Naruto: Wait, I’m Toneri?!

blinked twice.

Then again.

Then one more time just to make sure his vision wasn't playing tricks on him, like maybe the sleepiness was just tricking him.

But nope, the bed was still there. Soft. Too soft. He felt like he was sinking into a cloud or something, which was starting to feel weird. Way too weird. His body sank deeper, almost like he was being invited to never get up again.

"Okay, okay, just breathe," he mumbled to himself, but that didn't stop the sinking feeling in his stomach. "F**k, I shouldn't have trusted that drink last night."

But the bed was so comfortable that he almost convinced himself this was fine. Until—

A massive room.

And he was lying on the softest, most ridiculously oversized bed he had ever seen. 

He slowly turned to his side, pretending like this was all completely normal. He'd just sleep it off. He'd wake up, and this weirdness would be over.

Except, no.

No matter how much he tried to ignore it, his body betrayed him. The bed was too good. Like, suspiciously good. The type of good that made a man question his entire existence.

"…Why does this feel better than my entire life?" he muttered.

A deep sigh left his lips as he buried his face into the silky pillow. But then—the realization hit him like a flying boot to the face.

This was not his room.

He turned his head slightly, glancing around. The place was huge. No—huge wasn't the right word. This wasn't a room. This was a palace disguised as a room. Chandeliers, velvet drapes, gold-trimmed furniture, some creepy-ass statues in the corners—who the hell decorated this place? An overenthusiastic antique hoarder with too much money?

"…I feel like....."

And then—to make things worse, a glance to his right had his heart practically doing backflips.

There, standing near the edge of the bed, was a person dressed in the kind of old-fashioned Japanese dress with big doll-like eyes and face with perfectly combed twin braids that made her look like someone cosplaying Japanese version Annabelle.

Androw's brain short-circuited. He blinked. Slowly turned back to the other side.

Ignore it. Ignore it. If I don't acknowledge it, it doesn't exist.

He let out a slow breath.

Then, like a fool, he turned his head back.

She was still there.

And she was smiling.

"…Ah. F**k."

Androw repeated to himself, hoping that somehow saying it a third time would magically fix everything. But no. The creepy maid, with her doll-like face, bowed.

"Toneri-dono," she said sweetly, her voice as unnervingly cheerful as a stuffed animal who had just come to life.

Toneri-dono?

Androw blinked. Twice.

Ignoring it. He turned over, facing the bed's silky sheets again. This had to be some sick joke. Maybe he'd hit his head too hard earlier, or he was still asleep.

Nope.

He felt the same dread bubble up again. Slowly, he peeked out of the corner of his eye.

There she was.

"Toneri-dono," she said again, this time even louder.

Androw's eye twitched.

"Screw it!" His patience snapped, and he rolled onto his back, flinging the pillow nearest to him at her face, his voice cracking in horror. "STAY AWAY, SATAN!"

The pillow missed completely, and he grabbed the next one, flinging it again. "Fk this! Fk that! F**k you, you creepy little—!"

He kept throwing pillows—pillow after pillow—till the bed looked like a fluffy battlefield. His face turned redder than a tomato. "What the hell is happening?! I'm this close to losing my mind! Why the f**k are you calling me that—?! Toneri-dono, my ass!"

Suddenly, as if summoned by his screaming fit, more figures entered the room.

At least ten humanoid figures, wrapped head to toe in bandages like mummies—no, puppets!—walked in, their stiff movements jerky and unnatural, like they were stolen from a bad horror movie.

Androw's eyes grew wider. "MUMMIES?! What the actual f**k?"

One of them raised a hand, and Androw swore he saw it move in a way that was almost too smooth for something that should've been stuffed with gauze.

Screw this.

Androw shot out of bed, thinking he could make a daring escape, only to realize his clothes were so ridiculously loose—his old noble Roman-style attire hanging like a baggy disaster—that the moment his foot hit the floor, he slipped.

"Oh, no—oh, sh*t!" He flailed for balance, but it was too late. His feet flew out from under him, and he face-planted into the marble floor with a thud.