Miyako blinked her eyes open, head leaning heavily on Sumire’s shoulder as the teacher drone-laughed through some boring ass history lecture.

Sumire was already out cold beside her, breathing slow and steady.

Miyako sighed and decided to just let herself drift off too — better than pretending to care.

Suddenly, the world shifted.

She wasn’t in the classroom anymore. The walls blurred and morphed around her until she was standing in a cramped, dimly lit hallway.

She was Kaito.

The smell hit her first—a thick, greasy mix of old sweat, cheap cologne, and something rotting in the corner.

With shaky legs, she shuffled through the hallway, the weirdness of controlling someone else’s body settling in again.

Her feet took her to the front door of Kaito’s room.

Heart pounding, she pushed it open.

The room was a disaster.

Ramen noodle cups, some half-eaten, littered the floor. A pile of crumpled clothes was shoved into one corner like a sad little mountain.

And right there—on the bed—dirty underwear, crusty and tossed like trash.

Miyako’s stomach twisted.

“Dude, seriously? What the hell is this?!”

She picked up a cup, sniffed it cautiously, then dropped it like it was toxic.

The bed was barely made, stained sheets wrinkled and worn.

The whole vibe screamed "messy fuckboy who doesn’t give a shit."

Miyako looked around, feeling a mix of disgust and fascination.

"So this is the guy I’m stuck with... Great."

She sat down on the edge of the bed, trying not to think about how weird it was being inside his skin.

“God, at least shower before someone sees this shit,” she muttered under her breath.

Her mind started to spin with questions—who is Kaito really? How does he live like this? Why does his life feel so damn tangled?

But she pushed the thoughts away.

For now, she just wanted to get out of his messy-ass room.