Vinte e sete anos

Verak sat in a daze for over half an hour before snuffing out his cigarette, rising from his desk, and stepping into the cramped room where a makeshift darkroom had been set up. Without a second thought for whether the negatives would be ruined by the light, he tore down the opaque cloth that blocked the window.

Light poured in, bringing a faint glow to the room that hadn't seen sunlight since Verak became a photographer. He pushed open the window as well. The sky was a dull gray; in the distance, the steel mill rumbled, and the humid air was thick with a nauseating stench.

Back in this long-familiar yet hostile environment, Verak's face remained as cold and impassive as ever. He gazed out across the endless sprawl of the ruined slums, his eyes flickering with thought.

It was hard to believe, but he truly had returned to two months ago.

He didn't want to dwell on why such a bizarre thing had happened to him. After all, in two months' time, he was supposed to die in a conspiracy disguised as an accident. Gratitude for this second chance now overwhelmed any fear.

Today was Saturday, July 15th, 1433. Saturday had always been his fixed weekly day off during his years as a photographer. And July 15th was the day that changed his life.

If none of it had been a dream, then tonight, a group of people sent from the capital, Laizen, would come seeking him, intending to bring him back to impersonate the deceased eldest son of the Thomas family and resolve their corporate crisis.

He remembered that night vividly, and easi