Chapter One: The Runaway Girl and the Irreverent Narrator

Late at night, Tokyo, Shibuya District.

After finishing his shift at the convenience store, An He said goodbye, carrying the dessert gifted by the enthusiastic store owner in one hand while opening his umbrella with the other, stepping into the rain.

The rain wasn’t heavy, but in late November Tokyo, it brought a chilling dampness. Even at this hour, cars occasionally sped past on the road, their tires flinging up arcs of water that shot high into the air, forcing An He to stay alert.

He had no desire to avoid the rain only to end up splashed by filthy water.

“Maybe I should find a new job tomorrow. The boss’s wife is up to something—though she’s pretty and has a great figure, it’s a shame. I wouldn’t stand a chance against her husband…”

Just as An He was lost in thought, another car zoomed past, sending up a spray of water. Fortunately, he reacted quickly, swinging his umbrella in front of himself just in time to stay dry.

He glanced at the disappearing taillights, and before he could say a word, an exasperated voice rang out in his mind.

[Damn it all! You glare furiously at those fading taillights. Luckily, you noticed the driver was a young man with a ring on his left hand—a newlywed, obviously. Suddenly, a meticulous plan for revenge forms in your mind: with his license plate number, you could easily find his home. Before he returns from work, only his new wife would be there. All you’d need to do is disguise yourself as a deliveryman, and then…]

The voice kept rambling, but An He ignored it. Clearly, this wasn’t the first time he’d heard it.

It seemed as though, from the moment he was born, this voice had always appeared in his mind from time to time.

At first, he thought it was his golden finger after being reincarnated, but he quickly dismissed that notion.

After all, what kind of golden finger constantly tried to goad its host into committing crimes?

[A useless narrator? The thought flashes through your mind, but you quickly brush it aside, because you’ve just noticed something unusual across the street.]

The voice made him pause. Across the street?

Though he knew the narrator was unreliable, An He instinctively turned his head toward the other side of the road. Through the rain, he soon spotted what the narrator was referring to.

It was late at night; normally, the bus stop would be empty, yet there, a girl in a school uniform lay curled up on the bench, her side to the world.

She seemed to be asleep, her smooth, fair legs exposed. Though her hand obscured her face, from his previous life’s experience, An He could still estimate a set of numbers.

Eighty-seven, sixty-one, eighty-three.

“Impressive,” he mused, and was about to look away when the narrator’s voice sounded again.

[A girl, late at night, missed the last bus, sleeping alone outside—you connect these thoughts, and quickly new ideas stir: someone will always take advantage, so why not you? With that, a greedy glint flashes in your eyes, and you decide to approach the girl…]

Someone will always take advantage? Why not me? What utter nonsense!

An He swore if this narrator had a physical form, he’d punch him right in the nose.

What kind of golden finger tries to coax its host into breaking the law?

What’s worse, after hearing that, An He truly felt a bit tempted.

He shook his head, forcing out the dangerous thought, and hurriedly looked away from the girl, quickening his pace down the street.

If he lingered any longer, he feared he wouldn’t be able to control himself. After all, having been given a second chance at life, it would be humiliating to spend the New Year behind bars.

“One last time, save yourself. Reject the base pleasures of dopamine—seek the higher joy of endorphins. Boy, you mustn’t stop here. Don’t let desire take over your body!”

He sternly admonished himself and sped up, soon disappearing into the rain.

...

More than ten minutes later.

Panting for breath at the bus stop, An He looked at the sleeping girl and let out a sigh of relief.

He had been nearly home, but for some reason, unease kept gnawing at him, images of the girl being dragged away by strangers flashing in his mind.

In the end, a mix of conscience and a sliver of selfishness had driven him back.

Thankfully, she was still lying there, safe and sound.

Looking her over, An He couldn’t help but feel pleased with his earlier assessment—she was indeed beautiful.

Even with her arm draped over half her face, her delicate features couldn’t be hidden.

Her long hair cascaded like a waterfall, narrow lashes quivered faintly, her petite nose was tinged red from the cold, and with each steady breath, wisps of vapor escaped her lips.

She wore a blue blazer, with an orange, low-necked sweater-vest beneath, and a white short-sleeved blouse at the base. Thanks to her well-endowed figure, the shirt’s collar was strained, buttons threatening to pop.

Her jacket was cropped, and as she lay on the bench, it rode up, exposing her navel and slender waist.

Sleeping deeply, her posture was anything but ladylike—her fair, shapely legs bent together in an awkward inward curve, her pleated skirt flipped back just enough to reveal a glimpse of what lay beneath.

Pure white, unadorned.

Quickly, An He averted his gaze and silently recited a prayer for forgiveness.

But the narrator in his mind wouldn’t let him off so easily.

[Looking at the sleeping girl before you, your heart stirs with desire. There’s a love hotel nearby, and with your experience, it would only take one night for this girl to be molded to your shape…]

Beast!

An He cursed the damned narrator, shaking his head violently to banish the illicit thoughts before finally stepping up to the girl.

So close, a scene he’d never witnessed even in his previous life, An He took a deep breath and gently tapped the girl’s arm.

No response. He tried again. Still nothing.

He was baffled. Could anyone sleep this deeply?

He glanced around—the street was empty but for the occasional car.

After a moment’s hesitation, he moved her arm away from her face, revealing her delicate features.

Even with such a large movement, she didn’t stir.

Frowning, An He squatted down to her level and gently pushed her head, calling, “Miss? Miss?”

He repeated himself four or five times, but she never responded. If not for the rise and fall of her chest and the faint sound of her breath, An He would have thought he’d found a corpse.

“This is tricky…”

He checked his watch: 11:47 PM.

He had school in the morning, and the thought of being late on his third day at a new school was truly vexing—what a poor impression that would leave on teachers and classmates.

He tried calling her a few more times, even pinching her nose for more than half a minute, but when she still didn’t wake, he gave up.

He didn’t have time to waste.

“Sorry about this, but it’s for your own good.”

Muttering, An He slipped one arm around her waist and the other under her legs and gathered her up.

She was incredibly soft, like holding a balloon filled with warm water.

Yet even as he lifted her, she didn’t wake, instead nuzzling her head into his chest as though seeking warmth.

An He shrugged, checked around to make sure she hadn’t left anything behind, then set off toward home.

He’d only taken a few steps when he stopped.

It was still raining, and now both hands were full—he couldn’t hold an umbrella.

He could walk home in the rain, but he was worried about the girl getting wet.

Of course, it wasn’t concern for her well-being, but fear that once home, he’d be unable to resist her drenched allure.

So, the umbrella was necessary—but how to manage it?

At last, An He’s gaze rested on the girl’s prodigious assets…

...

A dozen minutes later, at the entrance of a somewhat run-down single apartment in Tokyo.

Awkwardly unlocking the door, An He didn’t even bother to remove his shoes, hurrying inside with the girl in his arms.

He used his foot to close the door behind him, left the lights off, and, relying on memory, made his way to the bed, gently laying the girl down. The mattress bounced under her weight, but she didn’t stir.

Catching his breath, An He switched on the bedside lamp.

The gloom retreated, and the girl’s enchanting figure was revealed in full.

She looked just like a slumbering Snow White—utterly beautiful.

With a sigh, An He bent down to remove her shoes, uncovering two small, pale feet.

Her feet were tiny, maybe a size thirty-five, wrapped in white socks but still tinged with a healthy pink.

[Such loveliness deserves to be savored between the lips…]

Ignoring the narrator, An He, face flushed, quickly gripped her smooth ankles and tucked her under the covers.

Once done, he hurried from the room to the living room, afraid he’d become a beast if he stayed.

“What’s wrong with her, anyway? Sleeping through all that—was she drugged?”

Muttering to himself, An He went to shower. He considered rewarding himself but, recalling the cause of his death in his previous life, restrained himself.

He lay on the sofa, draped in a thin blanket, hands behind his head, eyes on the ceiling.

His thoughts were chaotic.

The fragrance of the girl seemed to linger in the air, and the narrator in his mind chattered on ceaselessly.

Do you really want me to go in there?

Sorry, but I, An He, am not that kind of man.

With that resolution, he cleared his mind and, clutching a pair of women’s uniform shoes, soon drifted off to sleep.