The Juan That Got Away complete novel free to read Wattpad

The oppressive weight of unconsciousness was gradually lifted, like a fog dissipating in the light of day. Makoto's eyelids fluttered open, and he found himself staring at the low wooden ceiling above him. The air was damp, filled with the earthy scent of herbs, incense, and a strange sense of familiarity. But none of this felt right-his body felt heavy, and his senses sluggish, as if he was waking from a long and troubling dream.

For a moment, he could hardly move, as though his body was not his own. But after a few deep breaths, a sharp pain pierced his chest, jolting him to full awareness. He gasped, struggling to sit up, only to find his limbs shaking beneath him. His muscles were weak, and his movements stiff, as if they had been deprived of use for too long.

"Where... am I?" His voice was hoarse, distant, like a whisper carried by the wind.

He looked down at his hands-calloused but thin, evidence of a youth who had worked hard but lacked true vitality. Makoto felt a pang of unease. He had once been an ageless figure, the pinnacle of strength and wisdom. But now, he was trapped in the body of a teenager-young, feeble, and broken. This body was no older than 16, at the cusp of adulthood but far from its peak.

The last thing he remembered-his name, Makoto-flashed through his mind like a streak of lightning. He had been fighting. Yes, he had been fighting in the Sect Promotion Exam, a trial for outer disciples to prove their worth and ascend to the rank of inner disciple. Success meant gaining access to better cultivation resources, techniques, and privileges-essential for advancing in the martial world. But everything that followed was a blur, a vague memory of battle, of broken bones and shattered meridians, of pain.

His eyes darted around, taking in the dimly lit room. The bed beneath him was simple, wooden, and the walls were bare except for faint ink paintings-symbols of an era long passed, suggesting the owner of this room might be part of a sect or school of cultivation. It didn't seem familiar, but faint echoes of memory told him otherwise. He had been here before, but... how long ago?

He tried to recall the events leading up to his current state, but a throbbing headache seized him, forcing him to stop. Instead, he placed a hand to his forehead, willing his thoughts to settle.

This body... The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. **This body isn't mine.**

His mind raced. He wasn't just in any body-he had taken over someone else's life. His body, but not his soul.

This body belonged to **Makoto**, the previous owner. A young cultivator, seemingly full of potential but tragically weak. Weak enough to fail in the **Sect Promotion Exam**-the same exam that had nearly cost him his life. He winced as memories of that fight came rushing back. He had been broken-both physically and mentally.

The soft sound of footsteps approached, and a figure entered the room, interrupting his thoughts. The person was a young girl, dressed in simple robes. She had long, flowing black hair that fell to her waist and eyes as deep as pools of ink. Her gentle aura and the faint warmth of her presence belied the sharp intelligence reflected in her gaze. She was around 17 or 18 years old, slightly older than Makoto's current body, with an air of maturity that set her apart from her peers.

"You're awake..." she whispered, her voice soft but filled with relief. "I thought... I thought you might never wake up."

Makoto blinked, confused, as he tried to piece together her identity. "Who... are you?" he croaked, his voice still rough.

"I'm Yuna," the girl replied, her eyes flickering with recognition. "I've been looking after you since... since you collapsed after the Sect Promotion Exam."