Kuoh Town, Japan.

‘I didn’t expect the Formosan landlocked salmon to be found here. They usually aren’t sold in supermarkets anymore.’

Chekhov was standing in the seafood section of a supermarket. He was facing a large white shelf that was filled with small, rounded containers of different colors.

From the previous body owner’s memories, Chekhov knew that the Formosan landlocked salmon was an endangered species. For this reason, it had a unique taste to it that made it very palatable.

Chekhov leaned forward and reached out with both his arms, taking hold of multiple palm-sized containers at once.

As he was loading the salmon, Chekhov’s eyes were calm, and his face was undisturbed. Most people would consider this to be an ordinary occurrence. After all, he was only placing cans of fish in his cart. The average passerby would subconsciously think, ‘What is so special about a boring fish?’.

However, this was the same expression that Chekhov had revealed when he was brutally incapacitating Raynare. It wasn’t because he was incapable of understanding other’s feelings. Neither was he numb like a robot. It was precisely because he had discerned an entirely different perspective on life.

On the contrary, if a group of passersby were to ever witness a human being hunted and killed, their personal morals would leave them deeply shocked; perhaps even disgusted or enraged as well.

Nevertheless, to Chekhov, morals were never a divine commandment — they were just a set of values created by the helpless whim of humans.

‘Hunting a fish or devouring a human, they are intrinsically the same. One can only move past their human obsessions when one breaks their sense of individuality; one is ordinary, and all is equal.’

Fifteen of the rounded palm-sized containers could be seen at the front of Chekhov’s shopping cart. At the back, he had previously loaded milk, eggs, rice, and vegetables.

These products added up to a hefty sum, but Chekhov was not concerned. His weekly errand was to buy groceries using the money that his adoptive parents gave him. Although his family was not rich, they were relatively well-off and could be placed in the upper-middle class of ordinary families.

Grabbing hold of the red shopping cart handle, Chekhov rolled the cart toward the end of the aisle and entered a checkout line.

The wait was very short with only one woman in front of him. She was in her late 40s, and had blonde hair styled into an inverted bob haircut.

“You know what. Give me a manager! Right now!” a high-pitched, strident voice shrieked.

The middle-aged blonde woman was in an uproar, yelling at the cashier.

The young cashier at the register had a slight frown and his eyebrows were scrunched, staring at the woman with an annoyed expression.

“The manager’s not going to do anything.”

He handed her a yellow dress covered by a sharp plastic casing.

Crossing his arms, he continued, “It’s our store policy. You’ll need to show your receipt if you want to return this item.”

Hearing this, the woman went into an outrage. She turned her head and started exasperatingly yelling out to the other aisles.

“SOMEONE!”

“Get me a manager! I need to speak with a manager!”

‘With the way this squirrel is acting, it will be promptly evicted by the honey badgers within the next minute or so.’

The middle-aged blonde wasn’t willing to accept the yellow dress back, making the cashier overly frustrated. In a quick movement, he impulsively threw the dress back into the woman’s hands. During the process, it left a small white scratch on the woman’s left arm.

The woman looked back at the cashier with her eyebrows furrowed. Her mouth was slightly stretched and drawn back, displaying an offended expression.

She tilted her head slightly upward. And with a shrill voice she cried out at the top of her lungs.

“ASSAULT! This man has sexually assaulted me!”

Chekhov had long since moved his attention back to his groceries. From a safe distance away, he was arranging his items on the conveyor belt, paying no mind to the ruckus.

He had no interest in intervening, as it wouldn’t bring him any benefit. Inversely, it may overcomplicate the situation with himself involved.

Other people might have watched the show from afar with an indignant or resentful attitude, and some may have felt the need to curb the woman’s arrogance.

However, through Chekhov’s perspective, this event was like walking along a forest path and watching a squirrel angrily squeak at a rabbit.

A human would pay no mind to the squirrel and continue with their day. They would never be interested in intervening, as it provides no benefit. Neither would they be angry nor offended by the actions of the squirrel.

In the same way, Chekhov was unbothered by the actions of people.

When Chekhov’s groceries were halfway unloaded, two broad faced men wearing black uniforms had arrived. White letters that spelled “security” were printed out on their backs.

The store’s activity had momentarily paused, and a small crowd of curious onlookers had begun to form. Some excited teenagers had even taken out their phones to record the event. One boy with puffy hair was even recording himself performing a bizarre dance in front of the scene.

The officer on the right, with a medium-sized beard, took the initiative to speak. He interrupted the woman’s speech in an austere manner.

However, the middle-aged blonde wasn’t taking this for an answer. She was still hellbent on meeting the manager.

“WHAT?!? Do you even know who I am? Get me a manager!”

She aggressively pointed her index finger at the security guards.

“You’ll both lose your job if you don’t get me a manager!”

The second officer followed up with a loud and unyielding response. His tapered buzz cut along with his broad face gave him a rigid and dour appearance.

“Now, I’ll say this only once. You will leave the store by your own volition, or you will be expelled by force.”

The woman glanced around, expecting someone to come to her aid. However, she only saw a black security camera and microphone located at the top of the nearby wall.

Through a morsel of rational thought, she had suddenly realized that she was acting as a deranged lunatic, and no one would side with her. Tiny beads of sweat had broken down on her forehead as she made a last-ditch attempt to preserve her pride and self-esteem.

“Hmph!”

The middle-aged blonde haughtily strutted toward the exit with her head held up high. The security officers followed closely after her to make sure she left.

As the woman was moving through the automatic doors, she looked back at the guards and disdainfully said, “You will be getting a one-star review from me. I’ll never set foot in this barbarian market again!”

The two men with black uniforms were standing still with their arms crossed. Although they were clearly irritated, they still needed to maintain a professional stance while on duty. With at least some self-control, they were able to stop themselves from cursing.

The bearded officer curtly responded back as the woman stormed out of the store.

“You are not welcome here anymore.”

With an anticlimactic turn, the noisy racket had finally concluded. The small crowd had begun to disperse as people were settling back down. Within a few seconds, the store’s activity began to resume as normal.

By this time, Chekhov had just finished loading his items.

He had started moving up to the register when he noticed something unusual. The young man from before had looked vaguely familiar.

Observing the cashier’s facial features, Chekhov discerned a sharp nose, dark green eyes, and medium-length black hair.

Although the cashier was visibly agitated from his most recent interaction, his mood seemed to lighten up as he noticed Chekhov’s face.

“Chekhov? It’s really been a long time since I’ve seen you.”

Glancing at the cashier’s nametag, Chekhov realized who this mysterious person was. He had skimmed through the pertaining memory on the day that he transmigrated.

Chekhov’s eyes opened wide, “Nobuo! Is that you? I didn’t recognize you until I heard your voice.”

A few summers back, the previous Chekhov had gone camping at a nearby national park and met many new people. Pertinently, he had befriended an amiable brother-sister pair and hung out with them for the rest of the summertime.

The boy that he hung out with was Nobuo Akiyama. He was a hot-tempered but polite young lad who was also a few years older than him. His little sister, Harumi Akiyama, was a shy and kind girl the same age as Chekhov.

Nobuo’s appearance had changed quite a bit over the years, having grown taller and more mature. Even the previous Chekhov might not have been able to recognize him at first glance.

Chekhov had also changed, but it was normal that he had been recognized. He had lighter skin and higher cheekbones that made him easier to discern. After all, he was a person of Slavic descent living in an East Asian country.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Nobuo smiled as he picked up an item from the conveyor belt. “Good to see you after all these years.”

The corners of Chekhov's cheeks were raised very faintly, and his eyes were relaxed. His face was at ease as he spoke out with a pleasant voice.

“Those were the golden days. When it was just you, me, and Harumi sitting beside the campfire and looking up at the starry sky.”

Although Chekhov seemed to be relishing the past, he was inwardly alert, secretly scanning his surroundings with dark energy.

‘An old friend appears within a week of my transmigration. Has someone already caught onto my trail? Or is this just a coincidence? My readings are telling me he’s a regular human, but there’s just something off about this “Nobuo” fellow that I can’t quite pinpoint…’

The uncanniest particularity was that Nobuo had never been mentioned in the original timeline. Even if it was just a coincidence, Chekhov didn't want to expose any unnecessary flaws in his behavior.

Short, high-pitched beeps could be heard as Nobuo started scanning each of Chekhov’s items.

“So, what brings you here?” Nobuo asked. “I haven’t seen you around this part of the town.”

Chekhov answered in a casual tone while fidgeting with his card at the countertop. “Oh, just the usual. I’m doing my weekly errands for my parents.”

He very slightly tilted his head with a curious expression and asked, “What about you?”

Subsequent to his transmigration, Chekhov had spent quite some time studying the previous body owner’s mannerisms and personality. This was all because he wanted to make full use of his upright and unsuspicious background.

Nobuo paused while he was scanning the items. He slightly tilted his head and scratched the side of his cheek with his finger, revealing an embarrassed smile as he replied.

“You know, I graduated high school not too long ago. But I’m saving up money for college.”

Chekhov nodded as he said, “Colleges have indeed been getting very pricey in these past few years. But it’s still a wise decision, investing in your prospects.”

“Actually, I’m not planning to go to college. I’m doing this all for my little sister’s education.”

Nobuo’s gaze drifted upward into the air as his dark green eyes revealed a fiery expression.

“Harumi is the most important person in my life. My dream is to see her succeed.”

As he said this, Nobuo’s lips curved upward, revealing a brilliant smile.

Chekhov’s jaw went slack as his eyes widened in admiration. “You’re still as honest and caring as before.”

“I’m sure both you and your sister will live long and happy lives.”

Nobuo kept his smile and tilted his head, facing Chekhov. “Thanks. I also wish you the best in experiencing the beauty of nature.”

Noticing that he had been holding up the next customer, Nobuo promptly went back to scanning the groceries.

Although he seemed to be moved by Nobuo’s speech, Chekhov’s inner gaze was stone cold. He was indifferent to Nobuo’s ideals.

In his previous life on Earth, Chekhov had already experienced the mortal obsession of familial love. He had a loving elder sister who doted on him very much. He had once yearned to meet her again, reminiscing on the rainy days where his sister had taught him chess.

But now, these familial bonds were utterly worthless to Chekhov.

So what if there was a blood relation? Without the similarity in genes, his sister was just a stranger. There was no universal law that bound the two of them together, and there was nothing that gave her any more significance than any other person.

They were just two separate souls who had once happened to collide.

Humans are like isolated islands, floating in the sea of fate. Human encounters are like the collision of these lonely islands, and once they touch, there would be an effect. Sometimes, the islands would stick together, in the name of “interest”, “kinship”, “friendship”, “love” and “hate”. But eventually, they would separate, walking towards the path of destruction. This is the truth behind life. [1]

On the surface, love could be as strong as a diamond. But no matter how strong it was, it would eventually decay, and the islands would separate. In the face of time, love was as frangible as a twig.

A "lucky" island would have died of old age before an important bond had been fully eroded.

However, from the moment an island emerged to the moment it sank, it always had one true companion. Regardless of the island’s shape, size, or number of collisions, this companionship would remain the same.

The only thing that would stay eternally bound to the island… was itself.

. . . . .

[1] Can anyone guess where this quote is from? Answer in the comments.