In the black void where reality seemed to melt and time no longer ticked, two boys stood face to face.
Two Gons. Identical in appearance. But worlds apart in soul.
They spoke the same word, simultaneously, the echo of their voices fading into the nothingness.
"You..."
Their eyes scanned each other, like mirrors trying to recognize a reflection that shouldn't exist.
The poorer Gon tilted his head, eyebrows furrowed. "Who… who are you? Why do you look like me?"
The other—sharper in demeanor, clad in an immaculate black suit—crossed his arms. His voice was calm but calculated.
"I could ask you the same thing. But considering what's happened... you're not just a lookalike. You're me. Or rather, the version of me from… that other world."
Gon from the slums blinked. "So you know?"
Rich Gon nodded. "I've seen enough to put the pieces together. Two identical lives. Two worlds. Inverted Realities."
"Is that what this is?" Poor Gon asked, overwhelmed. "Some kind of phenomenon? A parallel dimension?"
"Something like that." Rich Gon walked in slow circles, analyzing the void. "Two worlds. Same people. Different fates. And we've switched."
The poor Gon rubbed the back of his neck. "This is crazy. But if you're right… how do we switch back?"
"That's the question," said Rich Gon. "But it might take time to figure out. Until then, we have to survive in each other's world."
Poor Gon frowned. "I can't run a business empire. I almost fainted sitting in that giant chair. There were so many meetings. So many people talking in business lingo. I didn't understand a word!"
Rich Gon scoffed, amused. "Try living in a crumbling apartment with leaky pipes and no air conditioning. I thought I was dying of heatstroke."
They both chuckled awkwardly, the absurdity of their situation briefly disarming the tension.
"But seriously," said Rich Gon, growing somber. "Until we find a way to switch back, we have to adapt. You have to manage my company. I'll handle your life. Keep your parents safe."
Poor Gon's eyes widened. "Wait… really?"
"I've seen the way they look at you. That kind of love… I never had that." He paused. "I won't let anything happen to them."
Poor Gon swallowed hard, his voice low. "Thank you."
Rich Gon extended a hand. "For now, let's make a pact. We help each other. Survive each other's lives. And find the cause of this phenomenon together."
Poor Gon nodded and shook his hand. "Deal."
As their hands locked, a strange light pulsed through the void. Before the world began to blur, both of them said in unison:
"We have three goals: First—find a way back to our original worlds. Second—maintain each other's lives as best we can. Third—and most important—don't get caught."
And then the void shattered.
When the darkness faded, Rich Gon found himself back in the cramped apartment, sunlight streaming through the tattered curtains.
The scent of rice and steam filled the air.
Yuki Hayashi stirred in her futon beside him, coughing softly. "You're awake, sweetheart?"
He sat up slowly. "Yeah… Mom."
The word felt strange in his mouth. He wasn't used to saying it. Not to someone who cared.
Hotaru entered the room with a cracked bowl in his hands. "Your favorite. Miso with tofu."
Rich Gon took it carefully. "Thanks… Dad."
They smiled at him—tired, but warm. And for a brief moment, Rich Gon forgot about boardrooms and billion-dollar contracts. He was just a son, having breakfast with his family.
He quietly made a vow in his heart.
"I'll make sure they get out of here. Even if it's not my world, I'll change their lives."
Meanwhile, in the penthouse across town, poor Gon shot up in bed, eyes wide. The silk sheets still felt like clouds beneath his fingertips.
A sharp knock came from the door.
"Sir?" a female voice said. "It's 8:00 AM. Your first meeting is at nine. Your assistant, Miss Mahiru, is waiting."
"Oh no," Gon whispered. "Already?"
He scrambled to the mirror, trying to flatten his messy hair. "Okay, okay. Calm down. Just pretend. You've handled tougher days—twelve-hour shifts, remember?"
He threw on the suit from the wardrobe. It felt awkward. Stiff. Not at all like his school uniform or ramen-stained clothes.
When he opened the door, a young woman stood waiting. She was elegant, sharp-eyed, holding a tablet.
Mahiru.
She gave him a polite nod. "Good morning, sir. I trust you've prepared the presentation for the Devlin merger?"
Gon blinked. "The what now?"
Mahiru raised an eyebrow.
Gon forced a smile. "Ah, yes! Of course. Just… finalizing a few tweaks."
Mahiru narrowed her eyes slightly but said nothing. "You have ten minutes. I'll be in the conference room."
As she walked away, Gon sighed. "The other me could've at least warned me about this."
He sat at the sleek glass desk, fingers trembling. "Okay, Gon Hayashi… think. You watched a hundred business anime. You can do this. Just don't let them realize you're not him."
He opened the laptop.
There were at least thirty open tabs. All charts, graphs, spreadsheets… and something in German?
"What the heck is a Devlin merger? Do I merge… Devlins?" he muttered, dragging his hands down his face.
Then he saw a folder labeled 'Presentations → Mergers → Devlin'. He clicked it, sighing in relief—until he realized the slideshow was 62 slides long.
"Nope. Nope nope nope. I'm gonna die."
His phone buzzed. A text from Mahiru:"Five minutes. Don't forget the profit projections. Slide 24 has outdated numbers."
He stared at the screen.
"SLIDE 24?! WHICH ONE IS THAT?!"
He randomly clicked buttons, trying to update numbers with… random guesses.
He took another deep breath and muttered, "Confidence. Like Light Yagami pretending to be innocent. Just nod and speak slowly. They'll think you're a genius."
The door creaked open.
"Sir," Mahiru said, stepping inside again. "Time's up. Are you ready?"
"Ready as I'll ever be," he said, standing up—only to trip on the hem of his own slacks. He caught himself by grabbing the edge of the desk.
Mahiru didn't blink. "I'll have the tailor adjust those. Again."
In the hallway, Gon walked stiffly beside her, whispering under his breath. "Okay, Rule #1: Don't talk too much. Rule #2: Don't fall asleep. Rule #3: Don't say 'bro' or 'yo' to a billionaire."
Mahiru glanced sideways. "Excuse me?"
"I said… growth! Growth strategy. Very important," Gon blurted.
She raised an eyebrow again. "You're acting… unusual this morning."
"New meditation routine," he said quickly. "Cleanses the brain."
Mahiru wasn't convinced. But she said nothing.
They entered the conference room. A dozen people turned to look at him. Laptops open. Suits stiff. Eyes sharp.
"Mr. Hayashi," one executive said. "Shall we begin?"
Gon walked to the projector, nodded like a sensei, and pressed a random button.
The screen flashed black.
Then blue.
Then video mode started playing an anime clip—somehow Naruto doing the Rasengan.
He froze.
Silence.
Mahiru's jaw slightly twitched.
"…Technical error," Gon said, scrambling to stop it. "We're, uh… testing neural engagement slides. Keeps attention high!"
"Fascinating," one of the execs whispered. "Very… immersive."
Some even nodded, as if impressed.
Mahiru stared at him for a long second before sighing and muttering under her breath, "I swear, if you're messing with me on purpose…"
Gon cleared his throat, flicked to the real presentation, and began reading everything—word for word—from the slides.
Slowly. Stiffly. But he made it to the end.
When it was done, the room applauded softly.
The lead lawyer leaned forward. "That was… bold. Simplistic, yet layered. Stripped of fluff. Are we to take it as a challenge to the old guard?"
Gon blinked. "Uh… yes?"
"Genius," someone whispered.
Mahiru stared at him like he'd grown a second head.
He smiled weakly. "All part of the plan."