Volume 4—Chapter 87: Is This Truly My...
Ahh… I am so happy right now.
This feeling is almost impossible to put into words. It’s like gulping down an ice-cold drink in the middle of summer, the way the chill rushes through your throat and spreads across your body. Or like finishing a run, drenched in sweat, and then stepping straight into an air-conditioned room. That kind of refreshing.
My heart is pounding fast.
And why, you ask?
Because just look at who is walking beside me! A cute little loli, trotting along with small steps, her cheeks flushed pink as people sneak glances at her.
“Uh… Onee-chan… this is embarrassing,” the little loli mutters, tugging at the hem of her frilly skirt.
But don’t be fooled. That loli? She’s actually a trap. Originally a shota. My little brother, Yuuji. Or rather, Yuuko, for today’s outing.
Ah, right, almost forgot my manners.
Hey there, it’s me, Aria.
You’re probably wondering why my little brother is dressed like a cute loli right now. Well… that’s just one of my little mischiefs. I know I promised to spoil him today, but of course, that doesn’t come without a price. Besides, there’s actually a benefit to him dressing this way.
Right now, we’re in the arcade section of the mall. So what kind of benefit am I talking about? It’s not really for me. It’s for him.
I lean down and whisper into his ear. “Do you see that machine over there? Don’t you want to play it? You’ve been eyeing it for a long time, but you were too embarrassed before, right?”
The machine I point to is a bright pink arcade cabinet plastered with the theme of a popular magical girl anime. It’s the kind of game little girls around Yuuji’s age absolutely love. But I know this little guy. He’s always been interested in it too.
“Now, with that appearance, you can play to your heart’s content without any shame,” I add, my words flowing like a devil’s temptation into his ears.
I can’t believe how manipulative I’ve become. Twisting my little brother’s desires for my own amusement… though I guess you could say I’m doing it for him too. Still, please don’t blame me for this. It really is interesting to watch. Besides, I didn’t come up with this kind of scheming on my own.
No, I learned it from my mother.
Ah, wait, not that mother. I mean the one from my previous life.
Let me tell you a quick story about that.
The memory of my previous life… I will say it is the most precious thing I carry. Every little detail feels like a treasure to me.
I still remember when I was in fourth grade, back in primary school. I used to skip class and hang out with a friend who lived in the slums. Strange, isn’t it? Why would a rich second-generation kid like me choose to spend time there? The answer is simple. The so-called “friends” I had in school were the same type as me, children from wealthy families, spoiled and bratty, convinced the world belonged to them.
But I wasn’t like them. At school, I was the one being bullied.
Why? Because of my appearance. My face looked feminine, too soft, too girlish. I was a boy, but people often mistook me for a girl, and my mannerisms didn’t help. That alone made me a target.
I blamed my mother for it. Maybe unfairly, but I couldn’t help it. She was the one who made me dress like a girl, not just once or twice, but often enough that it became part of our routine. At the time, I didn’t really hate it. In fact, those moments were some of the few times I felt close to her, laughing together while she fixed my hair or adjusted a ribbon. Yet, that closeness came at a cost. The more she pushed me into it, the more it set me apart from everyone else, and in the end, it drove a wedge between us. What once felt like bonding became the very thing that fractured our relationship.
You might wonder, why didn’t I ask the teachers or my parents for help? I did. Once. The teacher made the bully apologise in front of everyone, but it was shallow. After that, they just went back to tormenting me, worse than before. Telling the teacher again was pointless.
I went to my parents. My mother wanted to fight for me, but my father shut her down. The bully was the son of a powerful boss, someone my father didn’t dare offend. Instead of helping me, my father told me to stay put, to endure it, to “get along” with my bully. He even asked me to do favours for him. Imagine that.
That night, I listened to my parents arguing. My mother was furious with him. I couldn’t sleep. And the next morning, I decided I couldn’t take it anymore.
…
…
…
I skipped school.
That was when I met him. The boy from the slums.
He was kind to me in a way no one else was. He didn’t care where I came from or how I looked. He treated me like a real friend. We spent those stolen school hours together. He showed me his world, a life so different from mine, and we went on little adventures.
We walked by the river. We climbed hills nearby. We even built a treehouse in a big tree next to the highway.
For the first time in a long while, I felt free.
But good memories never last forever.
One day, while we were together, some other kids showed up. Enemies of his, I think. They wanted a fight. But he refused. Instead, he grabbed my hand and ran. I think it was because of me. He didn’t want me to get hurt.
I wanted to tell him I wasn’t as weak as I looked, that I could fight too. But before I could speak, he was already dragging me, pulling me into the highway.
Cars screeched and swerved, horns blaring as we darted across lanes. He didn’t let go of my hand even once. His enemies chased us at first, but they gave up when a police car arrived. The officers caught us, brought us in, and called our parents.
That day was the last time I saw him.
…
…
I stop in my tracks as I recall the whole story. The memories of my past life weigh on me more than I expected, blurring into the scene before me. Yuuji’s small hands move across the arcade controls, his eyes sparkling with excitement as the magical girl on the screen unleashes her finishing move. He looks so happy, so carefree, completely lost in the game.
“Maybe this is not a good idea…” I mutter under my breath, my chest tightening. The way his laughter rings out reminds me too much of myself back then, trying to hold onto fleeting moments of joy while carrying burdens I didn’t understand. I wanted to give him freedom, but here I am, shaping him in a way that mirrors my mother’s hand over me.
Still, seeing his smile, part of me hesitates. Isn’t happiness, even if brief, worth something?
What exactly is reversed compared to my choices in my previous life?
This doesn’t feel like My Reverse Life at all.
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