Wait, What You Mean I Got Reincarnated As A Heroine In Another World? Chapter 148 - 125 - Shibuya

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That thought arrived uninvited, like a drunk acquaintance at a funeral.

I shut the book halfway. Then reopened it. Then shut it again.

Why did I reopen it?!

Well, the shading—perfect. The anatomy—flawless.

The expressions—uncomfortably alive.

Whoever drew this understood muscle tension, subtle finger positioning, even the way skin folded. She’d only ever seen Helena attempt this kind of thing, and Helena’s work looked like dislocated mannequins in a fog machine compared to this.

Why? No—how?

I bit my lip. Okay, first question: how is Kairi this good at human anatomy? Second question: why is her male anatomy knowledge... this inford?

The lines were too clean to be hand-scanned. No, this was... 3D printed. Kairi had translated a drawing into a three-dinsional reference model before printing it out for maximum accuracy. That ant she’d not only drawn it—she’d modeled it.

Who does that?

My mind spun in quick succession: precise musculature → proportion accuracy → flawless human form → advanced dical-level understanding of the body.

I blinked.

Wait.

She was a doctor.

The so-called art stared back at from its hiding place—a ssy, frenzied sketch of two figures tangled in what was supposed to be passion.

Kairi’s handiwork, apparently. Bold, unrestrained strokes, charcoal smudges like bruises, limbs twisted into sothing that scread desperation more than desire. Not exactly the kind of thing you’d hang in a gallery.

Which is why I found it crumpled inside a book, half-regretted and half-forgotten.

When I tilted the paper, there it was—an address, scrawled in hurried kanji and English, like she’d written it mid-flight:

「東京都渋谷区神南1-23-5」

1-23-5, Jinnan, Shibuya, Tokyo.

No na. No context.

Just a location, sharp and deliberate, like a scalpel pressed to skin.

Delivery instructions? Rendezvous? Invitation to a spectacularly bad idea?

I exhaled through my teeth. Of course. Nothing in Kairi’s life could ever be simple. Not the fractured mories. Not the way her mother flinched when she thought Kairi wasn’t looking. And certainly not this—so cryptic Tokyo address hidden behind a sketch that looked more like a scream than a love letter.

Morning. I’d deal with it in the morning.

Except morning was hours away, and boredom was already eating through my patience.

Kairi’s room was too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes your skin itch—like the breathless pause before a sniper’s shot. I needed noise. Sothing to drown out the slow spiral of what the hell am I even doing here?

The TV remote was a sleek, buttonless slab. Took three tries to figure out which invisible corner to press before it ca to life. Channel after channel slid past—inforcials promising knives that could "cut through your problems," news anchors with smiles that could survive nuclear winter, a nature docuntary about abyssal fish that looked like they’d been designed by soone who hated joy.

And then—exactly 1:00 AM—the screen flickered.

An ani title sequence burst into the room: 「裏切りの錬金術師」 (The Alchemist’s Betrayal). The art style hit like a drop in cabin pressure—sharp angles, gold bleeding into shadows, the kind of ticulous animation that reeked of soone who took magic far too seriously.

Tele-Arcane. Or at least close enough to make my ribs tighten. Sa gilded lighting, sa obsessive composition, sa worship of spectacle.

Coincidence? Not a chance, but that can be freaky.

I cranked the volu.

The soundbar rattled under orchestral swells and the clash of steel.

The story unfolded like a surgical incision—slow, precise, inevitable. Aldric, the Crimson Alchemist: prodigy, patriot, human cautionary tale. He gave everything to his kingdom—research, body, soul—only to be branded a traitor when the powers that be decided his knowledge was too dangerous to let exist.

Not subtle. Not even trying.

"You were never our savior," the king said, voice cold as antiseptic. "You were always the threat."

Aldric’s frozen mask of betrayal filled the fra. I knew that look. I’d worn that look.

The Association would have done the sa to —praise my brilliance, call indispensable—right up until the mont I beca an inconvenience. Then the extraction team would simply beco a kill squad.

The credits rolled. Silence fell back into the room.

My hands—Kairi’s hands—were fists in her lap.

Then—

"Kairi! What the hell are you doing?!"

The voice sliced the quiet open. I jerked upright. The remote slipped from my grip, clattering against the floor.

Kairi’s mother stood in the doorway, silver-blonde hair disheveled from sleep, robe pulled tight. Pale face, wide eyes—not irritated. Frightened.

She stared at like I was a ghost.

"I thought you were gone again," she whispered.

Again?

I pulled Kairi’s lips into sothing resembling a smile. "Oh, you’re awake already, Mom?"

She didn’t smile back. "The noise—I—" Her voice broke. "For a second, I thought you’d disappeared. Like before."

Before.

The word clicked like a lock turning. A handful of Kairi’s mories stirred—cold streets, ragged breath, the taste of iron in her mouth. Nothing coherent. Just pieces.

"Mom," I said, softening my tone into hesitant curiosity.

"I... don’t rember much about back then. The doctors said the amnesia might lift in pieces, but..." I let it trail off.

She exhaled slowly, as if she’d been holding that breath for years. Her hand brushed Kairi’s shoulder—my shoulder.

"Co downstairs," she said. "I’ll make tea. And... I’ll tell you what I know."

The kitchen was a warm contrast—polished chro, soft lighting, the hiss of the kettle. Ayaka Izumi asured out green tea with hands that trembled just enough to notice.

"I’ve been waiting for you to ask," she said finally.

"But I was afraid to say anything. To remind you."

I tilted my head. "Remind of what?"

Her eyes stayed fixed on the steam curling upward, as if reading it like divination smoke.

"You’ve always had a terrible sense of direction, Kairi," she said. Almost smiling.

"Even as a child. Do you rember the mall?"

Oh, the mall.

And here ca the ntal highlight reel.

Picture this: six-year-old Kairi, ard with a bag of candied chestnuts and unjustified confidence, striding off into the crowd like she’s on an epic quest. Thirty minutes later—gone. Completely gone. She manages to walk past three identical clothing stores, two food courts, and sohow ends up in the parking lot asking a stranger for directions... to the bookstore.

Security had to make a PA announcent. Twice. And when her mother finally finds her? She just hands over the chestnuts like it’s a peace offering and asks if she can "explore again but with a map this ti."

I could almost sll the roasted chestnuts, see Ayaka’s desperate relief when she pulled Kairi into her arms.

"You disappeared for hours," Ayaka said softly. "I thought I’d lost you forever."

Her voice trembled. "And when it happened again... in Tokyo... I—" She stopped. Looked toward the ceiling, as if afraid of finishing the sentence.

I didn’t need her to.

The Shibuya address upstairs was no random scrap of paper.

And suddenly, morning was too damn far away.