The slums were quiet, the kind of silence that pressed in from every side, making the shadows feel heavier. Chuuya and Dazai walked side by side down a cracked sidewalk, their coats brushing with each stride. The flickering light of a failing streetlamp above them offered little comfort. Chuuya’s shoulders were tense—he always hated this part of town. Too many memories. Too many ghosts.

That’s when the car turned the corner. Sleek. Black. Government-issue, but with a custom plate Chuuya would never forget. His breath caught. The way it slowed near the mouth of the alley, the mechanical hiss of the door unlocking—it all played out like a scene he’d watched a hundred times in his nightmares. Except this time, he wasn’t the one being left behind.

A small figure was pushed out onto the pavement, stumbling as the door slammed shut behind them. The car rolled away without a sound, vanishing like it was never there. The kid didn’t cry. Didn’t scream. Just sat there, curled up and shaking with their back to the wall.

Then he felt it. That unnatural pull in the air. The pressure. The raw distortion of gravity in its purest, most unstable form.

Chuuya: “No… no way.”

He stepped forward quickly, eyes fixed on the child. Dazai moved to stop him, but Chuuya shrugged off his hand, crossing the street without hesitation. The closer he got, the stronger the sensation became. Identical. It was like looking at a fractured version of his own past.

Chuuya: “Hey, kid… you—where the hell did they take you from?”

The kid flinched, just slightly, eyes widening with something between fear and recognition. And in that instant, Chuuya knew: they weren’t just some kid. They were his replacement.