Daisuke's eyelids fluttered open, but the world around him was shrouded in a hazy blur. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the disorientation. As his vision cleared, he looked down and gasped. His body had transformed into that of a 7-year-old boy, clad in tattered, filthy clothes.
"What the...?" Daisuke's voice trembled.
Suddenly, a gruff, elderly voice pierced the air. "Roze, it's time!"
Daisuke's response was automatic. "Coming, Grandpa!"
He stumbled to his feet, his legs trembling beneath him. The room was cramped, with no windows, only a single, creaky door. An old man stood before him, his face etched with deep lines and a scowl.
"Grandpa?" Daisuke asked, uncertainty etched on his face.
Gustaf's eyes narrowed. "Hurry, you fool! My patience is wearing thin! You're not a child anymore, Roze. You're old enough to understand."
Daisuke's confusion deepened. "Understand what, Grandpa?"
Gustaf's expression darkened. "Don't play dumb with me, boy! You know exactly what I mean."
A stinging slap across Daisuke's face sent him reeling. Gustaf's hands ripped off his clothes, leaving him shivering and vulnerable.
"No, Grandpa! Stop!" Daisuke pleaded, but Gustaf's anger only escalated.
The door creaked shut, and Daisuke's screams echoed through the hut. Gustaf's brutality left him battered and physically broken.
Later, Gustaf opened the door, his expression transformed into a calm smile. "Dinner's ready, Roze. Come down when you're decent."
Daisuke lay naked, battered, and shaken. His mind reeled with fragmented memories and conflicting emotions.
"Roze... Roze is my name," he whispered, clinging to the only certainty he had.
Memories swirled in his mind: flashes of luxury, love, and laughter. But they felt distant, belonging to someone else.
As he struggled to make sense of his past, Daisuke's gaze fell upon his ragged clothes. Anger flared within him.
"Why do I have to live like this?" he muttered. "I hate being poor. I hate these clothes."
His thoughts turned to Gustaf. "Grandpa's a thief. He's always taking things that don't belong to him."
Daisuke's memories were a jumbled mess, but one thing was clear: he despised his current life.
With a Herculean effort, Daisuke stood up, vomited, and crawled to his clothes. He dressed, his hands trembling.
Gustaf's voice drifted from outside, "Roze, dinner's waiting! Don't keep me waiting, boy! You need energy for later"