Kafka rubbed his eyes hard, once, twice—then blinked rapidly.
But no matter how much he looked, the figure didn’t vanish.
He was there. Real. Breathing.
"Mom..." Kafka’s voice wavered. He slowly raised a trembling finger at the stranger. "What...What the hell is that? No—who the hell is that?!"
Vanitas didn’t respond imdiately.
"Mom, do you not see it?!" Kafka’s pulse raced. "There’s soone—soone who looks exactly like —standing right next to you! Are you seriously not gonna say anything?!"
He then blinked rapidly, then forced a shaky laugh.
"Wait—wait, I get it. This is one of your pranks, right? You’re trying to scare , showing so...illusion of myself or sothing."
"I’ll admit, you got ! I actually freaked out for a second seeing another standing there."
He chuckled uneasily, looking at her expectantly.
"You really went all out with this one."
But Vanitas didn’t laugh. She didn’t even smirk.
Her expression stayed solemn.
"No, Kafka." She said quietly. "This is not a joke."
The color drained from his face.
"This isn’t an illusion..." She continued. "...nor is he sothing I created just to scare you. What you’re seeing right now is real. Entirely real."
Kafka blinked rapidly, confusion written across his face.
"That doesn’t make sense! What do you an ’real’? How can there be two of ?"
Vanitas’s eyes softened, though her words were grave.
"Because there always have been, my son."
He stared at her, utterly bewildered. "...What?"
"You already know him." She continued. "You’ve known him far longer than you think."
Kafka’s pulse quickened. He turned to look at the other him—the one who stood silently, gaze calm and steady, almost pitying.
And then, slowly, realization crept over him.
His mouth fell open.
"No way..." He whispered. "You don’t an...he’s..."
His voice faltered as the truth sank in.
"The original Kafka of this world..." He said finally, his tone weak and hollow. "The real Kafka. The one Kafka that actually belongs to the place I was transported."
"The son of Abigaille and Olivia. The one I...replaced."
"Exactly as you think, my son." Vanitas nodded slowly.
Hearing this, Kafka’s mind spun, his gut twisting with disbelief.
He turned back toward the doppelgänger, who stood silently, arms crossed, eyes glinting faintly with curiosity—and sothing darker.
And just when Kafka thought his mind couldn’t be any more scrambled—Vanitas stepped forward and did sothing that made his blood run cold.
She reached out, her hand grabbing firmly on the other Kafka’s arm.
And with a soft, almost tender voice, she said,
"But he’s not just the Kafka of this world."
Kafka’s heart stopped.
Vanitas’ eyes glead faintly as she looked at her son, the one standing before her in disbelief.
"He’s also...your replacent as my partner of love."
Kafka stopped moving.
His eyes stilled. His thoughts stopped dead.
For a long, suspended mont, nothing existed.
No wind, no sound, no breath.
Only the crushing silence of impossible words echoing in his ears.
Then, in a small, strangled voice, Kafka managed to whisper.
"W-What...What did you just say?"
Vanitas’s eyes widened slightly when she saw Kafka’s stunned expression almost as if he has been abandoned for another—
—and imdiately, she raised both hands in a panic, her tone soft but desperate.
"Kafka, no, no, don’t misunderstand!" She said quickly, her voice trembling just slightly. "He’s not your replacent or anything like that! Don’t you ever think that for a single mont."
Her hand pressed firmly against her chest.
"You will always be my only son. The only one who holds that place in my heart. No one—no matter who they are—could ever take that from you. That’s a promise, Kafka. You are my number one, and you’ll always be the one at the top of my heart."
Her words ca out rushed at first, but then she sighed, her eyes lowering as her tone grew heavier, quieter and sadder.
"But..."
"But what?" Kafka blinked, confusion knitting his brow.
Vanitas closed her eyes, took a slow breath, and said quietly.
"It’s exactly because you’re my son that I had to find a replacent."
Kafka frowned even more, his tone exasperated.
"What? What do you an by that? What replacent? What are you even talking about!?"
He looked between her and the other him, his voice rising slightly with tension.
"You’re making no sense, Mom!"
Vanitas didn’t respond imdiately. She looked at him with a smile that was heartbreakingly gentle—the kind of smile that carried guilt more than comfort.
"You see, Kafka...ever since last month, when the universe began to shake, when that signal ca reminding us that the request still hasn’t been fulfilled—I started to feel sothing that I never wanted to feel again."
"Fear."
Her gaze turned distant, her tone solemn, while Kafka’s breath caught.
"I was terrified." She continued softly. "Because I knew what would happen if we failed to complete the request given. The collapse of mind wouldn’t just erase a world or two—it would consu everything. Every plane, every reality. The end of all that exists."
Her fingers trembled slightly as she clasped her hands together.
"At first, I tried to stay composed, to think logically. But as the tremors grew stronger, I realized sothing...sothing dangerous. I realized that I didn’t care."
Kafka’s eyes widened slightly.
"I didn’t care if the universe collapsed." She said, her voice barely a whisper now. "I didn’t care if every star vanished, if every realm turned to dust. Because as long as I had you—as long as my son was beside —I could lose everything else and still smile."
She looked up at him, tears glimring faintly in her eyes.
"I know that’s selfish. I know it’s wrong. But that’s the truth."
Kafka stood frozen, unable to speak.
"But..." She said softly, forcing herself to continue. "I also knew that wasn’t realistic. Because if my mind deteriorated, if I lost myself to the collapse, I couldn’t protect you anymore."
"I couldn’t save you from what was coming. And so, for the first ti in a very long ti...I was afraid of myself."
Her voice trembled as she looked at him again.
"So I tried to think of a way. A way to stop what I was feeling, to prevent it from consuming . I thought of countless possibilities—anything that could help stay sane enough to face the end, or maybe even avert it."
"But nothing worked...No matter what I imagined, no matter how much I tried to suppress it, my feelings for you wouldn’t go away. They only grew stronger, more dangerous."
Kafka’s throat felt dry. "Mom..."
Vanitas smiled weakly, looking so fragile at the mont.
"There was a point where I almost gave up. I told myself, ’Fine. Let the universe end. Let everything burn.’ I would’ve accepted it—if it ant I could keep loving you without consequence."
Her voice then softened, a glint of bittersweet amusent in her tone.
"But then...I got an idea."
"An idea?" Kafka swallowed.
Vanitas nodded slowly, her tone calm again, but her eyes carried that sa deep, emotional storm.
"I realized...that even if I can’t express my feelings to you, the way I want to, maybe I could to soone like you. A version of you that isn’t bound by the laws of our familial bond."
"I thought...maybe I could create a reflection of you. A perfect copy."
Kafka blinked in disbelief.
"A...clone? You were seriously going to—"
But she cut him off, shaking her head.
"No. I threw that thought away almost instantly. Because even if I made a copy, I’d know. I’d know it wasn’t you. And no matter how perfectly I shaped it—no matter how it looked, how it spoke—it wouldn’t be you."
"And that would only make things worse. It wouldn’t help move on. It would just break further."
She paused, her gaze flickering briefly toward the other Kafka.
"But then..." She continued quietly. "I realized sothing. I didn’t have to create another you. Because...there already was one."
Kafka’s expression stiffened as he understood where this was going, while Vanitas smiled faintly, her tone growing softer but heavier with every word.
"Another version of you already existed. One that lived in another world. A world parallel to ours, the one you ca from."
Kafka felt a chill run down his spine. "You an..."
She nodded.
"Him." She said simply, gesturing to the other Kafka beside her. "This Kafka. The original of this world. The one whose life you took over when you were brought here."
Kafka stared, stunned silent.
"I went to your world..." Vanitas continued. "...the world you ca from. And I found him. I didn’t plan to. I just...I needed to see him. To see what the other version of you was like."
She looked distant again, as though replaying the mont in her mind.
"And when I saw him, I realized sothing that terrified —and comforted at the sa ti."
She turned her gaze back to her son, her voice trembling slightly as she smiled.
"He was the solution. The answer to my problem. He wasn’t you, no...he could never be. But at the sa ti, he was. He looked like you, had the sa voice as you, he even slled like you."
"But that was only natural of course..." She chuckled. "...since he was created in your image just for the purpose of the trial. He was flesh, blood, and bone, the sa essence. The only difference...was the soul."
Vanitas’s hand lingered on the other Kafka’s arm as she spoke, her voice low and trembling but unwavering.
"And in that mont, I thought if I could ignore that—then maybe, just maybe—he could be what I needed. A reflection of the part of you I could never reach." She said softly. "A stand-in for the feelings I could never express."
Kafka’s breath caught, the aning behind her words sinking in far too slowly for comfort. His mind refused to process it.
But before he could speak, Vanitas drew in a shaky breath and continued.
"Of course." She said with a weary, rueful smile. "Even though he looked like you, he wasn’t you. He didn’t have your charm, your warmth, the way you make people smile without even trying. He was...incomplete. A shell."
Her gaze softened, wistful and sad.
"He wasn’t the sa boy who could make the stars listen when he laughed."
Kafka blinked, unsure if he should speak, and she went on, her tone distant, detached like she was recounting sothing both shaful and inevitable.
"So..." She said quietly. "I made adjustnts. Small ones at first. A few changes here and there...tweaks in his mind, shifts in his mories. I added so pieces of you and removed the ones that didn’t belong."
"A little charm, a little confidence, a little of that reckless stubbornness you have...It wasn’t difficult."
Her eyes flicked briefly toward the other Kafka, standing silent and eerily still beside her.
"And the problem..." She whispered. "...was solved."
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