A/N: Disclaimer: I don't own Tokyo Manji Revengers, including its characters and plot.

A few warnings first:

There will not be any romance other than the canon pairings. There will be close friendships/bromances, similar to the original material, but the main character will not end up in a relationship(that's my plan, anyway).

There will be a few OC's in addition to the main protagonist. We only know the captains and vice-captains in Toman, and it would feel contrived if they were the only characters the protagonist interacted with. Don't worry, they will not play major roles in the plot.

There will be some cursing. I am writing a slightly older protagonist, and there will be moments where this character has darker thoughts, but I will do my best to not let it be excessive.

I think I've just lost the majority of my readers with the first point, but for those left, I hope you enjoy. Comments and constructive criticism are appreciated.

Edited A/N: Besides changing the chapter order, I have made a few modifications, but nothing major. One notable one is her host family's surname being changed to "Ito."

I absolutely despised flying economy.

The brat sitting behind me kicked my chair for the umpteenth time, jolting the laptop in my lap. Someone's baby had been wailing nonstop for the past eon. And my neighbor, while a polite elderly man who had offered to help store my luggage, had just released a potent stink-bomb that was making its rounds around the cabin.

I blankly watched the tiny clock on the upper corner of my laptop tick by, the analog second hand almost hypnotizing. It was an 11-hour flight from Los Angeles to Japan, and despite only twenty minutes having passed, I already wished it would be over.

The blinking cursor on my screen hadn't moved since the beginning of the flight. Nor had my hands, seemingly frozen over the keys. Lines of code stared back expectantly at me, but it all looked like gibberish at the moment.

I'd been ecstatic when I received an offer from a major tech company in Japan. Living in Japan? Hell yes! This would also be my first full-time job since getting out of grad school. Regardless, my family had thrown a small party to celebrate. Ah, I could vividly remember the sheer jealousy on my older brother's face, although he didn't take it too kindly when I gloated. My cheek still ached.

Although, I was careful to not let my excitement get the better of me. Before leaving, I'd brushed up on my Japanese skills and figured out a residence and work visa. I had trouble falling asleep last night because I was so excited.

But right now, I wanted to watch the world burn.

I blinked as the seat in front of me reclined deeply, gently pushing down the computer screen onto my hands. "It's alright," it seemed to say. "You've earned a break." I'd gotten precisely zero work done. Yeah, I deserve one, I thought, giving myself a mental pat on the back. I clicked my laptop shut and slipped it into my handbag.

With nothing else to do, I stared blankly out the window, where an endless expanse of darkening clouds drifted by. As my seat continued to be assaulted by the child behind me, I considered getting some of the manga that I had stored in my luggage. Perhaps a good book could help me escape from reality, and I was nearly at what seemed to be the climax of the series. I turned in my seat towards the aisle, but my neighbor was slouched in his chair with his head lolling to the side, fast asleep. I briefly debated on waking him up before sinking back down. Nah, he'd been a nice fellow (up to the fart); I'd feel like a jerk if I bothered him anymore.

I sighed. Maybe I should just take a nap, too. There wasn't anything to do on this flight, and I wasn't being productive. I took off my glasses and tucked them into my shirt pocket before leaning back against the headrest. I closed my eyes and tried to block out the fart, the baby, everything.

A sudden, solid kick from behind jolted my seat, strong enough to rattle my neighbor's as well. I sat up abruptly, eyes wide open, but then forced my shoulders to un-hunch and controlled my expression. I didn't particularly hate kids, but I just couldn't understand them. As a kid, I'd considered myself to be rather reasonable whenever I threw a tantrum because I didn't want to sleep. And the time I snuck out of my house at midnight through my second-story window. Even just a year ago when I procrastinated on my college thesis and speedran it in three days. And now I would look back on them, slap past-me in the face, and demand of her what the fuck she was thinking. But I could see why she did what she did in those days, offered the thrill of youth and freedom to do whatever she wanted. Neglecting opportunities and shutting off future paths.

The man beside me was still out like a broken lamp. A sound sleeper. I wished I was him. I rubbed my eyes and settled back into the scratchy material. When I woke up, I had better be in Japan. If not, I was seriously going to take my airline meal and dump it over the brat behind me. He had better be prepared.

Despite having slept less than five hours yesterday, I felt wide awake and very aware of the hell around me. But eventually something noiselessly clicked, and my consciousness faded out into oblivion.

---

"This is your captain speaking; the seatbelt sign has been switched on. Please stay seated until the end of the flight. I repeat, the..."

I groggily cracked my eyes open and was instantly blinded by bright white from the window. Was it morning? I rubbed my eyes before peeking at my watch, which showed it was—

huh, I could've sworn I was wearing one. It wasn't too big an issue, as a digital panel affixed to the top of the cabin displayed the local time. Exactly 12 'o clock, near the scheduled arrival time. There was no kicking behind me; the kid had presumably fallen asleep. Indeed, most of the passengers were passed out, a quick glance around showed. There were some loud snores here and there, but bar the tinnitus-inducing roaring of the plane itself, it was actually quite peaceful. I stretched my arms all the way up and flexed my toes, trying to regain some feeling in them. Maybe I could even get some work done. I leaned down to slide out my handbag from under my seat—

And my fingers brushed over bare carpet.

"...?"

I slowly leaned down with my chest in my lap, my head digging into the seat in front of me that was leaning way too far back (I felt a twinge of guilty satisfaction when they shifted uncomfortably), and looked underneath my seat.

Just a pair of shiny dress shoes.

I sat back up and peered into the crack between the wall of the cabin and my seat. Apparently that hadn't been a child behind me, but a tall Japanese man dressed in a sharp suit, currently passed out with his hands visible in his lap. Appearances could be deceiving. I sagely nodded at those words of wisdom as my eyelids drooped.

Wait, no time to sleep, where the hell was my computer?! The fuzz clouding my mind instantly dissipated as I frantically glanced around. I yanked open the pocket on the back of the seat in front of me and let it snap shut after only seeing magazines. I slapped my cheek against the cold window and peered down onto the hive of buildings far below. Nope, not plunging to the ground at terminal velocity.

The mounting panic continued to build until I slumped back into my seat and took deep breaths, forcing myself to relax. Calm...no point in getting agitated; it'd just make me overlook things...but damn, that would be expensive to replace if I didn't get it back... I rubbed my temples and sighed in exasperation. I'd notify an attendant when one came by.

I reached for my glasses but froze when my hand thumped uselessly against my chest. I could've sworn I'd put them in my shirt pocket. Where were my glasses? Come to think of it, this wasn't the dark coat and long skirt I was wearing. It was an oversized jacket and tight-fitting jeans, a boldly patterned shirt peeking from underneath. The kind of stuff I'd worn back in middle school. I hadn't even noticed because I was so caught up over my bag.

The seat beside me was still empty; my neighbor having presumably been in the bathroom. I tentatively touched the smooth material. It was cold.

Everything's different from how I remember it. Amnesia? I don't think it works that way. A dream? Or maybe... a hallucination?

I really, really hope it's not a hallucination. I'm only 26. Please be a dream. I pinched my cheek hard with my child-sized hands. The sharp sting did not reassure me in the least.

Around me, the passengers were starting to awaken, and not a long while after, the plane touched down on the runway, surely jolting awake anyone who wasn't up already. The seatbelt icon switched off, and the pilot briefly spoke on the intercom before people started getting up and swarming the walkways.

I'll find out what this is if I just play along for now.

I sat in place for a moment before standing. A dizzy spell tossed me around, and my hand crashed into the bottom of the armrest as I blindly tried to steady myself. I was short again. Interesting.

I waited for a lull in the crowd before exiting my row and stretching up into the open compartment above my seat. My fingers brushed the bottom of the storage. That was a problem. I climbed up onto the vacant aisle seat and grunted with exertion as I blindly felt for the handle of my luggage. C'mon, the line was waiting for me, where was it? Or had I actually brought no carry-on luggage and was currently grasping into an empty compartment, making a fool out of myself?

The tall dude in a suit with square glasses and neatly-combed black hair who had been sitting behind me walked up to the compartment and smoothly withdrew a small, maroon suitcase, depositing it on the carpeted floor. I didn't initially recognize it, but the nametag on the handle displayed "BLAKE MYERS." It was mine, alright. I rolled it across the aisle and stepped forward to catch up with the departing man, who was only carrying a briefcase—

I tripped.

I caught myself on the ground with my arms, but my suitcase slapped the floor beside me. My legs were shorter; I probably shouldn't have immediately tried to run. Good job, me.

The same man stopped and came back, extending an arm to me. I took it, and he helped me onto my feet. "Don't run. Are you alright?"

"...yeah. Thank you." I cringed at my shrill voice. Had it been that high?

"It's not a problem." He started walking again, although with smaller strides, allowing me to keep pace. Right leg up, push back with left, left leg up. I stumbled but steadied myself on a seat.

"Are you visiting by yourself?" he asked.

I hadn't spoken for several seconds, and the man was waiting expectantly. "Uh yeah, I'm visiting family." Definitely.

"I could take you to them. It's dangerous to travel alone in this area."

I didn't think that would be a good idea. If he found out I was lying, it was very possible I'd be taken to the police. And then things would get...messy, be this hallucination or dream.

"No," I stated. "It's alright." We passed through the exit of the airplane, which was connected to a long, silvery tunnel that led into the airport. Our footsteps thudded heavily on the hard floor.

"I insist," he said back firmly.

Moral, law-abiding, and honorable citizen, you are getting in my way. "Um, thank you," I said emptily. And then once we left the airport, I'd humiliate myself by not knowing where I was going, and I'd wake up sweaty in the plane cabin. Classic nightmare, right?

"Oh hell..." I muttered to myself as we saw the long security check-in lines, which stretched past a glass-windowed room where the actual screening was taking place. I resigned myself to a long wait and started for the end of the line.

The smartly-dressed man took hold of my arm through my jacket. "Come with me." I let myself be dragged after him, nervously keeping my head down as the people we passed by openly stared. Where were we going? Could it be he was reporting me? Wait, how could he have known? I shouldn't have revealed anything. Dream logic was typically bullshit, but so would hallucinations be, probably.

Dream. Dream! Weirdly vivid dream.

At the entrance to the building, a series of black partitions divided the people into multiple lines. Most were crowded with swarms of people, while a few were completely vacant. It was along on of those few lines that he confidently entered without giving me the time to double-check exactly which passengers it was for or tell him to stop. We walked along the clear, zig-zagging path, bypassing the lines entirely. He'd released my arm, and I followed timidly behind him while trying to pretend that the people watching us didn't exist. I'd never felt so out of place, dressed in casual street clothes beside this suited man.

We finally approached the booth. I peeked out from behind his tall stature. Wait, this line was for...

"Tachibana Masato. Officer." He removed from his suit pocket a little black book that flipped open to reveal a shiny, golden badge. I choked. The dude was a police officer. He handed over a few papers and another small booklet to the airport worker—

My passport! I patted down both my jacket and pants pockets. A bulge in my right jacket pocket revealed itself to be my wallet. I opened it up and quickly closed it upon only seeing paper bills. My passport wasn't on me, and the only carry-on I'd brought was... my eyes fell to my suitcase.

Screw you, dream.

I zipped the front flap open fully and sifted through, dislodging a notebook that fell with a loud thwack onto the carpet. Where? Where was it?!

"Next, please." My hands felt clammy as my turn came. This was bad. But a small, dark blue object poking out of an inside pocket caught my eye. I instantly yanked it out and nearly gave myself a papercut on the sheaf of papers stuck inside the booklet. I reached down to snatch the fallen notebook off the ground and hurried over to the booth while zipping my suitcase back shut.

"Your passport, please." I stuffed the whole stack at him, which barely fit through the little slot under the plastic partition. Maybe there was something important in there, some official document I needed. There was no time to check through them, and I had no idea if this would even work. My heart pounded in my ears and breathing increased as I watched my papers being removed and my passport being flipped through. The airport worker typed something up on his terminal, and I shifted on my feet as my face came under scrutiny.

"Blake Myers, correct?"

I swallowed. "Yes?"

"Let's see here...your passport looks good, so does your student visa, and you've got the needed documents."

Student visa? Wait, did that mean...

"It looks like you're set! Welcome to Japan, and I hope you enjoy your studies here." The lines around his eyes crinkled as he smiled.

...I was studying abroad. An overseas, fucking transfer student. What.

The newly-named Tachibana Masato walked up to me as I blankly let the passport drop back into my bag. "You were studying abroad? Why did you not mention that earlier?"

Y'know, this was news to me, too. "Police officer? You never mentioned that," I muttered and instantly bit my lips. Some snark could be excused given my present circumstances, right? If he was even real in the first place.

He stared down on me, an eyebrow arching up to meet his hairline. I was used to being about the same height as people, and suddenly being the short one felt vulnerable. "Sorry," I said, unable to meet him in the eye.

I heard him sigh. "It's alright. Rather, I should apologize. It must be stressful, leaving your home country at this age." Yep, let's go with that. I was just a normal 14-year old, according to my passport. I peeked back at him, and he was facing the other way. I quietly rolled my luggage over to him.

"Is there any baggage you need to pick up?" Did I have any? I wanted to be out of his presence as soon as I could, but I had no idea where I was going or what I'd brought with me. If I really didn't have any, then that would be an awkward explanation. But if I did, then I could still pick it up later.

"No."

"I see." Without further word, he continued into the airport. I followed him, looking at the surrounding stores while contemplating my chances of hurtling away at full speed. In addition to being shorter, my body felt lighter. Stronger. I'd been really into dance at this time; perhaps that was why it was so easy to move, if dream logic worked that way.

But did I really need to? I was here legally. I could probably look through that stack of papers in my passport for more information, including where I was studying or my place of residence. There wasn't any real need to run. Besides, the dude had power. Line-skipping power. Under what circumstances would I voluntarily turn that down?

My stomach grumbled as I caught a whiff of something pungent, a deep, mouth-watering collection of smells all competing in the airport food court. I stared wistfully as a couple my real age chowed down on a tray of skewers, sauce lightly oozing from the deep-fried meat as they bit down into it--

"Do you want something to eat?" Masato's voice jerked me out of my weird trance. I'd apparently just stopped to ogle the people eating at the tables. Airport food wasn't really cuisine, although I technically hadn't eaten anything over the flight as of yet. Maybe they were serving lunch in the airplane right now, and that was what I was smelling. Not hallucination-induced scents. That was probably it. Those skewers looked so juicy, though...

"I can pay for it," he offered. "As an apology for earlier."

I'd just seen there was money in my wallet and would have been alright on that front, but if he was offering, how could I say no? "Thank you."

I followed him to an empty table, where he set down his briefcase on the bench. I parked my own luggage beside it and sat down. "Is there anything in particular you would like?" I told him there wasn't and watched as he walked over to a food stand.

Dream? This was way past that, despite my numerous attempts to believe it was so. I placed my hands on the lacquered wooden table and traced the fine grains with a fingertip, the surface cool and smooth to touch. An announcement played over the dull hum of people chattering and walking about, echoing around the vast airport.

If this wasn't a dream, it must've been some sort of hallucination. My finger halted on the table.

Hallucination...?

Masato made his way back after a few minutes. He'd gotten himself some sort of bento and a cup of coffee, and for me, those same meat skewers from earlier. Thoughtful of him. Or was it me? I mindlessly gave my thanks, and, after saying the cultural pre-meal words, started eating.

It burst with flavor, the tart dipping sauce and seasoning helping to accentuate the tender meat, fresh from the grill. I took a quick sip from the cup of water he'd also given me, not having expected to burn my tongue.

My hand holding the half-finished skewer stopped to rest on the table. A hallucination with all five senses? Was it all fake? Or which ones were the ones not real, the ones simply generated by my mind?

It's not a dream. It must be a hallucination...or else it's...

"Is there something wrong?" I wrenched my attention back and realized what it might've looked like. I shook my head and took another bite. "No, I was just distracted."

I needed to see more before coming to any conclusions.

We ate in silence for a few minutes. In the meantime, I riffled through some of the papers that had been stuck in my passport. Mizo Middle...? I couldn't recall hearing of it before. Apparently, I was going to attend there for about a year.

"I have a daughter going to that same school," Masato began. Where was this coming from? I looked up from the table. He stared out through the glass wall, watching a neon-orange worker guide an airplane onto the runway. "I'm often away from home because of work. Maybe you could talk with her."

I observed him more closely. In the pale, early noon light, I could clearly see the small creases in his forehead and the bags under his eyes. His flat eyes stared off into the distance, seeing something that I couldn't. Even at my real age, this man was older and much more experienced than me. Was that what I would look like after staying in the workforce for long enough? But still...

"Then why don't you see her yourself and not ask a complete stranger to in your stead? She'd clearly be happier for one more than the other." Family was important. Love was a two-way street, and if one side didn't uphold it, then it would eventually collapse. And I didn't want any hand in that.

He didn't blink. "I'm busy."

"Then no promises," I bluntly stated, "But I'll say 'hi' if I happen to see her."

"That's all I ask." He stared at the airfield for a final second before resuming eating, as expressionless as before.

Perhaps I was spoiled. My family had always been at my side, and I knew they would drop everything for me if I ever got hurt or worse. I couldn't imagine having grown up without them, but I doubted it would be pleasant. But at the same time, I'd never made a family of my own; I didn't know what it meant to support a family. Where should the line be drawn between working for the sake of your family and spending time with them? Regardless, there had to be a balance of both.

"Give her a call from time to time. Buy her something. Show her that you care about her, even if she understands you're working for her. Kids aren't adults. If you don't clearly say it, she's not going to see it. They're stupid like that, a lot of the time." I slapped down 2,000 yen on the table, took my luggage and finished skewers, and walked up to a trashcan before he could say anything back (or potentially slap me for calling his daughter an idiot). I didn't have any right to lecture him. I probably should've toned it down a bit. But I meant every word.

I stole a glance back at him. The bills were left untouched, and he had resumed eating as if nothing had happened. Whether he heeded them or not was out of my depth, but he was the only person in the world who could show her what a "father" was. It was his decision, and only he could make it.

"'Tachibana,' though... that's probably just a coincidence."

---

Without the almighty skip-line cheat, it took an hour or so for me to reach the outside of the airport. It was midday, but even with the pale mass of clouds covering the sky, it was quite warm, I realized after leaving the AC'd building. Was it summer? I took off my jacket and tied it around my waist, feeling a little cooler in my t-shirt.

A crowd of people around the main entrance, some holding signboards with names on them. The home that would be hosting me for the duration of my stay should be here, somewhere... ah, found them.

An elderly couple stood together near the edge of the crowd, whom had respectfully stayed their distance. A surprisingly tall man with graying hair and tinted shades held up a relatively large poster that had "MYERS" handwritten in black marker. Holding his hand was a similarly aged woman of about 70, slightly hunched over as was characteristic of old people. Nevertheless, her gentle smile and creased face gave off the appearance of a kind, elderly lady. It was my first time seeing them, and yet I felt like I thoroughly knew their personalities just with that one look.

In the event that they weren't my host family though, I could probably outrun them, at least. Maybe not as 26-year-old me who sat in a chair all day, but 14 was the peak of my athleticism. I hauled my baggage towards them, squeezing my way through the crowd. "Excuse me... sorry... coming through."

I eventually reached the couple, and the woman spoke up in a quiet, age-worn voice that somehow also managed to project. "Perchance, are you Blake?"

"Blake Meyers," I confirmed. "Yes, I am. It's nice to meet you." I bowed my head slightly, uncertain of how I should be acting.

She gave a small chuckle. "Dear, isn't she polite?" I peeked up as the tall man towering over her gave a rumble of agreement. "But let's stop lolling around outside and return home, shall we? You must be tired. Jet lag is like that one relative you have who you'd rather forget. Always shows up at the worst timing." She gave a small shudder.

"Junichirou?" her husband supplied.

She gently pushed his shoulder. "Don't remind me of him." But another laugh at the end said she was teasing.

I snorted, not really expecting the interaction, but it was welcome nonetheless.

From there, we left the airport and traveled along a path that followed the river, a few stout warehouses situated on the other side of the water. There were some skyscrapers further into the city, but the direction we took led into a residential area. I could see several apartment complexes over the roofs. We didn't pass too many people along the road, but they were mostly older people, with no students. It must've been a weekday.

During the roughly 15-minute walk, they started up some small talk with me and among themselves. They were genuinely welcoming, talking as if I were part of the family. Ito Youko was the voice of the two. She constantly spoke and even rambled at times, but there was that occasional quirk of humor, only obtainable through age and experience, that made her interesting to listen and talk to. She freely spoke of her hobbies, some anecdotes that she'd gathered over her life, anything really.

On the other hand, Ito Shigeru was the exact opposite. He spoke infrequently and at irregular intervals, but whenever he did, his wife would stop and listen. He gave reminders, small jokes that honestly sounded awkward, his own commentary on the current topic she was talking about, and Youko would fluidly react to each. Rather than talk, he was always listening. She'd accidentally cut me off at one point, but he'd rumbled in his deep voice and made way for me to talk back.

It was an eccentric couple, and yet somehow, the two perfectly synergized with each other. They must've lived together for quite a long time to be on this level of sync. More telling than their conversation, though, was the fact that their hands had remained in each others' ever since we'd left the airport.

This was what family should be. What love should be. And yet, something about the scene made me feel bittersweet. I wouldn't specifically understand why until later that day.

---

The elderly couple lived in a modest 2-story house situated on the edge of the block, bordered by a stone wall and gate that encompassed each building in the district. A short balcony overlooked the first floor, and the tiled roof extending from both floors of the stout building were a weathered, rust brown. It was a Western-style house rather than a traditional Japanese one.

They showed me my room, the second-story one that faced the street. It was already furnished, with a single-sized bed standing in the corner, a few cabinets and empty bookcases over along the wall, and a large carpet below the short worktable in the middle of the room. It was a very nice room. But what really sold me was the AC unit, perched where the wall met the ceiling, that was belching out fresh, cool air.

I set my handbag down on the desk in the corner and plopped down on a chair, my legs propped on top of my suitcase. It'd been quite warm walking back. A tall mirror propped up next to a closet showed my cheeks were red and bangs plastered to my head. Come to think of it, this was the first time I'd seen child-me. Wavy, blond hair covered her forehead, but the rest of it was tied back in a short pigtail. Her arms were slender, although I could see tight, corded muscle when she flexed. This body hadn't fully developed yet. It lacked the curves of a woman, although there was a slight bulge at the chest area. But if it hadn't happened yet, then that meant...

I'm not going through puberty again. No. Just no.

But even worse, that also meant...

Oh fuck me, I'm going to be trapped in a room with hormonal teenagers for hours on end.

I listlessly stared at the mirror, letting my thoughts wander. But there was one area I was trying to avoid, a doubt I had been constantly trying to pretend didn't exist.

I flicked open the flip-phone they had given me to use and navigated around it, trying to get used to the unwieldy buttons. 2005, my eyes saw the date as, but that was hardly the most unusual thing they'd seen today. The icon near the middle of the keypad continued to nag at me, and I eventually gave in and pressed it.

The screen flickered and showed an empty contacts list. I called up the dial tab, and the flashing cursor prompted me to enter a number.

"I think it was 011 for international..." I carefully typed in one of the phone numbers I knew by heart, one of the people who had been starred on my original phone.

I hit dial.

It processed the number for a few seconds before showing an error message. My sweat felt like ice as I saw the results, and I think I felt a little faint-headed—

"Wait, I need a calling card for international calls. Whoops."

I let out a laugh as the tension seeped out of me. Panic attack momentarily averted, I set the phone back down on the desk and leaned back fully with a massive sigh. I could buy a calling card later, but there were other ways to contact them that I could do right now.

I picked the flip-phone back up and slowly composed an email in English, using the phone number as my address, to each person of importance to me. Later, I'd realize how faulty this test was, but it still provided the correct outcome.

I hit send.

It was quite anticlimactic compared to the phone call. I constantly refreshed the page, but nothing happened for several minutes. Fair enough, I personally didn't check my email more than once or twice a day. I navigated to the phone settings and set it to vibrate when it received an email before snapping it shut. All that was left to do was wait.

The phone screen stayed black even after I'd had a home-cooked dinner with my host family and taken a shower. With the lights off and my head enveloped in a cool pillow, my ears stayed alert. But I eventually nodded off in the absence of any new messages.

---

Pale white light filtered in through the transparent curtains, illuminating the room in a soft, cool haze. Whereas the bugs had been chirping all night, it was eerily silent in the early morning.

I sat up in an unfamiliar bed. The blanket felt cool to touch, and it was pleasantly brisk compared to last night. My mouth felt dry after sleeping. I could faintly smell the aroma of something light cooking, likely breakfast, and my stomach growled in response. I saw the same teenage girl in the mirror. I patted down a loose lock of bed hair, and she did the same.

I was still here.

This has gone on for far too long to be a hallucination. This... this is real, isn't it? It's not a dream, nor a hallucination. It's reality. The realization was crystal clear, but its implications were far, far worse than this simply being a hallucination.

How was I in the body of my 14-year-old self, and how had I traveled back in time? Why was I a transfer student in Japan?

How could I go back?

This was weird. This made no sense. I tugged my blanket around me, still warm from my body heat, yet I shivered.

I suddenly threw them off and scrambled over to my desk to snatch the flip-phone. One reply had arrived over the night, from one Frank Meyers. "Dad...?" I whispered. But I hesitated to open it. I wanted to see someone familiar, to be comforted and reassured everything would be alright, yet dread lapped at the sides of my stomach, viscous and tar black.

I scrunched my eyes shut as I opened the message and after a few long seconds, forced them open to read the reply.

"I am afraid you have typed in the wrong address. I am not married, nor do I have children."

My breath hitched. It was not a hallucination. It was not the past. It was a completely different world, and I was living in it. I kept rereading the message, checking each word to make sure it was really there. This was just like Earth, yet it wasn't. My family didn't exist here. How did I even exist?

"Fuck."

I was so disoriented that I could only muster a single curse without any meaning behind it. There was no weight to it, but there wasn't any gratification in saying it, either. The word was usually broad enough to summarize whatever I needed it to, but it barely scratched the surface of the multitude of emotions I was feeling right now. I kept repeating it in my head, as if it could grant me some sort of reprieve.

What the fuck was I supposed to do now? I wanted to go home. I wanted to see my family again. The prospect of not being able to see them and the realization that this world denied their existence hurt. Was it only me who was seeing something very-fucking-much wrong with this reality?

I flinched from a piercing rap at the door. "Blake? It's morning," my host mother said from behind the door. I placed a hand on my racing heart and slowly padded over to the entrance, where I opened the door.

"Y-yes, I'm awake. Thank you."

Youko stood there, a hand on a nearby table for support, her cheery eyes visible under gray curls. They almost seemed to twinkle despite facing away from the warm light in the hallway. She was wearing a loose sweater, and an apron was tied over it. "You don't need to be so formal. We're going to be living together for a year. Indulge in an old lady's wishes for a bit."

"Okay."

"Yay!" she waved her free hand around in cheer before laughing. "But it's alright if you aren't comfortable with it. Get dressed and come down for breakfast. I tried cooking a western-style breakfast for the first time in a while; I hope you find it alright. No need to rush, you've got plenty of time before school." She gently laid a hand on my shoulder.

"Okay."

Youko left with a wave before slowly making her way down the stairs, a hand on the railing. I made my way over to my bed and just sat there.

My host dad found me in that position a good while later, and I vaguely remembered slipping into a school uniform and eating breakfast. Youko's chattering became a drone in the background. I placed my empty plate in the sink and trudged to the foyer, where I slipped on a pair of brown loafers. I was required to attend school. Maybe there was something I could find there. Exactly how "I" was here.

I picked up my handbag and pulled open the front door, but a wrinkled hand from above me shut it closed again. I stared up at Ito Shigeru, his tinted shades propped up on his forehead. He almost seemed to glower, but it might have just been his sunken eyes. The white apron on top of his tracksuit dimmed the effect somewhat.

"Youko wasn't sure how to ask you," he said in his low timbre. "But are you alright?"

Did I fucking look alright? I imagined myself belting out expletives and profanity, cursing at the person who was getting in my way. Did he deserve it? No. Would it make me better? Maybe.

"Yes, I am." I kept my voice level.

He looked unconvinced. "I could take you to school. It's dangerous around this area."

"No," I said politely. "It's alright. Thank you." My voice came out forcefully as my frustration leaked out.

Shigeru quietly met my gaze for a few seconds before releasing his hand from the door. "If there's anything we can help with, please tell us."

"I will." He could tell it was an empty promise, yet he didn't hold me back any longer. I offered a small wave as he closed the door.

---

Mizo Middle was a multi-story school, the nondescript gray walls interrupted by large skylights in intervals and a chain fence that bordered the roof. A tall gate ran around the premises and was currently open to reveal a small courtyard right in front of the building.

I walked behind a teacher through the long hall, one side covered with windows that gave a view over the courtyard and the other side with classrooms. The indoor shoes he'd distributed to me clacked quietly on the hard floor.

I stopped as he did in front of a particular classroom. Unlike the others, the students were still not fully seated and talking amongst themselves, probably due to the lack of supervision. The teacher told me to wait before entering the room himself. Everyone scurried to their seats. He gave a brief announcement from the desk at the head of the room and beckoned me in.

I ignored the rows of eyes upon me and stared at the wall over their heads. They all blended into one big blur, a sea of black-hair and white-collared shirts. "Why don't you give us a short introduction?" I faintly heard from beside me.

"I'm Blake Myers. It's nice to meet you. Please take care of me." I bowed properly, my face slack.

"Is there anything else you want to add? Like any hobbies, talents...?" The teacher was trying to drag a more meaningful introduction out of me.

"No." The teacher shrugged before speaking to the rest of the class.

"Myers is a student from the US who will be with us for the rest of the school year. This is her first time in Japan; is there anyone who can help her out?"

Two, three hands popped up in the class of 30. "Tachibana, why don't you? She can sit in the empty seat next to you."

I listlessly approached the indicated seat, hung my bag on a hook protruding from the desk as everyone else seemed to be doing, and sat. Some quiet chatter arose from the desks surrounding me, but I turned my attention to the front of the class and ignored them. The girl beside me waved in my peripheral vision.

The teacher began roll call. At each name, he was met with a "here" from the corresponding student.

"Hanagaki Takemichi." My breath stopped. What? "Absent again."

Surely it was a joke. A coincidence. A one-in-a-billion stroke of shit luck.

He continued reading off names. "Tachibana Hinata."

"Present!" the girl beside me called.

The jump back in time, "Tachibana" Masato, and now, "Hanagaki Takemichi" and "Tachibana Hinata." Once was happenstance; twice was coincidence. Trice was a pattern.

This was "Tokyo Revengers" without a doubt. I was trapped in a comic series when all I wanted was to be home. I ignored the girl beside me and solely focused on the lesson for the rest of class.

---

"How's school like in America?"

"You have really nice hair. I wish mine was naturally blond..."

"Hey, where're you from?"

"Los Angeles," I muttered in response to the last question, not even bothering with the others or trying to keep up with the jumble of questions being thrown at me. Kids were annoying.

"Really? Are there any cool gangs there?"

"Hey, you're all overwhelming her. Maybe give her some space." Tachibana Hinata called from somewhere off to the side.

"Sorry," one of the students sheepishly apologized. The others followed suit. "We were just excited to meet a foreign student."

"It's alright. No worries," I said while flipping the page of my textbook and continuing to read.

---

The bell for the last class of the day rang, and the classroom was noisy as students packed up while chattering with each other. I gave my textbook a last glance before stowing it away in my bag and standing up. Studying had given me something to focus on and was a bizarre comfort. I didn't really feel like returning to my host family's house; I just wanted to be alone for a good while.

"Hey," the girl sitting beside me piped up again. "Do you want to hang out together? I'm free today, and I can show you around town."

Did I even care at this point? "Sure, that would be nice."

"Great! Let's just go change our shoes, then." I fingered the phone in my handbag before shrugging. I wasn't in the mood to contact my host parents, either.

"I frequent this shop a lot because their clothes are cute and cheap, on top of that." She gestured at the clear storefront, where a few mannequins posed in casual outfits. "Do you want to check it out?"

I stared at the long, unending row of shops that lined the road. The sidewalk was crowded, making it feel hotter than it really was. The only reprieve I had from the shining sun in the cloudless sky was the temporary blast of cold air as we passed each store's entrance.

"Sure, that would be nice."

---

"I'm hom— oh, nobody's home."

I stared into the doorway of Tachibana's apartment. It was pleasantly cooler than just the overhang atop the balcony that connected each door in the apartment block.

Tachibana pocketed her keys and went inside, slipping her feet out of her shoes as she stepped onto the wooden panels. "Come on inside and leave your shoes on the mat." I followed her in, and she led me to a kitchen. "Take a seat."

I placed my bag against the leg of the table in the middle of the room and sat at one of the four chairs. Tachibana pulled out two glasses from a rack and set them on the counter before opening the fridge. "Is there anything you'd like to drink? We have some soda or juice, if you want." I told her just water was fine, and she instead filled the cups with some ice and water from the filter before taking the seat across.

"Here you go. It's quite hot today, isn't it? I heard Japan's summers can be quite hot compared to the rest of the world." I cradled the glass in my hands, the condensed moisture forming on the outside leaving my hands wet. I wiped some sweat off my forehead and placed my now-cold hands against my cheeks.

"LA wasn't this bad..." I muttered.

She laughed. "Don't worry, this was one of the hotter days. It won't usually be like this, I promise." We sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping our water.

"So, how's your day so far?" she proposed.

"It's been alright."

"I see." Another minute passed by. When I didn't say anything else, she took the initiative. "Um, so you see, I've got this boy I like. He's got a bigger heart than anyone else, and I really admire that about him, but he's been kind of distant. And I was wondering if you could give me any advice or something like that..." she trailed off.

I stared down dismissively at the ice cubes in my glass, which gently clinked off each other. "Don't even bother. You've already captured his heart."

"O-oh. You think so? That's really nice of you. You're a really nice person, Myers-san."

I knew I was being a spoilsport. I was moping and taking it out on others who hadn't done anything wrong. But being called nice by the girl who was going out of her way to show me a good time? The girl who I knew had always been an emotional pillar of support for Hanagaki Takemichi, so much so that he would continuously risk his life to save her?

I properly looked at Tachibana Hinata for the first time. Light brown curls framed her face, failing to hide the dark blush that had bloomed across her cheeks. She was quite lithe; her arms propped on the table were smooth and unblemished. Her eyes were large and slightly tilted, giving her a humble, if not gentle, appearance.

"Nah, you're the nice one, Tachibana-san."

Tachibana— no, Hinata— had a momentary look of surprise before hopping back into the conversation. "I guess we can both be nice, then." I joined her awkward laughter.

I heard the front door open in the distance. "I'm home," came the muffled voice of an older woman.

Hinata stood up, knocking her chair back. "Welcome back!" she called. "Wait a second," she said to me in a more indoor voice. Hinata disappeared into the hallway, presumably to greet her mother.

"There was a transfer student at school today, and I brought her back. She's a bit quiet, but she's very kind— "

---

"If we ever do get married, I just know he'll turn up bruised and bloody at the wedding. Why do boys always have to get into fights..." Hinata groused with her head propped up in her hands.

"Maybe, but you'd still kiss him, wouldn't you?"

"I would! Even if— " She cut off as she realized what she'd just said. I could almost see the steam billow out of her as her face turned red for nearly the tenth time this afternoon. I snickered.

The window facing out of the kitchen showed the sun had finally set past the cityscape. Streetlights dotted the town. "I should probably go back around now."

Hinata turned back to look at the clock hanging beside the fridge. "Ah! It's 7 already? Sorry to hold you back for so long. Do you want me to take you back to your house?"

"It's alright." I'd ended up sending a message of my whereabouts to my host family in the end. "You've already done a lot for me, and I enjoyed talking with you. Thank you, Tachibana-san."

"It was mostly just me venting about Hanagaki-kun, though," she first muttered to herself, "But I'm happy to know that. You don't seem to be homesick anymore."

Homesickness? Was that why Hinata had tried to take me out to places and spent her afternoon with me? It was a lot more than that, but yeah, I was and still did feel homesick. I was just being less of a jerk about it to other people. But her company had admittedly helped to stave off much of it.

Hinata continued. "Do you want to maybe hang out together again on the weekend? We could grab something to eat, take a walk around town..."

"Sure, that would be nice," I genuinely said for the first time.

"Sounds like a plan! Then— " she was cut off by a digital jingle. She took a flip phone out of her skirt pocket and checked the caller. "Sorry, I need to take this."

I took the opportunity to stand up from my chair, picking up my bag along the way. "Well, I'll just be going then. Bye." She waved back at me before accepting the call.

"Dad? ...oh, I'm doing alright. How was work?"

By the time I'd reached the front door, I couldn't hear her conversation anymore. Hinata's mother caught notice of me from an open doorway and came over. There were definite resemblances between the two, but her mother had a more relaxed and mature air to her, partly shown through her longer hair and gentle expression. "Thanks for making company with Hina. Feel free to stop by again."

"No, it was my pleasure," I returned, slipping into my shoes.

She opened the front door for me, and the sound of chirping cicadas intensified. "Go home safely and stick to the main roads. There's sometimes some gang activity around the city."

"I will." I offered her a small smile. "Thank you."

The door shut behind me, and I stared out over the balcony of the apartment block. It was much cooler than it had been in the afternoon, and the slight breeze gently ruffled my hair. There was simply something nostalgic at staring over the night cityscape, with the streetlamps lighting up the roads and the inside of buildings illuminated. Further away was a mesh of different colors, the shopping district. It wasn't as urban, filled with skyscrapers and endless flecks of light in the distance, as LA was, but it stirred a familiar feeling in me. This was my reality now. After a minute, I headed for the stairway at the end of the hall, which would lead down to the street below.

My eyes widened at a flash of movement from the flight below me right as I stepped onto the stairs, and I pushed forward with more force than intended. I hung there in slow motion for a precarious second, feeling my balance sway drunkenly.

"Shit— " I braced myself for impact with the very, very solid looking concrete steps, my fleshy hands outstretched to absorb some of the impact. Whatever way I landed, this was going to hurt.

A hand reached out from a few steps above me, catching my own. I dangled from it with my heart beating loudly, the floor still closer than I'd like it to be. My handbag smacked the ground loudly, me having let go of it. The person below had rushed up after seeing me about to fall and firmly grabbed hold of my hand with theirs. It was a calloused hand, about the size of my own. With it, they hauled me back up onto my feet.

Short, blond hair gelled back to create a small ridge atop his head. A white blouse, unbuttoned at the collar, and black pants, Mizo Middle's summer school uniform. A collection of bruises and scratches littered across his face. And a pair of determined eyes, glimmering with an untold amount of age and experience. Future Hanagaki Takemichi, the unofficial man of the hour, looking like he'd just been hit by a truck. It was an apt metaphor all things considered, although how exactly time worked in this series was beyond human comprehension.

"Sorry, did I startle you?"

Yes. "No. Thanks for helping me up."

"Oh, uh, I see. Sorry about that." I again denied him, and we parted ways. I picked up my bag from a few steps below and patted the dust off it as I descended down the flight.

There was the sound of a doorbell, and then a door opening. A sharp intake of surprise, then:

"Hanagaki-kun, did you get into another fight?!" I couldn't hear his response. I forced myself to continue walking down without reacting, as if I didn't realize the significance of the situation. I stepped out onto the street and followed the map on my phone, walking along the dimly lit path.

This was the plot of "Tokyo Revengers." If future Takemichi was here in the 'past', that meant Hinata died in the future. Hinata, the sweet girl who had tried to cheer me up despite us being complete strangers. I'd personally gotten to know her over the past few hours, and she felt as real as any other person. She wasn't just the heroine of a book; she was Tachibana Hinata: the optimistic, friendly girl who knew karate for self-defense, liked going clothes shopping on the weekend, and turned into a blushing mess when it came to matters of love. She was surrounded by a family who truly did love her, even if it wasn't shown through the most obvious ways.

It bothered me. I didn't want her to have to die. I wanted her to grow up happily and eventually marry Takemichi, rather than have her life cut short in a tragedy. If I let events play out, he would surely eventually save Hinata. There would be a happy ending; this was a shounen, after all.

But what if there wasn't? I'd never finished the series, and it was still ongoing. I'd never reached a future where Hinata lived for more than a day, and there was just a sliver of a chance that the author, to create the most tragic plot twist, truly did kill off Hinata. Improbable, but not impossible. And it didn't change the fact that 10 or so Hinata's would die in each future that Takemichi experienced.

And if Hinata was saved, might I return home...?

It was possible. It was the most logical conclusion, despite it still being complete nonsense. But I had no other ideas. Once the plot had completed its turn, with no other chapters to tread through, I would be sent back. I still yearned to see my family again, even if the feeling of homesickness had subsided into a muted, bearable pain.

Surely, future-me would've tried to stop Hinata's death. But Takemichi's arrival meant that I'd failed. I'd messed up either from some unexpected event or because that future was inexplicably doomed.

I couldn't time-leap. The coincidental encounter with Takemichi had proved that. I wasn't any kind of exception to the laws of time; I was bound to this present reality like everyone else. I didn't know how the future would play out, nor how my actions would affect it.

But Takemichi does, my brain played devil's advocate.

No, I wouldn't approach him. Influencing the protagonist in any sort of way, especially for this kind of series where it literally all hinged on him, would definitely make things go awry, and if he did end up saving Hinata for good, could possibly undo that. So no.

But the big question was if he would even succeed. I was living in the present, and I had no second chances. If he succeeded, yay. If he failed, then that was it. I couldn't afford to risk it. If I chose to act, I had to do it now, before the time passed. Too late, and I wouldn't be able to change anything. Too little, and nothing would change. If I really did take action, it had to be with the firm resolution to do so, to achieve a better future.

And what better way to do that than joining the Tokyo Manji Gang, the culprits of Tachibana Hinata's repeated murder?