Mikael's eyes stayed locked on the mirror, shock freezing him in place. His breath caught in his throat. Bewildered. Speechless. Yet, somehow, he forces out a whisper.
"That's… not me," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath.
The words feel hollow and foreign, as if saying them would make this nightmare disappear. But the reflection doesn't lie.
He lifted his hands up, trembling fingers brushing against his face—and in perfect sync, the stranger in the mirror does the same.
Mikael's breath catches. His appearance has changed.
No.
Notchanged.
Replaced.
The man staring back at him isn't Mikael anymore. It's him—the man he fought.
Every feature is identical. The same dark hair, the same piercing yellow eyes. A face that wasn'this but now belongstohim. The only thing separating them is the clothes he's still wearing—his lastremainingproof that he was ever Mikael at all.
TAP. TAP. TAP.
He staggers back, his footfalls echoingunnaturally in the small space. The mirror moves with him, every motion copied flawlessly.
His chest tightens. This isn't just a resemblance—heisthemanfrombefore.
Flashes of the fight slammed into his mind.
The struggle.
The burning pain.
The taste of blood—hisblood.
His own screams, swallowedbythenight.
Mikael staggered.
His legs gave out.
The world tilted.
Nomore.
His body gives in before his mind can make sense of it. The world tilts, vision blurring, and as his head hits the cold floor—
Darknessswallowshimwholeonceagain.
...
Mikael wakes with a start.
A sharp, rhythmic banging fills his ears, each pound rattling through his skull like a hammer against iron. His vision is hazy, mind sluggish, but the voice calling from the other side of the door yanks him back to reality.
"MIKAEL! Are you there? Open the door!"
His mother's voice.
Panic grips his chest. His breath hitches. No, she can't possibly see me—not like this.
He scrambles to his feet, dizziness threatening to pull him back down. His pulse pounds in his ears as he rushes into the living room, frantically snatching up his scattered belongings. The banging at the door grows louder.
"MIKAEL!"
Shit.
He grips the kitchen counter to steady himself, fingers brushing against something. A cup of ramen. He grabs it without thinking much and bolts for his room, feet barely making a sound against the floor.
Then—he hears it.
Scrape.
His stomach drops.
The unmistakable sound of a key sliding into the lock.
His blood runs cold as he listens to the slow, deliberate metal turn against metal. Of course—she had the spare key. Hidden beneath the flower pot outside their apartment. A backup for emergencies.
And now, she's stepping inside.
His mother sighs as she sets down her bag.
"Mikael?" she calls out again. No response.
Her eyes scan the apartment—his tattered shoes by the door, scuffed and worn beyond repair. She clicks her tongue. "Gosh, what am I gonna do with this boy..."
She glances at the clock. A little after 9 PM. It's not that late.
Her gaze shifts to the dining table, spotting the untouched plate of food she left for him earlier. Cold. Uneaten. Her brows knit together.
A sigh escapes her lips. She turns toward the kitchen, eyes narrowing at the slightly open cupboard, then at the mess trailing from the bathroom—the lights still on.
"Aish," she mutters, rubbing her temples. "How many times do I have to tell him not to leave the lights on everywhere?"
She shakes her head, exasperation mixing with exhaustion. "And he didn't even eat. Again."
Her gaze drifts back to the table—something's missing—the instant noodles.
She exhales, glancing toward his room. "Did he go out to play, come back exhausted, and just fall asleep?" Her voice softens slightly, concern creeping into her tone.
Her eyes settle on the cold meal again, lips pressing into a thin line.
"At least he ate something," she murmurs—another sigh.
With one last glance down the hall toward Mikael's room, she shakes her head and walks away.
...
Mikael sat there by the door, his back against the wall, staring blankly ahead. What the hell just happened? His mind was empty, exhausted, yet restless.
A faint buzz snapped him out of his daze. His phone.
He lazily glanced at the screen—just a notification. "It's time to brush."
He sighed, unlocking the device. His eyes scanned over unread messages.
Steven (7 hours ago): "Not cool, man. You ditched on my ahh."
Mum (8 hours ago): "Eat dinner if it gets late. I might be late, I made food."
Dad (1 day ago): "How are you and your mother?"
A couple of unread messages from school and other group chats.
Mikael just stared at them, his thumb hovering over the screen. How the hell am I even supposed to explain this? he muttered, voice hoarse and irritated. He sighed again and locked the phone.
Dragging himself up, now more stable than before, he made his way to the mirror. His heart pounded as he took a proper look at himself.
It was real.
He wasn't Mikael anymore. He was him.
His fingers trembled slightly as he traced the reflection. He peeled off his shirt, then his other clothes—except for his undergarments—and stared.
Huge.
His muscles were insane, every definition carved deep, making it obvious why the man was so strong. His shoulders broad, his frame towering over everything in his small room.
"Damn… I didn't notice how big he was before 'cause of his posture and clothes, but this dude was massive."
Mikael rummaged through his closet for something that would fit. His usual clothes? Too tight. He tried another. Still tight.
Frustration kicked in before a thought crossed his mind. He shuffled through some old belongings and found a few of his dad's old clothes. Better. They weren't a perfect fit, but at least he wasn't bursting through the seams.
He turned back to the mirror, checking himself again. "How tall am I now? 6'2"? Maybe 6'3"?"
Then, another thought hit him—his eyes, teeth, nails.
He stepped closer. His nails were sharper but still human. His teeth? Normal enough. But his eyes— those golden-yellow irises stood out, almost unnatural. Yet, not quite inhuman. He could pass as mixed.
Mikael sighed, rubbing his face. He didn't have the energy for this. Not right now. He crawled onto his bed, which felt smaller than usual, and forced himself to sleep.
Until—
An hour later, his eyes snapped open.
Drool pooled on his pillow. His stomach twisted in unbearable hunger.
Starving.
The kind of hunger that clawed at his insides, screaming at him to eat.
He grabbed the cup of ramen he brought earlier and devoured it within seconds.
Not enough.
He stumbled out of bed and rushed to the kitchen.
Every bit of leftover food—gone. Cold rice, meat, vegetables. He didn't care. He just ate. And ate. And ate.
Still not enough.
He scoured the kitchen for more. Nothing edible was left. His hands gripped the counter as he fought against the gnawing hunger. What the hell is wrong with me?
He crawled back to his room and dragged himself to the window, unlocking it with shaking hands. Fresh air rushed in, cooling his feverish skin, but it wasn't enough. His hunger only grew.
Still panting, he moved to the balcony, flinging the doors open. The night air hit him, crisp and cold, but even that didn't help. His stomach cramped painfully.
Then—he smelled it.
Something.
Something good.
His nostrils flared as his body tensed, his head snapping toward the window. His mouth watered. His stomach twisted tighter.
And before his brain could catch up—
He jumped.
Right through the balcony.
From the second floor.
Midair, realization hit him. "Eh?"
Screaming.
Leaves smacked against his face as he crashed through a tree, tumbling down before slamming into a bush.
THUD.
Silence.
Then—
"What was that!?"
Inside the neighboring house, a family jolted up as they were getting ready for dinner.
A small child, around six or seven, clung to his father. "Dad, what was that?"
Their father frowned, his grip tightening. "Don't worry, sweetheart. It's nothing. Daddy will protect you guys."
He exchanged a glance with his wife, who nodded hesitantly before pulling the children closer.
Sliding open the glass door to their backyard, the father stepped outside—a golf club gripped tightly in his hands. Sweat dripped down his temple.
His family stood behind him, watching anxiously.
One of the kids whispered, "Will Dad be okay?"
The mother forced a smile. "It's going to be okay."
Then—
The father took a deep breath and shouted into the darkness.
"WHO ARE YOU!? SHOW YOURSELF!"
A few seconds of silence hung in the air.
Then—
Rustling.
The bush trembled as something shifted within.
Slowly, Mikael rose to his feet, stepping out of the foliage. Leaves clung to his hair, dirt smudged across his face—but that wasn't what caught their attention.
The family stared, wide-eyed.
A guy—huge.
Tall, broad, built like a damn statue, standing there under the dim backyard light. His muscles tensed as he dusted himself off, golden-yellow eyes gleaming against the night.
The father's grip on the golf club tightened. His breath hitched.
Meanwhile, Mikael, still dazed, was trying to process everything. How the hell am I okay? Falling from the second floor should've hurt a lot more. But aside from the initial shock, he was fine. Maybe the tree and the bush helped, but still—damn.
He raised his hands slightly, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. "Uh…" His gaze flicked from the father to the golf club, then back to the wide-eyed family.
"…Hey."
Silence.
The kids' jaws dropped. The mother gasped, taking a step back. The father, sweating bullets, barely held his ground.
Then, out of nowhere, one of the kids blurted out—
"He looks like a superhero!"
The father snapped out of his trance, stepping forward with a firm voice.
"WHAT DO YOU WANT, AND WHY ARE YOU HERE!?"
Mikael flinched slightly, opening his mouth to explain, "I—"
"ANSWER ME RIGHT NOW!" The father barked, his stance firm.
Mikael finally spoke, his voice steady but a little embarrassed. "I was actually… very hungry. I don't know what I was thinking—I smelled something nice and ended up here without realizing." He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I apologize for the disturbance. I'll take my leave now."
The family exchanged puzzled, hesitant glances, still trying to process what the hell just happened.
Just as Mikael turned to leave—
"Wait! Hold on a second!"
Mikael froze mid-step.
He turned back, slightly tense, blinking at them. "Huh?"