A Substitute from the Same Sky

At Shizuka High, there were rituals you didn't mess with.

The bell rang. The teacher entered. Lesson began.

Every morning, without fail.

It had become a running joke—how the homeroom teacher, Mrs. Chibara, moved like clockwork, so precisely on time it was as if she slept in the classroom and simply stood up when the bell rang. The kind of joke that got passed between desks, under breath, before everyone straightened up for the ritual to begin.

But today, the classroom door remained closed.

And that silence? It stretched longer than usual.

Owen sat back in his chair, letting one eyebrow arch upward. A few students murmured. Hikaru joked that maybe their teacher was finally abducted by aliens. Another hoped for an early dismissal.

Then, the door opened.

Not with urgency. Not with chaos.

Just quiet footsteps and a stranger's presence.

A man walked in like he'd always belonged. Tall. Black slacks. Slim tie. Dark coat half-damp from the fading morning drizzle. His hair was dark too, and his features unmistakably Japanese—but only at first glance. His face was too long, his posture too upright, his cheekbones too sharp. And his eyes—those didn't belong to someone born here.

Owen's first thought was: He doesn't walk like a teacher. He walks like he's used to silence.

Some students whispered.

"Who's he?"

"Foreign exchange?"

He stepped to the podium and picked up a piece of chalk with fingers that moved too precisely and wrote his name in clean, exact strokes on the board.

Rei Voltaire.

"Your homeroom teacher has been called away. I'll be covering your morning lessons for the next few days. Please behave."

Simple. Straightforward.

"Wait—Voltaire?" one student whispered. "Like the philosopher?"

"Is he related or something?"

"He doesn't even look Japanese..."

"He kind of does. But not really."

Rei turned back to face them, a faint smile ghosting his lips.

"No relation," he said simply, his tone too elegant to be flippant, "but I appreciate the comparison."

But when his eyes met Lilith's—

Something paused.

She didn't breathe. Her fingers tensed over her notebook. Her lips parted, but no sound followed.

And for a fleeting moment, a memory flickered to life behind her eyes.

She remembered the days after Owen saw her. The days when she stopped being a ghost.

Six months. Six months of drifting. Of being untouchable, unheard, unseen.

And then—Owen.

She had told him before, once, in a voice barely above breath, that he was the first person to see her. She meant it.

But Owen had rejected the idea of saving her world. Of dying for it.

So she decided: if she couldn't understand why, then she'd understand him.

To understand Owen, she had to be near him. She had to learn his world. His habits. His strange, sharp tongue. His warmth—hidden beneath all that armor.

So she tracked him to this school. And she asked Rei for help.

Not out of trust. Not out of kinship.

But because he understood how to work through the daily life in this new world as someone from Elarion.

Because she needed Owen close.

That was all Rei had done: he handed her the paperwork that let her enroll in this school.

And now—he was standing at the front of the class like nothing had changed.

The lesson continued.

Lilith sat still. Silent. Her face unreadable to most. But Owen, sitting behind her, kept watching.

She didn't take notes. She didn't interrupt.

But something about her was too still.

He'd seen that stillness before—two nights ago, in his room, when she'd stood inches away and whispered that she didn't want to be alone…

After class when the bell rang, students filtered out.

Owen stood, ready to stretch his legs and escape the classroom's stifling air.

Then he felt it—her hand gently catching his sleeve.

Lilith didn't look at him. She looked at Rei.

"You stayed behind for a reason," she said, voice even. Measured.

Rei nodded once. "Yes."

He motioned toward the windows. The sunlight broke in slanted beams. Dust floated through the air like falling ash.

"I came to receive a letter," Rei said. "A package from home. From Elarion. It hasn't arrived yet—but it's close."

Owen raised a brow. "Mail service from other dimensions runs late too, huh?"

Neither of them laughed.

Rei folded his arms. "When the King sent her—" he gestured toward Lilith without ceremony, "—I noticed that... A package from our realm was going to cross into yours. A message, an artifact, it wasn't clear. But I knew it would arrive eventually."

His tone shifted.

"Things don't pass easily between realms. And when they do, they take time. And leave trails."

He glanced at the window, where sunlight filtered through drifting clouds.

"Phenomena like the ones you've seen the past few days—weather shifts, strange lights, shifts in energy—they're distortions. Side effects of a relic traveling between two realities."

Then he looked back at Owen.

"I was given a task: find Lilith when she arrives to earth. Help her settle. Prepare her for what's coming."

He paused. "I failed."

"I searched everywhere. But I wasn't the one who found her."

His gaze settled like a weight.

"It was you."

Owen blinked. "Lucky me."

Rei didn't smile.

"I've lived here for fifteen years. Arrived at twenty-five. I've built a life—quiet, disconnected. I made peace with the idea that my world would go on without me. I had no intention of returning."

Lilith said nothing.

"But then the King sent word," Rei continued. "He believed I was the one spoken of in the prophecy. The one who would return and save Elarion."

A beat.

"I accepted my fate."

Owen stared.

"And yet, you're here."

Rei nodded. "Because the prophecy was beyond our understanding. And it didn't choose me."

A pause.

"It chose you."

The words settled between them like snow. Cold. Inevitable.

"You think I'm supposed to save a world I've never seen?" Owen asked quietly.

"I think," Rei said carefully, "that destiny doesn't ask your opinion before it unfolds."

Silence again.

Then, Rei took a step closer.

"You've spent time with her majesty, the princess of our kingdom Alaric. Seen her vulnerability. Her conviction. Her strength. So I'll ask plainly—what does she mean to you?"

Owen looked away. His instinct fought to grab a joke. Something quick. Deflective.

But no words came.

Rei waited.

"And if the price of saving her is your life—will you pay it?"

Still no answer.

Owen's hands clenched at his sides. His chest tightened.

Rei pressed on. Not harsh. Not cruel. Just clear.

"Would you leave this world behind? Would you cross realms, knowing there's no guarantee? That you might not return? That your memories might vanish, your body might dissolve, your self might—end?"

And suddenly—

A voice inside Owen screamed:

Why am I thinking about this?

I'm not supposed to think about this.

But he was. And worse—he was asking things.
"If I die—what happens to her? Does she follow me? Does she stay? How would I even know what happens after?"

He turned, his voice low, almost desperate.

"What if it's all just... gone?"

Rei's expression didn't change. But the quiet in the room thickened.

"You were never supposed to be convinced," he said. "You were supposed to believe. And if you couldn't believe—"

He stopped mid-sentence. His jaw tensed. He exhaled slowly.

Then he looked toward Lilith.

"—then she wasn't supposed to make you."

A pause.

"But she did."

His voice lowered.

"You actually did your job too well."

And then he walked out.

Later on, as the sun dipped low, casting Tokyo in gold and shadow.

They walked home in silence.

Lilith's steps were slower than usual. Her hands curled into her sleeves. Her gaze stayed forward.

"Remember when I told you I had help enrolling? A few papers. A few well-placed words."

Owen nodded.

"That was him," she said. "He's the one who helped me enter this school. Nothing more. I thought seeing him again would feel like home."

Owen glanced at her. "Did it?"

She shook her head. "It reminded me how far away home really is."

They reached the apartment building.

But Lilith didn't go inside.

She reached into her coat. Pulled something out.

A silver ring. Thin. Delicate. Its surface glowed faintly, like frost beneath moonlight.

"My mother gave this to me the night of my departure."

She looked at it for a second. Then at him.

"I thought of throwing it away."

She hesitated. Then added, softer:

"Then I remembered your face when you tried to offer me that hoodie the other day."

She smiled. Small. A little sad. Bittersweet.

Then, without another word, she placed the ring into his hand and gently pressed his fingers around it.

He stared at it. Then slowly, wordlessly, took it.

She didn't explain further.

They stood there, at the doorway.

The sky above them cracked into stars.

"Do you think I'm selfish," Lilith asked suddenly, "for hoping you answer his question... differently?"

Owen looked at her. Really looked.

Then said quietly:

"I think you know me enough to know... that even those questions mean something. Even to me."

She smiled faintly.

But there was no joy in it.

Only realization.

Only silence.

And in that moment, for the first time—

She knew this boy might actually die for her sake.