So.

This could be considered a resurrection story.

Even though the actual « ressurection » part is coming like half-way into this story.

Honestly, it's such a mess, I don't really think it's quite right to say it's a « resurrection ». I don't even switch world, get overpowered, or destroy evil dragons (yet).

But let's cut the intro short, it's gonna get complicated quite quickly so hold on, and let's begin.

These kind of stories usually begin with an explanation of who I was, what I was doing with my supposedly shitty life, and finally a heroic rescue of a kid before getting run over by the most deadly magic truck in existence.

But this isn't going to be like that.

You see there are multiple aspects of reality preventing these classic occurences of storytelling from happening.

First of all I'm not really unhappy with my current life, so damn, can't not feel bad about dying. Second of all, magic trucks don't exist, and normal ones are actually pretty easy to dodge as long as you're not on a highway, or related to a deer. Even when tackling someone who can't distinguish his left from right it's fine. Also most kids don't cross streets like dumbasses in the middle of the night, and even if they did, honestly, who am I to go against Darwin?

...

...I'm kidding don't worry, and sorry in advance, my humor is pretty dark.

Oops, gonna have to keep my rambling in check, let's get to the point.

Basically, Truck-kun couldn't kill me, and saving an ungrateful drunk businessmen doesn't feel nearly as good as saving a poor kid.

Still. Nothing is preventing me from telling you who I am. So I'm gonna begin with that, I can't destroy all the cliches after all, that would be terribly rude. Can't have that in Japan.

So yes this story happens in Japan, but I'm actually not Japanese. I'm an overseas student, I went here to learn the language, basically from scratch, having watched my fair share of anime, but not knowing anything about how they actually speak it in the country. To be honest I also went there so I could use my deep blue eyes to their full potential. Girls love them. But asian girls really love them. Unfortunately for me, I understood on that particular bar trip I went on that night, that asian boys also really love them. My effeminate nature and let's say particular taste about clothing (I like classy hats and old-timey costumes) apparently sent wrong messages to some very enthousiastic young men.

I have no problem with homosexuality in general, but the pill in my drink was seriously not welcome. I thought I understood how women felt, having studied sociology and psychology, where I was like, one of the four male in most of my classes for five years, but it feels really different when someone tries to abuse you and not a friend of yours. My guard was completely down. I had never heard of such things happening to a man, especially in such a prude country as Japan.

Yeah laugh all you want, but the tentacle rape loli birthing Japan, is actually terribly prude.

So how did I escape the unfortunate fate of being dosed ? Well they were pretty obvious about it and I got a tad bit lucky too.

So let's side-track back to the beginning of the fateful day. I finished my courses at the international school, studied a bit about sealife vocabulary, went and bought a light novel at a bookstore nearby before finally deciding to explore the nightlife. Usually it's only bars and izakayas but this time I found something new.

My research led me to a building in a pretty hype part of Kyoto. The buiding, previously a quite large traditional bar, became quite different. It now looked more like a futuristic sci-fi club house. I hesitated but finally decided to go in. I had no problem getting past the bouncer, being white in asian countries has that kind of perks. It's sad, I know. Barely five meters inside, I got ambushed by two perfectly normal looking japanese guys. They insisted on me having a drink with them.

I had a hard time understanding what they were saying to me, even though I didn't act like it. The music was pretty loud, and my japanese only three months old. One of them was called Haruto, but I didn't quite catch the name of the other one. I'll blame that on the music.

I initially refused, they weren't my target audience after all (I mean girls).

And before I continue I need to be clear about something. I wasn't there to get a quick fuck, pardon my language, I was actually there to try to have a nice chat with a nice girl. I know it's hard to believe with everything I said before, but that's just my macho side talking, I studied psychology, talking is basically my thing, and I was getting lonely, all my friends having stayed back home.

So after they forcefully introduced themselves, I looked at them more closely, quickly seeing that under their apparent typical japanese looks, something about them felt off. Their basic jeans and t-shirt, in dark colors, with writings hard to decipher in the low lights of the loud bar/club we were in, were the definition of normal. They looked nice enough. Even though their smiles were pretty fake. It's easy to tell when you've studied basic human expressions, you see the sides of the mouth going up, but the eyebrows staying perfectly still. It doesn't mean anything though, most people do those kind of smiles to someone they never met before. I was doing that exact thing at the moment. Doesn't make you a psycho.

So even though my instincts told me to be careful, I didn't pay them heed, as I had no proof my fears had any ground to be true. What's more, I never had any problem with any japanese. They aren't mean, they can only be too nice. Or so I thought.

I decided to follow them, I was getting uncomfortable anyway, being a bit shy in such a large crowd. It was the first time I went to such a high-tech bar, which looked more and more like a club the deeper we went in. I can handle myself in a group, but if they get too big I get shy and overwhelmed. Their invitation actually gave me the courage I needed to really get into this ocean of flowing bodies dancing to a a really loud-sounding wave of what was supposedly music.

They made me follow them up some stairs, passing what looked like an angry, big american special forces soldier, who barely looked at us. Compared to the bouncer at the entrance, this one was a scary monster. Muscles protruding out of every possible place his suit let them.

They must've been some bigshots, cause I was pretty sure that meant we had just climbed to the VIP section.

Up this second floor were multiple private booths on the right wall with a few high tables in the middle giving view to the dance floor.

I looked at some of the girls there, and damn, they were hot. Not all of them were japanese, but all of them were exquisitly dressed, and different enough that you could choose between really cute, or really hot, or a mixture of both if you wanted to.

My new « friends » brought me to a booth with two girls and another boy. I would like to describe them a bit more but that's where my memory gets a bit fuzzy.

I remember clearly the drink, which I didn't like cause it tasted weird. That was my luck, I'm really difficult about alcohol.

I barely touched it.

They asked me some questions, my name, where I was from, etc...

I also got a few compliments for my accent, spoken like a true japanese they said.

That made me smile. The benefits of having learnt three languages when I was a child was that I basically sound like a native, even if don't know the language. Never had an accent I couldn't reproduce to some degree. Islandic is hard though.

The rest of the group quickly got bored about asking me things. I think I had been invited for the same reason as one of the girls, who looked like a brazilian : to look good. Strangers at your table means you're cool I guess.

I tried to decode what was being said next, but I quickly zoned out, they spoke too fast. I laughed when others laughed and looked serious when the others acted serious.

A pretty boring evening.

I didn't even register the one japanese guy I didn't know the name looking at me with glee.

That was my last thought for the hour. I don't remember anything afterwards. Bribes and echoes at most. I think I went to dance with the latina girl and I remember a trip to the horribly complicated toilets of the club. With like male and female signs that make no sense and you basically have to guess which door to take. And afterwards you have to know which button to press on those technological nighmares of japanese toilets. Urgh.

Even through the obvious drugs I was given, It still traumatised me.

Water spewing into your...

I think I got my bearings after that trip though. Trauma for the win yeee...

So I didn't go back up to the VIP lounge. I stopped in my tracks, realizing out of those hellish toilets that something definitly wasn't right with me.

I had barely touched my glass, and I just had a one hour black out.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

The initial feeling of unease I had had with my young japanese hosts seemed to have been justified after all.

But I was still conflicted.

Their eyes had been mostly on me, barely on the girls. But I couldn't be sure, not in my state of mind. Was I the only one who had been drugged ?

If I left, would I leave that nice latina chick on her own ?

I remembered something about her eyes. A dark brown, pretty nice, but more than that, they looked sad.

« Shit » I exclaimed to myself.

I climbed back up the stairs, the crazy buff american bouncer looking at me strangely but nonetheless letting me pass.

I looked at my two japanese hosts differently. The third guy wasn't there anymore. Believing someone is nice, or knowing he is dangerous makes that someone physically different in your eyes. I had direct proof right now.

They watched me sit back down. The one sitting in the back of the booth, whose name I hadn't understood, looked suprised, probably not expecting to see me again. That one felt really eerie. The other one, Haruto, looked rather pleased, and drunk, and definitely interested in me: his gaze lingered on my butt when I sat.

Well I knew what they were after now. Or at least one of them. To push this point even more, the creepy guy made a sign to the latina girl and her japanese girl friend, who immediately got up and left together.

I had just got back up there for nothing.

I sighed.

It wasn't the first time I had been in a shitty situation, but it was the first time I had to defend my « innocence ».

But I believe the easiest way out is the best way out.

« Oh ! » I exclaimed touching my pockets.

« Sumimasen ! Sumaho wasuremashita! »

Contrary to what I just said, I didn't forget my phone. But it let me get back up pretty naturally.

Not-Haruto guy seemed to want to say something, he was beginning to understand that the drug hadn't had the expected outcome. The confusion in his gaze was quickly fleeting, being slowly replaced by very bad news for me if I had to guess.

But I wasn't going to let him realize it, I almost fled out of the booth and ran down the stairs.

I got cut off by the mountain that was the bouncer.

« Everything alright ? » He asked with the heaviest american voice ever.

I answered in my most well acted american accent.

« Sure, nothing wrong, I just need to take a call, and I can't hear anything in here. »

He looked puzzled for a moment.

« Wait you're not... ? You're American ? »

I smiled. Instincts told me not to lie would be better. But that didn't mean I had to tell the truth either.

« Oh uh...my mistake, sure go through. » He continued.

And my way was clear.

I don't know why I felt I needed to trick him, but it worked so I silently thanked my gut feeling and got out of the club.

The fresh air made me realize how spinny the world looked inside. It made me feel so much better. My fear transformed in anger.

« What the fuck was in that drink ? » I mumbled out loud.

And what would have happened if I finished it ? I thought.

I walked, looking at my phone. It wasn't even midnight yet, I could still catch the Kyoto metro back to my appartment. 

This night was crap, but it was saturday tomorrow, I would call my parents, tell them what had happened and feel better at hearing them freak out in my place. Well at least, I would feel better hearing my father freak out. My mom would probably ask why I didn't just bash their skulls in.

Nope, not thinking about it! I'd remember this as a good memory I decided!

I would look back at it and think « I got out of a bad situation, without anyone getting hurt, look how good I... » I couldn't finish my internal conceited sentence as I began to violently gag.

« Wha... » I exclaimed before sending the contents of my stomach on the ground.

« Fucking karma... » I exclaimed between two gags.

After a few minutes I felt better again.

I looked around me but the road was clear except for a drunk old japanese businessman standing like a dumbass in the middle of the road.

« がいじゅ ! Aho ! Gurossu ! »

I didn't catch the first word, was it foreigner? Nah that was Gaijin... The last two were pretty clear though. Idiot and gross.

It was a big no-no to pollute the public place in Japan. So I wasn't angry at him, I knew why he acted like that. I actually repressed a chuckle. While insutling me, his furious hand movements had catapulted the beer he held in on of them five meters away. He hadn't noticed.

The « crash !» had been pretty obvious though.

That was when the truck appeared.

It was probably because I wasn't wearing my glasses as I don't need them except while driving, but the vehicle seemingly popped out of nowhere. It's headlights were off, and fortunately it wasn't driving quickly.

Honestly it was all very strange.

But I didn't think about that at that moment.

I just ran to the unfortunate fool in the middle of the road who was still insulting me.

Things went really fast.

One moment I was refraining my laughter, the next I was on top of him on the sidewalk opposite of where I had been.

« Sumimasen » I said like an idiot.

The guy looked at me funny then pushed me off, with no real violence.

The truck was nowhere to be seen.

The businessman got up, well, after four tries, but still got up. He was silent, a confused look on his face.

He then tried to say something, but babbled an incomprehensible mess, then left.

I was still on my back, feeling bad again, but without the vomiting part.

Tackling that guy got the wind out of me and I was catching my breath.

I think I never ran that fast.

I don't think he would've died, the truck was going slowly, but he wouldn't have been in a good state, that's for sure.

Did I just save someone ?

That thought felt... weird.

After a while I finally got my bearings back, and I inspected myself for injuries.

Nothing visible at least.

Except the screen of my phone was cracked.

« Well shit. »

I sighed.

I wanted to go to bed now.

So I did.

That's how that day went, the way back to my small appartment almost bizarrely uneventful.

But that day was a turning point for me. And contrary to popular belief, they are really rare. No, actually scratch that, they don't exist. It's always a « turning month », or a « turning year ». Events never change you radically, it's what you make of these important events that truly make the change.

But as I would quickly figure out, the next morning in fact, that shitty day truly fucked my life over.

My name was Sias, and my family, the Jourdin were really shitty people. Except for my dad and my aunt.

They were the only ones of the Jourdin I had any contact with, I was much closer with my mother's family, even though I was supposed to be the last true heir of the Jourdin. Whatever that meant. 

This wasn't happening. Was my first thought the next morning.

I had always been a « pretty » boy, not really masculine, but a boy for sure.

The Jourdin didn't like that, they liked confidence, in appearance and personality.

Well damn, t'was almost funny. Was my second one.

I wanted to do psychology since forever, I liked people after all. My grandparents refused categorically.

They wanted either a soldier, or someone who worked in the family business.

Should I laugh hysterically ? I think I said that out loud.

Cause in the mirror of my small bathroom, I was looking at myself.

And something had changed.

Not much, just a bit.

But enough to be noticed easily if you knew my face well.

I didn't look like a « pretty » boy now, I looked fucking androgynous. I could easily pass for a girl. 

That was definitely new. And impossible.

So here I am, looking at the reflection on what is undisputedly me, but is also not.

Asking myself what I had been given to drink the night before.

Maybe it wasn't my "innocence" they were after.

I felt scared at the simple idea of undressing, but even more than that, I was scared that something had just caught up to me. Something that should have been buried deep, deep underground.

And finally. In the most vain and narcissistic self-defense mecanism you could think of, I just said:

« Well I definitely look cuter... »