I jolted awake, my whole body trembling as I gasped for air, soaked in cold sweat. My heart pounded wildly, its rhythm echoing in my ears like the drums of war.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the terrifying images, but the fear clung to me—cold, vivid, and real—like something I had lived through over and over in a past I couldn't reach.
----
In that dream, I was standing in a dark, damp alley. The stench of garbage stung my nose.
Three large silhouettes towered in front of me, and there he was—the faceless boy. His expressionless face gave away nothing, yet I could feel the tension in his shoulders, the steel in his movements. He knew exactly what was coming.
The thugs moved like trained fighters, clearly stronger than most. But the boy… he moved with terrifying precision, like every punch, every kick, every slash of their knives had already happened before.
He dodged attacks with millisecond timing, twisting his body to avoid strikes, locking wrists with lightning speed.
THUD! CHAK! CRASH!
The sounds of impact echoed—not from him, but from the strikes that barely missed.
He used their momentum against them, his movements sharp and efficient, like a perfectly rehearsed dance he'd performed dozens of times.
He ducked at just the right moment to avoid a swing from a metal pipe, rolled his shoulder to let a punch miss by a hair, and kicked out legs from under them with flawless timing.
But something was wrong. Every time he almost landed a blow or gained the upper hand, something twisted is against him.
A perfect kick would somehow miss because the thug stumbled in an odd way. A counterattack meant to connect would strike empty air because his opponent shifted at the last second.
It wasn't that he was weak—it was as if the world itself refused to let him win.
Some unseen force pressed down on him, distorting fate, snatching victory from his grasp.
Still, he never stopped protecting me. He stood between me and them, a living shield.
Every time one of the thugs tried to get near me, he would intercept, kicking, pushing, locking them down with ruthless efficiency, even though it pushed him closer to defeat.
"RUN! NOW!" His deep voice rang out, faceless but filled with urgency and command.
I hesitated. My feet were frozen. I didn't want to leave him. I wanted to see him win. I wanted to help.
But that blank face… even without eyes, I could feel the silent plea. There was desperation behind his command.
"No..." I shook my head, refusing to abandon him.
"GO, YOU IDIOT!" he shouted again, still holding the thugs off, keeping them from reaching me.
He shoved me away from the alley.
With my heart pounding like mad, I finally turned and ran.
Every step felt like eternity. My legs were heavy. I forced myself to run, leaving him behind to face fate alone.
Just as I looked back one last time, I saw something horrifying.
The night sky cracked open—not just a simple crack, but a massive fracture like broken glass spreading fast across the heavens. A loud, shattering roar echoed, like the world itself was being torn apart.
Purple and blood-red light spilled out from those fractures, swallowing everything below. The world... the world was ending. And in the middle of it all, I saw him—still fighting, still protecting the space where I had once stood.
I opened my eyes again, breath short and ragged. I was in my room.
My bedsheets were damp with sweat. The blue ribbon on my shoulder was slightly out of place, a bit wrinkled. I touched my shining blonde hair. My wide blue eyes stared blankly.
It was just a nightmare.
But the feeling was too vivid, too detailed, too real. My muscles ached like I had actually been running.
And that cracked sky... it didn't feel like just a dream. It felt like a memory, a cold déjà vu, like I had been there before, witnessing that destruction, drowning in that despair—dozens, maybe hundreds of times, in some forgotten life.
And the strange boy with no face… I tried to remember him again. Brown hair… And oddly, whenever I was near him in the dream, I felt a strange sense of safety.
That dream felt like a life I had once lived. A memory breaking free from the depths of my subconscious, demanding to be remembered.
"Luna! Come down, I made your favorite breakfast! And I packed your bento in your bag, the one you made last night!"
I shook my head, trying to get the terrible dream out of my thoughts. But deep down, something inside me wanted to know more about that boy.
"Coming, Mom!"
----
"Be careful on your way, sweetie. I already packed your bento and your self-defense weapon in your bag. Remember, a girl must always know how to protect herself," my mom said. A reminder she'd given me hundreds of times.
"Mom… I'm not a kid anymore. Isn't it a bit too much to carry around a knife—"
She placed her finger on my lips, silencing me. "Shhh... You don't want what happened when you were little to happen again, do you?" she whispered.
I froze, my body stiff. The nightmare flashed through my mind again.
Her eyes widened—realizing she'd said too much.
"Oh right! Luna, who did you make that bento for last night? Don't tell me…" My mom smiled, clearly teasing.
I froze again, searching for a good excuse.
"It's for… a friend. A girl. Yeah! We promised to trade bento today," I said quickly, turning my face away.
She smiled, her eyes narrowing as she stared at me. "Hmm… is that so?"
My cheeks grew hot at her reaction. "If you don't believe me, then whatever!" I stormed off and jumped into the car, telling our driver to take me to school.
On the way there, I stared out the window. Office workers walked past, glued to their phones. A kebab vendor sliced meat every ten seconds. Everything felt too... scripted.
I tapped the car window, hoping someone would notice—but no one even looked. No one reacted at all.
When I arrived at school, I told the driver to stop. He nodded silently, without saying a word.
I stepped out, and as usual, the moment I walked towards the gates, people turned to look at me—like I was some heroine in a romance novel.
I looked around, searching for a boy with black hair. Theo—my friend who had caught me when I almost fell down the stairs.
Since then, we'd been good friends. He's kind, but honestly a bit too naive. Every time I offer him something, he always refuses. It's exhausting.
In the distance, I saw a boy glance at me and then quickly turn away.
That brown hair... could it really be him? The boy from my dream?
I wanted to call out to him, but the words got stuck in my throat. It felt like something was holding me back.
When I reached the door of classroom 2-C, I saw him again—standing in front of the door, completely still.
I waited for him to go in, but he just stood there. It was annoying.
I lost my patience and walked past him into the class.
At the back, I saw my two friends—Theo and Ivansia. I walked up to Theo and scolded him for not waiting at the gate.
He apologized with that annoying smile of his. I sighed and sat down beside him.
"Did you finish last week's homework, Theo?" Ivansia asked.
"Huh?! We had homework last week?!"
"Ugh, Theo. You're always like this," Ivansia said, rubbing her temple. "Give me your book, I'll do it for you."
Theo dug into his bag and handed her his notebook. "Uh… sorry for always troubling you, Ivansia."
I looked away from them and turned to the front. The brown-haired boy was sleeping on his desk.
Weird… why wasn't the teacher scolding him?
Before I could ask the teacher, she suddenly yelled.
"Pay attention when your teacher is speaking, student Theo!"
I was shocked. I thought she'd yell at the brown-haired guy. But why Theo?
I looked at Theo, who had fallen off his chair after being hit by the teacher's chalkboard eraser.
"Pfft! Hahaha!" I laughed out loud.
Wait... why am I laughing? Shouldn't I be asking the teacher about him? Shouldn't I be helping Theo?
Why was I just laughing?
I tried to stop, but I couldn't. My mouth moved on its own. My hand reached into my bag and pulled out... eucalyptus oil?
Wait, since when did I bring that? I only packed books and bento!
Ivansia helped Theo up, brushing dust off his uniform.
My hand moved on its own again, offering the oil to Theo as words left my mouth without my control.
"H-here, Theo. It's eucalyptus oil. Not that I care, but I just happened to bring it."
"Ah… It's okay, Luna. That eraser didn't really hurt."
This… this is wrong. I couldn't control my body. I felt like a puppet, being moved by someone else.
Now that I think about it… why do most people have no facial features? Why only a few of us have them?
Are we special?
Or are we just the main puppets in someone else's show?