It was a cloudy day but there were no signs of rain. It was on days like these that Rowan went on a light jog around the block but there wasn’t exactly a block in this world. Not in the shape he remembered it to be. The suburban areas had shrunk whereas the urban areas had expanded, resulting in an awkward version of Ascot that he didn’t know but he did.

Buying comics was seen as outdated after the advent of illegal comic sites but Rowan had never gotten out of the habit of buying them. He frequently visited it and read some comics for free before he left with the newest issue of a particular series he was following.

Rowan’s morbid curiosity led him down three streets where the corner store stood. He knew things had changed. He wanted to know how they’d changed.

In the place of the shabby neon sign with two dysfunctional letters, the word “Bookstore” was written in bold, red paint on wood. Its official name was a bookstore but most of its profits were made from comics in the other reality, but the books on display that he could see through the glass windows said otherwise in this one.

“Here to stock up on books for the trip?” asked Simon with his monotonous voice from behind.

They’d both been nerds in the other world and frequented the comic store. Almost all the boys used to read it when they were in middle school but most had stopped after they entered high school. Only Rowan and Simon read it nowadays.

“Trip?” asked Rowan, playing the fool. He didn’t know whether it was already a well-known thing or not.

“You broke through, didn’t you?” asked Simon and placed an elbow on Rowan’s shoulder, “That’s far better than graduating. Instead of begging to be in the army, you can choose to join it.”

“What about you? Did you pass?” asked Rowan, voice soft.

“Of course,” said Simon and walked into the bookstore after pulling his arm away from Rowan. As the door opened, pieces of metal hanging over the door were pushed from their place and struck each other while coming back, giving off a jingle, not unlike bells. Soon after, Rowan followed suit and walked in.

The size of the shop was the same but its contents were different. Instead of the metal stands, there were only wooden stands that resembled bedside tables. They were placed in a standing position, making a thirty-degree angle with the wall behind them. The number of books in the store wasn’t many and if he counted all of them, there’d only be forty on display.

Conveniently, there were plates with the costs of the books before them. There was a total of one silver coin and five copper coins in his pouch while the books cost a silver each. It seemed absurdly cheap compared to the rates in Medieval Europe, which this world resembled barring the existence of Cultivation.

Was it more similar to China?

History was never his strong suit and most of his knowledge came from stereotypes and interesting facts on the internet. That made it impossible to be subjected to anything related to Chinese history save for the Three Kingdoms’ era. Even then, he’d never been interested in studying it.

“Have you finished the Demon War Records yet?” asked Simon, standing on another side of a stand.

“Not yet. Didn’t get the time to,” said Rowan.

“So you’ve been studying Cultivation instead,” said Simon and softly nodded, “That’s unexpected.”

He needed to learn something about Cultivation before he joined the army. It seemed that he’d be expected to use it for war and failing wasn’t an option. If he wanted to do something, he just knew he’d excel at it.

Rowan’s eyes ran across the stands and one of them caught his eye: Wonders of Cultivation.

“Didn’t you read that already?” asked Simon when Rowan grabbed it.

“I have a better perspective now. Might notice things I didn’t before,” said Rowan and gave his best impression of a fake smile.

“Hm, you’re slightly more bearable than the day before yesterday. I’m supposing you got over the humiliation after you released all that,” said Simon and grabbed a book of his own.

“Humiliation?” asked Rowan.

“The proposal. It was hilarious, really. How you thought you had a chance with a noblewoman. Peter’s short temper getting the best of him was a sight to behold as well, only to be humiliated himself,” said Simon and a dry chuckle escaped his mouth.

That was something he’d rather not remember.

“Wait, why’d he be humiliated?” asked Rowan, eyes narrowed and hissed, “He rag-dolled me.”

“Most peasants, Imperial Academy students excluded, see things at face value and don’t know the first thing about cultivation. He had more experience yet you could fight back. That’s enough for them to label you a genius,” said Simon and shrugged, “Playing the masses is easier than you’d think.”

“Masses? Who cares about what they think?” grumbled Rowan.

“The Empire,” said Simon matter-of-factly, “Now, they’ll spout some nonsense about the Imperial Academy of Ascot siring not one, but two Cultivators. Peasants from all over the Empire will be wishing to move to Ascot for a better future for their children. It’ll cost them a lot and in the end, the Empire wins.”

Simon paused and stared at Rowan for a few seconds, his usual poker face present.

“You have dissociative amnesia,” said Simon.

“Dissociative what?” asked Rowan, eyes narrowed.

“Dissociative amnesia,” parroted Simon and explained, “You lost memories about yourself. You don’t know me at all.”

“I’m just not feeling well is all,” said Rowan, trying to grasp onto any straw he could find.

“Typical symptoms, or rather, the other symptoms of the cause. You got a head trauma during the fight before you broke through. You’d do well to visit my family’s clinic for a physical inspection before you leave. You wouldn’t want the government, and in extension, the principal to know about it,” said Simon and walked over to the counter after a pat on his shoulder.

Behind the counter sat Josh, an overweight, middle-aged man with glasses and a beard. The cap hat he wore in the other world was replaced by a black top hat and his old T-shirt with oil stains was replaced with a neat suit.

“Jo?” mumbled Rowan and narrowed his eyes, but broke out of his stupor in the next second.

Before Simon left, he rushed over to the counter and placed his book next to his. If he was already a suspect, then he may as well wrangle some information out of Simon.

“Wait, I have some questions,” said Rowan as Simon turned around to leave. He got a simple nod in response —one that he gave without turning around to look at Rowan. Then Rowan pulled out a silver coin and audibly placed it on the table.

“Mia!” shouted Josh and leaned back on his chair. Mia, the assistant, was apparently still working in the store but Rowan had already left the shop by the time whatever ensued happened.

“How’d you know?” he asked after coming up to Simon who stood near the entrance of the book store.

“It’s simple, really,” said Simon and explained after a snort, “You didn’t return the books and you’d already finished the Demon War Records, which you said you haven’t. That’s a red flag there. The fact that you remembered your beef with Peter right before the match means that you were fine until that point.”

It was absurd how he could come too close to the truth from a tiny clue.

“I know you a lot more than you know yourself, Rowan. At least for now. You’d notice if something was amiss about me as well. That’s just how it is,” said Simon and gestured with his finger while walking. His destination was the same carriage he got out of back at the Academy. He turned to Rowan after getting here and spoke, “Free ride to the clinic and back.”

He could only nod.

“You remember about your sister? I’m not the best when it comes to her but I’ve heard you complain a lot,” said Simon after he hopped into the carriage. He knocked on the wall of the carriage behind which the coachman stood and shouted, “We’re going to the clinic.”

Rowan hopped up and took a seat on the opposite side of the carriage. The interior wasn’t the most luxurious and the seats were hard. Curtains covered the windows, obscuring the view outside while also serving to keep the heat away.

“A bit. I know the… people, but not any of the details. Not their past, not their present, and certainly not what relationship I have with them,” said Rowan and huffed. Not acting like another version of himself felt relaxing.

“Your sister’s in the garrison and you two are orphans. She’s been providing for you for the last four years after sacrificing her promotion. You stopped complaining about her just about the same time she started working so your relationship shouldn’t be too sour,” said Simon and pointed at himself with an index finger, “I’m that one guy who happens to have an affinity with you and can bear with your antics. It’s easier to get along with you than with the kids of other merchants or nobles.”

He’d already heard a bit about Liz from Principal Lloyd.

“You,” said Simon and pointed at Rowan with the same index finger he pointed at himself, “Are an unbearable prick to most. If you have any other friends, you’re good at hiding them. I’d be impressed at your acting capabilities, which means you’re understandably bad at acting.”

“I’m not a prick,” he grumbled.

“Yes, you aren’t. You’re an asshole,” said Simon, and that made Rowan clench his teeth. He had to endure it. That was the only way he could extract information out of him. He gave a nod and pursed his lips slightly, then added, “Certainly not an impostor. You really did become an amnesiac. Quite intriguing, really. Mother will be interested in that condition and its causes.”

“Don’t talk about me as if I’m a lab rat,” said Rowan and sunk to his seat.

“It’s better than the torture you’d have gone through at the Capital if they’d found out,” said Simon.

“They wouldn’t have. They wouldn’t even know the old me to compare to,” countered Rowan.

“Fair. Especially since you’re what they’d call a country bumpkin. It seems my excessive worry was unfounded,” said Simon as the carriage came to a halt. There came a few knocks on the wall behind Simon and the coachman shouted something unintelligible. That made Simon turn around and gesture to the door with his head.

His words seemed excessive, as if he was imitating a nerdy alien from a TV show or an ancient nobleman. He was closer to the latter and it could be possible that he’d adopted such a vocabulary due to living in this reality.

Simon hopped down first and started walking toward a marble house that glistened brightly. It had three floors and several balconies. It was a mansion in every sense of the world. Outside the gate, several carriages stood.

In the other reality, Simon’s mother had a small clinic to her name. It was nothing compared to large hospitals but it had its fair share of customers, Rowan and his parents included. Many preferred local practices over larger hospitals that were a little over fifty miles from Ascot. The state-funded hospital wasn’t anything to scoff at but it fell short of Simon’s mother’s clinic in quality.

He had a discount.

The only similarity between this world’s clinic and the one from the other world was the number of floors. The design was completely different and Rowan didn’t know if Simon’s mother was the same person he’d gotten to know.

Simon was close to his other self but understandably, he wasn’t the Simon that he knew.

The interior design was different but the layout of the building was similar. The doors were where they should be, the rooms were identical in size and even the front counter was exactly as it should be. If it were to be described, it’d be the clinic from the other reality, but with an astounding Halloween costume.

Miss Collins, a smart-looking woman with large round glasses stood behind the counter. Her outfit was the same as her counterpart, that being a frilly, white shirt and a black skirt. There was a difference in the materials, no doubt, but the general image was the exact same.

“Where’s mother?” asked Simon in passing.

“She’s tending to Sir Liam at the moment,” said Miss Collins and added, but by the time the sentence ended, Simon was nowhere to be found, “You’ll have to wait an hour.”

“Is that alright?” asked Rowan, tailing Simon step-for-step.

“Your case truly is severe,” said Simon and sighed. After a few seconds, he explained, “Mother would much rather be prodding you than wrap a bandage around a sweaty old man from the garrison. You’d know that.”

Back in the other reality, patients were more important than personal projects. It’d be malpractice if she stopped a treatment halfway through for no apparent reason. Rowan lacked any knowledge of how laws worked in this new reality he found himself in.

Simon knocked on the door twice before he paused, then knocked twice again. He did it several times before they could hear muffled speech and footsteps.

“Gus, take care of it,” shouted out Mrs. Bercier from inside the room and walked out moments later. She scanned around the room and gave Simon a nod with a smile.

She looked the same: white lab coat, blue shirt underneath, wrinkles around her lips and eyes due to a lifetime of smiling, and a perpetual amused smirk on her face.

“Rowan. Didn’t expect to see you again,” exclaimed Mrs. Bercier.

“He needs an examination,” said Simon and pointed behind his back with a thumb.

“What for?” asked Mrs. Bercier.

“Dissociative amnesia,” said Simon and added after a few seconds of exhaling, “It’s due to a hit to the head. Back during the graduation ceremony.”

“Oh,” said Mrs. Bercier and nodded a few times. Her smirk widened to a grin and she looked him up and down, “That’s… rare. Do you perhaps remember what you ate for breakfast?”

“That’s a bad question. It’s always the same,” said Simon before Rowan could open his mouth.

“Hm, then drinks. What about drinks?” asked Mrs. Bercier.

“Water,” said Rowan after a few moments, after which Mrs. Bercier turned to Simon. He gave a nod in response.

“Well, we’ll see. Follow me,” said Mrs. Bercier and promptly turned around. It was apparent from where Simon got his attitude. He’d only met Simon’s father in passing but it was apparent that he was the complete opposite of everything that Simon was, whereas his mother was similar.

They walked up to the third floor, letting Rowan fully appreciate the clinic’s all-new appearance as he passed by the floors. The only other constant besides its workers and layout were the plants. They looked the same as the ones that were in the clinic in the other reality. The vases were different but the shapes and types of the plants were the exact same.

Mrs. Bercier opened a room at the end of the hallway on the third floor with a key. It was a bit key, just like the one at home and it had conveniently taken the place of her stethoscope, hovering around her neck instead of the medical tool.

Rowan had never gotten past the second floor as the third floor was for staff and that seemed to be true. However, he hadn’t seen any patients in the corridors so there was still room for mistake.

The room had a single bed in one corner, a desk that faced the bed with its back turned to a window. The desk was cluttered with papers haphazardly stacked atop each other. There was another chair right next to the bed and a half-open closet that revealed vials filled with colorful liquids. The kind of colors you’d see in a shop that sells car accessories, know it’s wrong to drink it but still wonder what it’d taste like.

When Mrs. Bercier walked up to the closet and grabbed one of the vials, Rowan couldn’t help but gulp. Seeing a potion was one thing but drinking it was different. Simon slammed the door shut and made him jump. When he looked behind himself to grumble, he noticed that Simon was on the other side of the door.

“Mermaid Tears,” said Mrs. Bercier and shook the vial in her hand. It had a wooden plug that resembled the ones shoved down wine bottles. Its contents were a bright violet that glistened in the sunlight that came through the window, giving him slight doubts about ingesting it, “What this will do is let you access your subconscious mind. This will let me see if you’ve simply repressed the memories or, well, if you’ve truly lost them.”

“Wait, you think I’d… repress my memories?” asked Rowan, eyes narrowed.

“The scion of House Moore and you don’t exactly have a stellar history,” said Mrs. Bercier and smacked her lips. After a few seconds, she added, “Let’s just say there’s enough reason for you to repress your memories because of him.”

“I-” started Rowan but Mrs. Bercier pushed the vial into his hand.

“I’ve fixed you up too many times to count, Rowan. I know why,” said Mrs. Bercier and gave him a pat on the back. She gestured at the bed with her free head, “You’ll want to be lying down when you take it.”

“Fine,” he grumbled and sat on the bed. Even in the other world, she’d fixed her wounds all the time. It helped that Simon was the one that dragged him to the clinic every time he could. Said that Rowan served as a free advertisement for his family.

“You won’t remember anything about what happens in this room after the potion wears off,” said Mrs. Bercier.

“Great, another dose of amnesia,” said Rowan and rolled his eyes, playing his part. After a deep sigh, he pulled off the lid and downed it in one go. It was cold and refreshing, but the cold started to envelop his insides after it landed in the pit of his stomach.

His eyes widened and a great wealth of knowledge flooded his brain.

“Rowan, are you there?” asked Mrs. Bercier, her eyes staring deep into his.

“Where!” shouted Rowan and jumped up. His eyes wandered around the room, each movement fast and jerky, “Where are you?!”

“Where’s who?” asked Mrs. Bercier.

“The Shadow!” shouted Rowan and pointed in front of him. His hands trembled and cold sweat drenched his clothes. His eyes landed on her and he let out a deep breath, “Mrs. Bercier. Is that you? No, are you… real?”

“You have to listen to me, Rowan. You have to sit down, and you have to talk to me,” she instructed, her expression as serious as he’d seen her.

“I’m still here. Ha! I’m here,” said Rowan and he giggled like a child. He turned to Mrs. Bercier but slowly, his expression sunk, “The graduation ceremony. I must’ve missed it.”

Mrs. Bercier nodded her head and scribbled something onto a notebook. Then she asked, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I don’t remember much, but there was this Shadow. I think it was a Cultivator. She was made out of smoke and could fly. Like Principal Lloyd. It couldn’t have been a nightmare. It seemed too real,” said Rowan with furrowed brows and narrowed eyes.

“What did she do?” asked Mrs. Bercier.

“Said that I disappointed him. She said that I had to be replaced because of that,” said Rowan and snorted. He turned to Mrs. Bercier with a smile, “I’m still here, so… I’m fine for now, at least.”

“Him. Who’s him?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” said Rowan and bit his lips. He closed his eyes, as if to blink, but fell onto the bed.

In the end, Mrs. Bercier was left with far too many questions and no one to answer them. Rather than satisfying her curiosity, she was given a taste of information —new information— and she just had to know it.

“What have you gotten yourself into, big boy?” Mrs. Bercier mumbled with a grin on her face.