The buzz of traffic faded as memories tugged Mitsu back to another world—one that felt painfully distant and uncomfortably close. A world he hadn't been ready to leave. A life that slipped through his fingers before he even understood it.

  The beginning had been ordinary. A quiet kid in the back row, Mitsu spent most of his early years unnoticed, content to observe from the sidelines. His parents were humble, hardworking people, and he was their only son—a silent boy with a gift for watching without being seen. For a while, life was simply that—quiet, simple, safe.

  But when Mitsu turned twelve, it all changed.

  He was in the living room, earphones on, tapping out a rhythm on his leg when the shouting began. The tension crackled through the walls like electricity. His mother's voice pleaded—raw, cracking—while his father's replies were sharp, clipped, final.

  He tried to drown it out. He couldn't.

  Then came the words that pierced straight through the music: "I'm leaving. This is it."

  When he finally dared to peek into the hallway, the only trace of his father was the half-open closet and a trail of footsteps toward the front door. His mother didn't say anything. She didn't need to.

  Weeks turned into months, and the bitterness set in like mold on the walls. His mother moved like a ghost, her eyes dull, her voice reduced to polite nods and tired silence. Mitsu never asked. He knew better. She worked, she slept, she survived. And he... drifted.

  By high school, Mitsu didn't recognize himself anymore. The quiet boy had become something else—sharper, colder, closed off. He wore a mask of scorn, a simmering anger he didn't know how to aim. He avoided his classmates. They returned the favor.

  "Hey, Mitsu! Wanna come out this weekend?"

  He didn't look up. "Not interested."

  Most stopped trying. A few neighbors still reached out, but Mitsu had already built his wall.

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  The whispers followed him. So did the looks.

  "That guy's a total freak now. Wonder what happened to him."

  Every judgment was another splinter, another reason to retreat further. He found peace only in the quiet places—abandoned alleys, rooftops, shadowed stairwells. Places where the world couldn't see him, didn't expect anything from him. He convinced himself this was safer. Easier.

  Until that night.

  It had started like a dare—half a joke, half a challenge.

  "Come on, Mitsu," Joshua had said, smirking. "If you're so fearless, prove it. Come to the old manor with us."

  The old house had been the stuff of local legends. Ghost stories. Curses. Dead soldiers. No one serious believed them, but that didn't stop the thrill.

  "Fine," Mitsu snapped. "If that's what it takes to shut you up."

  The group grinned, jostling each other as they made their way to the rotting gate. They took turns daring each other, until Mitsu finally shoved past them all and stepped through first.

  Inside, the air was thick with dust and mildew. Shattered windows filtered in pale moonlight. Shadows clung to corners, and yet Mitsu felt no fear—only a strange pull. A challenge.

  He stepped deeper, the floor groaning beneath his weight. The silence inside was deeper than outside, as if the house itself were holding its breath.

  One of the kids bumped him from behind, laughing too loud. Mitsu stumbled, catching himself on a splintered railing. His heart hammered, but he scowled and clicked his tongue.

  Then... something moved.

  In the corner of his eye—a flicker. A shadow that didn't belong.

  Just a trick of the light, he told himself, walking toward it. It's nothing.

  But it wasn't nothing.

  In those final, weightless seconds before the world tilted away, memories burst through him—his mother's tired smile. His father's fading silhouette. The dark streets he'd walked alone. The ache of being invisible.

  It all felt unfinished. Unspoken. Unsaid.

  And then—nothing.

  Until now.

  Another life. Another world. And still, those same memories clung to him like ghosts.

  As Mitsu's awareness returned to the present—the cold military room, the oversized world, the strange fuzz of his bunny ears—he exhaled softly.

  This time, he wouldn't let it slip away. Not again.

  He wasn't sure what this world held. But whatever it was, he'd face it head-on.

  Because now, he had something to prove.