[Revised with Better Translation]
Ding-a-ling~
Ding-a-ling~
In the haze of half-sleep, a jarring chime of an alarm clock pierced through, ringing as if it were right beside Hayato's ear.
"Hayato, time to get up, dear~"
A woman's voice called out, soft yet insistent.
Ding-a-ling~
The alarm's clamor persisted.
Unable to sleep through the noise, Hayato cracked open his eyes. One hand shielded his face from the sunlight streaming through the shoji-screened window, casting delicate lattice patterns across the tatami floor.
He lay on a futon, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling. "A ceiling I don't recognize. Huh, isn't that line a bit cliché?" he muttered to himself.
Sitting up, Hayato's bleary, dead-fish eyes scanned the room. A vibrant pink yukata blanket, embroidered with cherry blossoms, draped over him—cute, almost too cute.
Across from the futon, a low wooden table held a computer, its screen displaying the iconic "Windows" logo bouncing endlessly, never quite hitting the corners.
Reaching out from under the blanket, Hayato silenced the incessantly ringing alarm on the bedside table. He could swear on his daikazoku—his extended family—that this was absolutely, positively, definitely not his room.
For one, he distinctly remembered falling asleep in 2021, an era where computer systems had long since upgraded to Windows 10, with even Windows 7 teetering on obsolescence. The ancient, though nostalgic, Windows XP system glowing on the screen was a relic of a bygone age.
Secondly, Hayato was a guy. Sure, he could appreciate pink in specific contexts—like savoring a matcha-strawberry mochi or geeking out over Kamen Rider Decade (and yes, it's magenta, not pink!). But a pink yukata blanket? That was a bit too… kawaii for his taste.
Or was it? Tilting his head, he reconsidered the blanket. Maybe it wasn't that bad.
Still, calling this a girl's room didn't quite fit either. The shelves lining the walls were crammed with meticulously arranged figyua—hand-painted models of shogun warriors, mecha, and mythical creatures—an otaku's paradise. But the posters plastered across the walls? Those were something else entirely. They depicted grotesque, fantastical monsters straight out of a duel arena.
A bull-headed warrior gripping an axe, a knight wielding a gleaming katana, and a fish-man brandishing a naginata could pass as characters from some epic fantasy saga. But then there were the others:
- A grotesque green creature, its body studded with black triangles, three necks sprouting from its torso, each topped with a mask-like head—Dark Necrofear.
- A dinosaur with chicken-like claws, a long, electrified horn protruding from its snout, and a gaping, toothy maw splitting the back of its neck—Black Tyranno.
- A skeletal mammoth, as if unearthed from a sacred burial ground, alongside a black-furred beast and a lion cloaked in a flowing cape—Mammoth Graveyard, Kuriboh, and Legendary Black Beast.
Staring at the posters, Hayato couldn't help but whistle. "Whoever brought me here has some wild tastes. Look at this! Even a tentacle monster—yikes, talk about yabai hobbies!"
The woman's voice called again, drifting through the sliding fusuma door. "Hayato, still not up? You're going to be late for school, you know~"
The door slid open, revealing a woman stepping into the room. Hayato turned to look. She wore a light purple obi tied around her waist, holding a bamboo basket filled with folded kimonos. Her face, radiant with a gentle smile, was framed by dark hair swept into a traditional updo. She looked at Hayato standing by the futon. "Goodness, you sleepyhead! I've been calling you forever. I thought you'd oversleep again."
"Hayato… she's talking to me?" Hayato asked, uncertainty lacing his voice. One thing was clear: he had never seen this woman before. It wasn't that he had some superhuman memory capable of recalling every face (or, say, the plot of every isekai manga he'd binged). No, this woman's beauty was simply unforgettable—cherry-blossom lips, bright eyes like polished jade, and an elegant air reminiscent of a Yamato nadeshiko, a paragon of Japanese grace. Sure, her figure was a bit… flat, lacking curves, but her refined aura more than made up for it. If he'd met her before, he'd remember.
"Oh, you silly boy, playing tricks on me?" She laughed softly, her voice like the chime of a temple bell, as she grasped the door's edge. "Hurry up and change, then come downstairs for breakfast. I won't peek, I promise—I've got laundry to do." As she slid the door shut, she added with a playful wink, "Move quickly, or I might just eat all your tamagoyaki~"
The door closed with a soft thud, leaving Hayato in silence. He looked down at his hands.
During their brief exchange, he'd noticed something odd. The woman hadn't seemed short—he was tall. Ridiculously tall. Like, towering-over-the-doorframe, JoJo-level tall—nearly 1.95 meters. Had crossing dimensions given him a growth spurt?
More troubling was the familiarity in her tone. She knew him, acted like a mother or older sister, yet he had no memory of her. Which led to a chilling realization: this wasn't his body.
Running his fingers along his arm, Hayato searched for the familiar scar on his left elbow, a burn from a childhood mishap. Gone. His skin was smooth, flawless, almost… delicate. His arms were slender, free of the coarse hair he remembered.
It was almost like—
A horrifying thought struck him. He yanked down his pajama pants, leaning toward the window to inspect himself in the morning light. A long sigh of relief followed. Thank the kami, his "little brother" was still there, intact despite his earlier reckless oath.
"So, what's the deal here? Did I isekai or what?" Muttering to himself, Hayato rummaged through a lacquered wardrobe, pulling out a gakuran school uniform. As he changed, he couldn't help but grumble, "This wardrobe's stuffed with clothes, but it's all the same style. Talk about a one-track fashion sense."
On the desk sat a satchel bag, and a navy-blue haori jacket hung over the chair. Hayato powered down the computer, its screensaver fading to black, then slung the haori over his shoulder and grabbed the satchel. As he headed for the door, his eyes lingered on the posters again. Some of the monsters looked strikingly familiar: a black-robed mage clutching an emerald staff—Dark Magician; a black dragon spewing flames—Red-Eyes Black Dragon; and a radiant white dragon, the embodiment of light itself—Blue-Eyes White Dragon.
Tempted to linger and search for more clues, Hayato recalled the woman's warning about breakfast. With a final glance, he slid the fusuma shut and descended the wooden stairs.