The first thing Yuto noticed—
was warmth.
Not the hollow, dragging warmth of consumed flesh.
Different.
Contained.
Steady.
He opened his eyes.
Light didn't stab him this time.
It filtered in—soft, golden, uneven.
A wooden ceiling.
Cracked.
Familiar…
…but not to him.
His body felt wrong.
Not unstable.
Not broken.
Just—
different.
He moved.
A hand lifted.
Five fingers.
They responded instantly.
Too clean.
Too smooth.
"…A human body…"
The words came out before he could stop them.
Yuto froze.
The voice—
came from him.
He touched his throat.
Pressed lightly.
"…Strange."
It didn't feel new.
That was the problem.
It should have.
Memory didn't come.
Not clearly.
Not fully.
Just fragments.
Faint.
Useless.
But one thing stayed—
like something buried too deep to lose.
He had been human.
And now—
he was again.
But not the same.
The door creaked open.
Yuto turned his head.
Slowly.
Naturally.
A woman stepped in.
Mid-thirties.
Tired eyes.
Rough hands.
She froze the moment she saw him awake.
"…You're up."
Relief.
But also caution.
Yuto watched her.
Still.
Measuring.
She stepped closer.
Careful.
"…You collapsed outside the village."
A pause.
"…Thought you were dead."
Yuto blinked.
Once.
"…I see."
The woman frowned slightly.
Not at the words—
at the tone.
"You don't remember?"
Yuto didn't answer immediately.
He observed her instead.
Breathing.
Heartbeat.
Subtle tension in her shoulders.
Familiar.
He knew what those meant.
He just didn't know how he knew.
Then—
"…No."
Simple.
Clean.
But not entirely true.
The woman sighed.
"Figures."
She rubbed her forehead.
"…You're lucky we found you before the beasts did."
Beasts.
The word settled.
Heavy.
For a moment—
something inside him reacted.
Not fear.
Recognition.
It faded quickly.
"…Where am I?"
"Village of Harn."
She pulled a chair and sat across from him.
Studying him more closely now.
"You talk strange."
Yuto tilted his head slightly.
"…Do I?"
That felt—
more natural.
She narrowed her eyes.
"…Yeah. You do."
A short silence.
Yuto looked down at his hands again.
Flexed them.
Perfect control.
Too perfect.
"…This body…"
He paused.
Adjusted.
"…It feels fine."
The woman watched him carefully.
"…You hit your head or something?"
"…might have"
That answer worked.
"Name."
Yuto hesitated.
There should have been nothing.
No past.
No identity.
And yet—
"…Yuto."
It came out easily.
Like it had always been there.
"Alright, Yuto."
She leaned back slightly.
"I'm Lera."
He nodded once.
"Now listen," Lera continued, voice firmer now.
"We don't take in strangers for free."
Yuto watched her.
Waiting.
"You can stay," she said.
"But you need to work."
Work.
This time—
the word didn't feel foreign.
"…I understand."
She raised an eyebrow.
"…Oh, now you do?"
Yuto paused.
Adjusted again.
"…What kind of work?"
Lera smirked slightly.
"Better."
"Carrying. Fixing. Hunting if you can."
She gestured vaguely.
"Whatever you're capable of."
Yuto processed it.
Work = functionFunction = valueValue = survival
Familiar logic.
Too familiar.
"…That's fine."
Lera blinked.
"…That's it?"
"…Yes."
She stared at him for a few seconds.
Then shook her head.
"…Weird kid."
She stood.
"Rest today. You can start tommorow."
She reached the door—
then stopped.
"…One more thing."
She glanced back.
"…Don't cause problems."
Yuto met her eyes.
For a brief moment—
something human surfaced.
"…I won't."
It disappeared just as fast.
She left.
The door closed.
Silence.
Yuto remained still.
Then slowly—
he stood.
The body moved perfectly.
No delay.
No instability.
Better than before.
Better than any vessel he had used.
"…This is better."
He walked to the window.
Looked outside.
The village stretched below.
Small.
Wooden structures.
People moving.
Talking.
Living.
The sight—
felt familiar.
Not like prey.
Like something he had once been part of.
…But distant.
"…Weak."
The thought came.
Automatic.
Too automatic.
He didn't question it.
But something—
deep, buried—
did.
It faded before he could grasp it.
Yuto rested his hand on the window frame.
The pressure inside him stirred.
Faint.
Controlled.
Still there.
"…Good."
A slight smile formed.
It looked human.
But something about it—
wasn't.
Tomorrow—
he would begin.
To live.
To learn.
To adapt.
Not as before.
But not entirely different either.
And eventually—
He would grow.
Again.