In a narrow apartment complex tucked between the gray alleys of Tokyo, a woman in her thirties hurriedly switched off the humming microwave.
Without pausing to breathe, she rushed toward a small bedroom, her slippers slapping against the worn wooden floor.
"Kenji… Kenji… look at this kid, still sleeping. He's gonna be late for his first day at work. Kenjiii!"
The voice came from far away, like through a dream. Then—slap, slap—a light sting brushed against my cheeks.
My eyes flickered open.
A face hovered above me. An older woman, her brows knitted in irritation. My stepmother.
For a second, I forgot how to breathe. Didn't I die? What am I doing here?
"You prick, are you out of your mind? You'll be late for your job on the first day! What if they fire you? Who's going to pay the loans, huh? Wake up already!"
Her voice cut through my skull like a hammer.
"What… what do you even mean, 'first day'?" I muttered, my throat dry. My brain spun in circles. My chest tightened. Where am I? What's going on? Didn't I just… jump?
Memories collided like shards of broken glass—Emi bleeding, my scream echoing, the cliff, the phone, the fall. The cold wind on my face. The darkness.
And now—this?
My body started trembling. I clutched the bedsheet, my breath uneven.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
"Okay. Okay. Calm down." I whispered to myself, forcing the air into my lungs. My situation… it wasn't a little problematic. It was catastrophic.
I sat up, my head dizzy, but my legs finally moved. My stepmother kept shouting, "Hurry up! Hurry!"
Her words were sharp, impatient, ordinary—so painfully ordinary it almost made me laugh.
I staggered to the corner of the room. My eyes scanned the walls, the old, peeling paint, the cheap curtains, the cramped furniture. My apartment.
The same place I had lived in with her years ago.
"No way…" I rushed to the desk. My heart pounded. I grabbed the small wall calendar.
The numbers glared at me: 2019. December 1st.
My throat went dry. My first day at my first job. Exactly one year ago.
"I went back…" My lips trembled. "I… went back in time?"
Almost 15 months ago,
I dug my nails into my arm. Pinched hard. Pain bloomed, sharp and undeniable. Not a dream.
The world around me was too solid, too real.
I swallowed the rising storm in my chest. "Alright. Fine. Then… go with the flow. Just… go with it for now."
I dragged myself to the washroom. The cold water slapped my face awake.
When I stripped and stood before the mirror, a stranger stared back. Thin arms. Narrow shoulders. A weak body.
Nobody would believe me if I told them this frail shell had once been strong, that just hours ago I had fought, bled, screamed, and died.
I clenched my jaw, heat prickling at the back of my eyes.
By the time I dressed and stepped into the kitchen, my stepmother was already there, muttering while preparing breakfast.
Her name was Keiko. A beautiful woman, no doubt—with smooth skin despite her age, her long black hair tied into a neat bun, sharp cheekbones catching the morning light.
She looked elegant even when scolding, her lips painted with a subtle red that contrasted her dark eyes.
But her beauty was only skin-deep.
I knew better.
In just three months, she would walk out of this house, abandoning me, leaving me with nothing but silence.
I stared at her back quietly, my chest heavy.
So… it's real. Everything is real. And I'm back to the beginning.
.....
The bus doors creaked shut behind me as I waved goodbye to Keiko—my stepmom. She was already heading back into the apartment building, her figure blending into the busy morning crowd.
I slipped into an empty seat near the window. The smell of old leather mixed with faint traces of exhaust from the street outside. My palms pressed against the cold steel of the seat handle, grounding me.
First of all, it all felt so real.
The people shuffling in and out, the chatter of two high school girls behind me, the low hum of the bus engine vibrating through my bones, the light flickering from the sun slipping between tall buildings.
If this was a dream, then why was it so sharp, so vivid?
No… this wasn't a dream. It couldn't be.
I drew in a slow breath. Okay, today is December 1, 2019.
That means… Emi is alive. At least for now. She died somewhere between March and July of 2021. I couldn't remember the exact day—it's all foggy—but I know for sure she's gone in that time frame.
Which means… right now, I still have a chance.
I pressed my forehead against the cold bus window. The glass rattled with every bump on the road. A dull ache crept into my chest as memories of Emi's smile surfaced.
But focus, Kenji. Think about today.
What happened on my first day back then?
I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing the memory out of the haze. Yes… I remember. When I got off this very bus, some reckless teenagers on bicycles cut across the street. One of them slammed into me, knocking me to the ground. My pants got torn, my shirt dirtied. Because of that, my first impression at the company was ruined. People laughed. My manager frowned. A chain of small humiliations started there.
That was the first domino.
This time, I can stop it.
I leaned back, clenching my fists. If I avoid that accident, my day will go differently. Maybe my entire future will go differently.
Three months from now, another event will happen. When most of my father's debts are finally paid, Keiko will leave me. She'll take some things that belonged to my father—things precious to me. But thinking about it now… maybe that's not so bad.
Keeping an evil person around just because of some inherited items isn't worth the poison they bring into your life. A couple thousand yen… that's a cheap price for peace of mind.
I stared out the window as the bus slowed at the next stop. A man in a suit stepped in, glancing at his watch. My heart pounded faster.
If everything is repeating exactly like before, then… I might see Emi today.
The thought nearly knocked the breath out of me.
Emi.
Alive.
My pulse hammered against my ears as I tightened my grip on my bag.
If fate was giving me this chance, then I wouldn't let it slip.
Not this time.