MiRACLE (KnB Fanfic)

2.

Next that occurs is a blur.

Someone, his father apparently, shows up, frantic and concerned and so very panicked-- he wraps him in a hug, apologies spilling from his throat so consistently the tears muffle his voice.

He feels loved, and the embrace is warm and gentle and so tight and comfortable-- he leans in, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. 

His new father smells like fresh grapes and a sizzle of burnt coal. The bigger arms vibrate with heat, and he can't help but lean in, feeling warm again.

He realizes his fingers are freezing, but his father lifts him like a baby and they walk home. He whispers promises into the boy's ears, but the boy doesn't understand them, not knowing the language well enough. But he is held so homely and so tenderly-- so he keeps quiet and simply enjoys the ride.

He settles into his new home relatively easily.

His name is Hiroto, of the Aisaka household.

Aisaka, an indigo hill. Hiroto, to spread wide and fly.

His mother had recently passed, so his father, who has lost his stable job, now works tirelessly to provide for their livelihood.

Up until that day, he had sunk into a depressive state-- Hiroto had retreated into his room and became a shut-in with the care of his neighbour, a friendly teenage girl. Those were their living conditions for a whole year, or perhaps longer, because Hiroto's hair is now long to his shoulders from some motherly remembrance coping mechanism.

What surprises him most is the colour of his hair. His father had common black hair, but Hiroshi had a shock of indigo locks, cascading in smooth waves before curling up at the edges. His eyes were in the same dark purple-blue hue, and he knows this isn't normal.

As he began to rebuild his relationship with his father and learn more of the language, Hiroto learns more about the world-- this world he had reincarnated into.

And he begins to take notes.

"So this world is mostly the same," he mutters to himself, filling in his journal with the information he has begun to learn. He tries to write in Japanese, but it wasn't working well. He still sucks at it too much, so he scribbles in English.

"No tameable magic beasts that spew fire or thunder," he writes that down, "no magic circles and elite academies for the talented, no flying cars and endless caves or towering dungeons. No level up notification screens either."

Maybe he was hoping for too much. Maybe he was watching too many TV shows, because somehow, he was expecting to end up in some crazy fantasy world. Turns out it's literally normal.

But just to make sure, "we use the same year system and calendars and horoscopes and clock cycles. Just normal modern day Japan, except some of the more recent sportsmen I know apparently don't exist. But Shaq and Tiger Woods exists, so maybe this history redact isn't too far away..."

Well, that certainly helps his case. He didn't need to learn or study things he'd never known existed.

"I don't exist either," he had borrowed his father's phone and searched it up. The news of a famous basketball player that became a quadriplegic was wiped clean from the slates and entirely gone from sensationalized media, never having existed.