I was still fascinated by the sword when I heard it.
Footsteps.
Three sets—two firm, deliberate paces and one that was softer, but hurried.
Panic flared for half a second. The sword was still on the floor where I'd dropped it. No way I could explain that as standard-issue hospital recovery gear. But before I could scramble to hide it, the damn thing shimmered—just a brief flicker of light—and vanished.
Gone.
Not under the bed. Not in my hand. Just poof. Back to wherever it came from.
Okay. Cool. My brain now had a built-in forge and auto-cleanup. Add that to the list of things I didn't understand and would definitely spiral over later.
The door opened.
First in was a woman. Tall. Regal. The kind of beauty that felt carved from marble—flawless, cold, composed. Long blond hair swept into a loose twist, pale skin like porcelain, and those same blue eyes I'd just seen in the mirror. Her expression flickered when she saw me—relief, quickly buried under calm composure.
Behind her was a man with dark hair touched by silver at the temples. Taller than me by at least half a head, broad-shouldered, suit pressed within an inch of its life. His eyes, darker than hers, assessed me like a CEO scanning a quarterly report for weaknesses.
And behind them: a doctor. White coat, neatly trimmed mustache, tablet in hand.
"Tatsuya." The woman's voice was soft, melodic. "You're awake."
I blinked. "Yeah. I guess I am."
They exchanged a glance—something silent and practiced. Then they stepped further in, and I felt like the room had just dropped ten degrees.
My parents.
The real Tatsuya's parents.
And now… mine?
I straightened instinctively, posture snapping upright without thinking. A reflex from his memories. From years of etiquette drills and formal dinners where slouching got you looks sharp enough to draw blood.
"How do you feel?" she asked, stepping closer. Her hands hovered near me, as if debating whether to touch me or not. "Are you in pain?"
"No. Just… tired," I admitted. "Kind of fuzzy."
The doctor stepped forward, already tapping something into his tablet. "That's to be expected. Three days of unconsciousness will do that. The crash gave you a minor concussion and some bruised ribs, but nothing permanent. You were lucky—your head hit the window just wrong, enough to knock you out cold but not enough for long-term damage."
He glanced up from the screen. "Your vitals have stabilized, and your cognitive responses are consistent. If your energy levels continue to return, you should be cleared for light activity within two days. School, in another three or four."
"School?"
"Yes," the man—my father—said, voice clipped and businesslike. "You've already missed orientation for the new semester. Your return has been noted. We'll inform the school when your physician approves it."
"Oh. Right. Great."
Because nothing says seamlessly adapt to your stolen identity like getting tossed into high school three days after waking up in someone else's body.
My father's eyes narrowed slightly—not unkind, but calculating. He stepped forward, examining me like a product that had just come back from repairs. "You're certain you remember everything? There was a head injury. The doctors feared mild trauma."
I tried not to visibly flinch. "I… remember enough. Some things are blurry, but it's coming back."
Technically not a lie. Just… from a different life.
My mother's expression softened for a fraction of a second. "You gave us quite the scare, sweetheart."
The word hit me like a cold draft.
Sweetheart.
Tatsuya had heard it maybe twice, and only when very young. She didn't say it casually. It wasn't habit. Which meant this moment meant something.
The atmosphere in the room shifted.
For a breath, the cool perfection cracked—and I saw a glimpse of something vulnerable behind their eyes. Concern. Real, genuine worry.
Maybe they weren't just cold tycoons. Maybe there was love under all that polish, too.
Or maybe I was just imagining things.
The doctor, sensing the slight tension in the room, stepped forward again, his voice cutting through the moment. "I'll take my leave for now. Mr. and Mrs. Mishima, your son is stable. He simply needs to rest." He gave me a nod, checking his tablet one more time. "Call for me if there are any complications."
"Thank you, doctor," my mother said, her voice steady, professional.
With that, the doctor exited, closing the door softly behind him. The room felt colder once he left, the weight of the silence pressing in. I couldn't help but feel like I was being sized up. Or maybe it was just my brain, trying to figure out who these people really were—benevolent, distant parents, or corporate sharks in disguise?
"Let's have a private conversation," my father—Hiroshi Mishima—said, his voice low but commanding. He gestured to a sitting area near the window, where a pair of chairs and a small table stood. "We need to discuss your next steps. You'll have to resume some of your responsibilities soon."
I nodded, but my mind was racing. Responsibilities? I barely had control over my own body, let alone whatever duties Tatsuya had inherited. I didn't even know where to begin.
"Of course, Father," I said, automatically slipping into Tatsuya's practiced politeness. "I'll do whatever is necessary."
Hiroshi's gaze flicked over me once more, as if he was confirming whether I had the strength to rise to the occasion. "Good. Because your mother and I are relying on you to take the reins. The Mishima name isn't just a title; it's an expectation."
I had to bite back a groan. Great. Being reincarnated as the heir to a multinational corporation came with some serious baggage. But I nodded again, trying to look as confident as I could.
My mother, Isabelle Mishima, smiled slightly and lowered herself into the chair next to me, her blue eyes softening as she watched me. "Tatsuya, darling, we've missed you. But Hiroshi's right. You're going to need to take on more responsibility. The Mishima Corporation needs its heir to be strong, capable."
"I understand, Mother," I replied, trying not to choke on the words. I didn't know the first thing about running a massive corporation.
"And don't forget," Isabelle added, her voice a touch lighter. "There's also your schooling. The teachers at Kuoh Academy will be expecting a great deal from you. You'll need to catch up quickly, especially now that you've missed the beginning of the semester."
The name Kuoh Academy tugged at something in my mind again, but the memory wouldn't quite settle into place. "Yeah, I'll catch up."
She nodded, satisfied, but there was a flash of concern behind her eyes—something that told me this wasn't just about academics. "Take your time, Tatsuya. We'll help you. But you must push forward. The world doesn't wait for you to catch your breath."
As they stood to leave, my father turned to me one last time. "We'll be expecting a report on your progress soon. Your mother will help you with the finer details, but you'll need to handle your own business matters soon enough."
I nodded, pretending like I had any clue what he meant. They left, the door clicking softly behind them.
I stared at the empty room, the weight of their expectations settling around me. This wasn't my life. But it was now.
I wasn't sure if I could live up to the Mishima name, but I had no choice but to try.