Consciousness returned slowly, heavy and unwilling.
No bright light. No soothing voices. Just a pounding headache and a heartbeat that felt far too fast and too light to be his own.
Light opened his eyes.
Rough wooden beams stared back at him from a low ceiling. The air slled of smoke, dried herbs, and sothing faintly sweet — almost milky. He was lying on a hard cot covered in coarse fur.
…Where the hell am I?
He tried to raise a hand to his temple and froze mid-motion.
The hand was wrong. Small. Delicate. Pale fingers that looked like they belonged to a porcelain doll.
His breathing quickened.
He sat up sharply. Long golden hair spilled over his shoulders. The movent felt completely alien — too light, too graceful.
“No… no, this isn’t—”
His gaze darted around the room until it landed on a small silver hand mirror resting on a wooden table. He stumbled toward it on shaky legs.
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The reflection that stared back made his stomach drop.
A beautiful girl. Golden hair, delicate features, and wide crimson eyes filled with pure animal panic.
Light touched his — her — cheek. The girl in the mirror did the sa.
A soft, lodic voice slipped from his lips, nothing like his own deep tone.
“This… this can’t be real.”
The mories slamd into him all at once. The bus. The truck. The crash. The blood. The darkness.
And now this.
He had died.
And sohow, his soul had been stuffed into the body of a girl nad Amanda.
The door creaked open.
“Amanda? My child, are you awake?”
An elderly woman rushed in, tears already streaming down her face. Before he could react, she pulled him into a crushing embrace, pressing his head against her shoulder.
“I thought I’d lost you…” she sobbed. “You burned with fever for three days straight. I prayed every hour… Please, don’t ever scare your mother like that again.”
Light stood frozen in her arms, eyes wide.
Mother.
Amanda’s mother.
The reality of his new situation hit him like a second truck. Everything he had — his career, his family, Mikasa waiting in that white dress, the ring in his pocket — was gone. Completely gone.
Yamada Light was dead.
And now he was stuck here. In this fragile, beautiful, alien body.
His legs gave out. He dropped to his knees and vomited violently onto the wooden floor.
The old woman cried out in alarm and imdiately started wiping his face and the floor, murmuring soft reassurances while stroking his golden hair.
Light didn’t resist.
He simply stared at the floor with empty crimson eyes, the taste of bile still burning in his throat.
All of it… was really gone.
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