
The TV in the next room crackled loudly, then died—its screen blacking out.
Lights blinked and fizzed.
His phone, charging by the sink, began to heat up. With a sudden pop, it sparked and died.
A USB fan near the window sparked and fell silent.
Everything plugged in sizzled—and died in the same breath.
The boy screamed and stumbled as water surged over the wooden steps outside. He yanked the door closed, as if that might help—but the house creaked and moaned, like it was alive and breathing wrong.
Click! Click!
The early morning fog still lingered over the long stretch of highway, painting the world in pale gray. Four prison buses—steel-gray, reinforced, and flanked by two escort vehicles—moved in a tight convoy.
In the second bus, chains rattled faintly as inmates dozed or stared out the barred windows. The prisoners here were women—some with haunted eyes, others with expressions hard as stone. One leaned her head against the glass, eyes closed, face peaceful in a way that didn't belong in a place like this.
Another clutched a crumpled photo of a child—her daughter, maybe—pressed tightly in both hands like a prayer.
The guards sat near the front, half-alert, muttering about how quiet the ride had been.
Too quiet.
The convoy passed through a long underpass, headlights casting sharp shadows across the tunnel walls.
And then—
The second and third buses vanished.
No sound. No flash. No skid marks.
One moment, they were there.
The next—nothing. Empty space stretched between the first and last vehicles.
Brakes screamed.
Escort cars swerved.
The lead bus came to a jarring halt, and the final one slammed its brakes soon after, tires skidding against the pavement.
Confused shouts and panicked questions spilled out of radios as officers leapt from their vehicles.
Nothing had collided. Nothing had fallen behind.
The space where the two buses had been was just that—space.
No debris. No smoke. Not even heat.
Gone.
Just… gone.
Inside the vanished second bus, the last thing anyone remembered was the headlights dimming slightly. A buzzing in their ears. And the sound of breathing—not from the guards or the inmates.
Something deep. Heavy.
Then black.
And in the third bus?
The moment before it vanished, a guard had just stood to check the cuffs on the back row—when the floor beneath his boots blinked out of existence.
There were no screams.
Only silence.
Then—
Click.
The zookeepers had begun their morning rounds, the air thick with the scent of damp hay, animal musk, and fresh-cut vegetables. Birds chirped in the early light. Somewhere, a tiger roared—lazy but awake.
Everything was normal.
Then the sky turned... still.
Not dark. Not bright. Just flat, like the color had been drained for a second too long.
A low-frequency hum filled the air.
The monkeys shrieked first, hurling themselves from branch to branch in a panicked frenzy. The elephants trumpeted, stamping wildly as if trying to escape invisible restraints. Lions paced restlessly, growling at nothing.
The zookeepers called out, trying to calm the animals.
Then—everything vanished.
In an instant.
The entire zoo.
The fences, the buildings, the walkways, the visitor paths, the staff, the animals.
All gone.
Left behind was a jagged depression in the ground—a ghost outline of where structures once stood, as if something had scooped the entire zoo off the face of the earth.
CCTV feeds cut to black, static hissing through the monitors.
Security guards at the park's entrance—still intact—stared into the empty expanse, unable to comprehend the silence that had replaced the morning chorus of calls and roars.
Where there had been life… now there was only dirt, concrete slabs, and the faint scent of ozone.
—
On the rooftop of Hoshizuki High, a lone figure in a pink hoodie stood behind the railing. She hummed a simple melody, holding the roof fence. Her left hand gripped the wire net, while the other held out a card—with her naked figure illustrated on the back, and a family portrait on the front: a woman with long flowing black hair, a man with messy blond hair, and a young girl on the man's shoulders ruffling his hair with a slight angry expression.
Her gaze softened.
She never looked away from the track.
Down below, Oliver stood stretching, unaware he was being watched.
Students chatted. Laughed. Complained about sprinting.
The world continued.
But above, in silence, the girl's hand tightened around the rusting rooftop fence.
She didn't blink.
Not even when the wind shifted and blew up her skirt.
Instead, she smiled at the lucky blue-eyed boy that appeared in her fortune.
"So that's my future husband~," she said, winking at him—
—and disappearing in a puff of glitter, before he could even register what he saw.