The bus smelled like cheap cologne, wet fabric, and the unmistakable scent of teenage overconfidence.
Kael stood near the back, one hand loosely gripping the overhead rail, eyes scanning faces he hadn't seen in over a decade—or had seen so often in his mind that the real versions felt like impostors.
He kept expecting the suffocation to return. The tight chest, the tunnel vision, the feeling that the world had reduced him to a balance sheet with legs.
It didn't.
Instead he felt… crowded.
Not physically—though Senn was pressed against him like a stubborn barnacle—but emotionally. Every noise carried a memory. Every laugh threatened to crack something open.
Senn leaned into his side, whispering like he was revealing government secrets. "Hyung. Look. That's Riko."
Kael followed the point of Senn's chopstick-like finger—because Senn insisted on holding a pencil like a weapon even on the bus—and saw a boy two rows up with spiky hair and an expression like he was constantly offended by oxygen.
Kael's brain supplied a file.
Riko Harn. Loud. Competitive. Once tried to fight Bram over a misunderstanding involving a limited-edition snack. Lost. Blamed society.
Senn whispered, "He said he's going to beat you on the math exam."
Kael blinked. "We haven't even had the exam yet."
"Exactly," Senn said, nodding seriously. "It's psychological warfare."
Kael stared at his brother for a moment, then sighed. "Senn."
"Yes?"
"Please stop learning phrases."
Senn grinned like he'd been praised. "Okay!"
The bus jolted over a bump. A few students yelped dramatically. Someone in the front laughed too loudly and slapped the seat. The driver shouted something that sounded like a threat and a life lesson at the same time.
Kael's mouth twitched.
He'd forgotten how unserious life used to be.
Or maybe he'd forgotten how to let it be unserious.
Senn tugged on his sleeve. "Hyung, you're really going to join a club this year, right?"
Kael's stomach tightened, not with fear, but with an old reflex.
In the first timeline, he'd joined nothing. He'd told himself he couldn't afford it—not the time, not the distraction. He'd gone straight from school to part-time jobs, straight from jobs to responsibility, straight from responsibility to a tower where air didn't reach.
"I'm thinking about it," Kael said carefully.
Senn's eyes shone. "Which one? Combat club? Music club? The drone racing club?"
Kael deadpanned. "Yes."
Senn paused. "All of them?"
"Every club," Kael said. "I'm going to collect them like debt."
Senn didn't even question it. He nodded solemnly. "That's so cool."
Kael stared out the window before his laughter could become obvious. Buildings slid by, low and familiar, the neighborhood waking up in layers—shop shutters rising, street vendors arranging trays of snacks, a woman watering plants on her balcony like it was the most important job in the world.
He saw a small diner on the corner with an old sign and a half-faded menu board.
Something inside him stirred, quiet but sharp.
Cooking.
The notebook in his bag felt heavier than it should have.
The bus turned, and Meridian High came into view.
The school gate looked exactly as he remembered: tall iron bars painted a respectable black, the emblem of the school centered like a stamp of authority. Students streamed in under it like a river that didn't know where it was going, only that it had to keep moving.
Kael stepped off the bus with Senn bouncing beside him and Brim—thankfully not present, because in this timeline Brim's existence was not "emotional support animal," it was "neighborhood menace."
Senn kept talking as they walked.
"Hyung, do you think the cafeteria will have the spicy buns today? The ones that make your lips hurt? I want those."
Kael's brain flashed a memory: Senn crying once because he'd bitten into something too spicy but refusing to admit it because Kael was watching. Pride in miniature.
"They'll have them," Kael said. "And you'll regret it."
Senn grinned. "Regret is future me's problem."
Kael stared at him.
His brother was a child again.
Not a plaintiff.
Not a stranger with cold eyes and colder words.
Just Senn.
Kael's throat tightened. He swallowed it down the way he'd swallowed everything down his entire life, then stopped himself.
No.
Not this time.
He reached over and ruffled Senn's hair.
Senn squawked. "Hyung! My hair!"
"You mean the mess you call hair?" Kael said.
Senn glared, then immediately forgot to be angry. "Anyway! Walk me to my building!"
Kael did. He made himself do it even though the schedule in his head—the adult habit of slicing time into usable pieces—insisted it was inefficient.
Senn stopped at the middle-school wing gate and waved dramatically with both arms like Kael was leaving for war.
"Bye, hyung! Don't get confessed to by a bunch of girls!"
Kael choked. "What?"
Senn beamed. "Because then you'll be busy and you won't buy me snacks."
Kael stared as Senn ran off.
So the admiration was still there, he thought, amused and faintly horrified. It had just… evolved into greed.
He turned toward the main building.
Students passed him in clusters, talking, laughing, complaining about homework like it was a human rights violation.
Kael walked through the gate and felt it.
A subtle shift.
In the future, his presence had warped rooms. People straightened, performed, tried to impress or protect themselves. Money did that. Power did that.
Here, no one looked at him with fear or hunger.
They looked at him like he was… a guy.
Kael Veyrin. Second-year student. Known for decent grades, sharp mouth, and a tendency to vanish after class to "help family."
He could work with that.
"Kael!"
A voice cut through the crowd, hitting him in the back of the head like a thrown pebble.
He stopped.
He didn't have to turn to know who it was, because his body remembered.
He turned anyway.
Lyra Dain stood a few steps away, one hand on her hip, the other holding a strap of her bag. Her hair was tied up, neat and practical. Her expression was the same as always: half annoyed, half concerned, like Kael's existence required constant supervision.
She looked him up and down, eyes narrowing. "You're late."
Kael checked the sky like time might be falling from it. "Good morning to you too."
Lyra crossed her arms. "Don't dodge. You're late."
Kael's sarcasm rose. "Time is a social construct."
Lyra stepped closer and poked his forehead with one finger. "So is your dignity. And you have none."
Kael stared at her finger like it had personally offended him.
In another life, he'd avoided moments like this. He'd dodged Lyra's scolding, laughed it off, disappeared into work, and let the connection fade because it was easier than being present.
Now her closeness felt like a memory turning solid.
He realized something terrifying.
He'd missed her.
Not in a romantic fireworks way—at least, not yet—but in a simple human way. Like missing sunlight without noticing you'd been living underground.
Lyra's eyes flicked over his face again, slower this time. Her brow furrowed. "Okay," she said cautiously. "Now you're acting weird."
Kael sighed. "That's what everyone keeps saying. I'm starting to feel judged."
Lyra's lips twitched. "You should. Did you sleep?"
"Yes," Kael lied again, then stopped himself mid-breath. "Actually… kind of."
Lyra blinked at him like she'd just seen a dog speak. "Who are you and what did you do with Kael?"
Kael's mouth twitched. "I killed him."
Lyra stared.
Kael realized what he'd said.
He quickly added, "Metaphorically."
Lyra smacked his arm with her bag, not hard but with intent. "Don't say things like that before first period. It's creepy."
Kael rubbed his arm, deadpan. "Noted. I'll schedule my creepiness after lunch."
Lyra rolled her eyes. "Come on. We're going to be late for homeroom."
She turned and started walking, then paused when Kael didn't move immediately.
Lyra glanced back. "What?"
Kael's brain supplied another memory: Lyra walking ahead of him, always expecting him to follow. In the old timeline, he'd followed less and less, until she'd stopped turning around.
In this timeline, Kael forced his feet to move.
He caught up easily.
Lyra didn't comment, but her pace slowed just slightly so they matched.
They entered the main building together, shoes squeaking faintly on polished floors. The hallway walls held bulletin boards plastered with announcements: club recruitment, student council notices, festival planning reminders. A giant banner read:
WELCOME BACK, MERIDIAN STUDENTS!
MAKE THIS YEAR SHINE!
Kael stared at it and felt something he hadn't felt in years.
Possibility.
A group of boys ahead laughed loudly. One of them turned—and Kael's eyes met Bram Kess's.
Bram froze mid-laugh, eyes widening like he'd spotted prey.
Then Bram grinned.
Oh no, Kael thought. The chaos has noticed me.
Bram barreled toward him like a friendly disaster.
"KAEL VEYRIN!" Bram threw an arm around Kael's shoulders with zero consent, squeezing hard enough to make Kael's spine protest. "You're alive!"
Kael wheezed. "Barely. Unhand me, you overgrown fungus."
Lyra made a face. "Bram, don't crush him."
Bram ignored her. "I heard you were late! Then I heard you were early! And then I heard you were late again! Which one is it?"
Kael pried Bram's arm off with the careful skill of someone negotiating hostile takeovers. "It's called 'existing.' You should try it sometime."
Bram gasped dramatically. "Lyra, did you hear that? He's insulting me before first period. He's back."
Lyra snorted. "He never left."
Kael stared at both of them—at the easy banter, the familiarity, the ridiculousness.
In his last life, he'd had meetings with people who called him "sir," who praised his vision, who laughed at his jokes because it was safe.
This laughter wasn't safe.
It was real.
And it made his chest ache in a way that was almost unbearable.
Bram leaned in, eyes gleaming. "Anyway, big news. Rumor says student council is cracking down on club budgets. Like, hardcore. Also rumor says Selene Arcos is personally executing anyone who looks broke."
Lyra sighed. "That's not a rumor. That's Bram being dramatic."
Kael's ears snagged on a name.
Selene Arcos.
In the outline of his future, she was a fixed point—a star everyone orbited at school, the student council queen with a perfect smile and a spine made of steel.
Kael had barely spoken to her in the first timeline. He hadn't had time for idols. He'd been busy becoming a ghost.
Now the name felt like a door he hadn't opened yet.
Bram waggled his eyebrows. "Kael, you should join a club. You're too gloomy lately."
Lyra shot Bram a look. "He's not gloomy, he's—"
Kael cut in calmly, "I'm considering it."
Bram and Lyra both stopped.
Bram stared. "Wait. What?"
Lyra stared harder. "You?"
Kael lifted a shoulder. "Yes. Me. The guy you both apparently thought would spend his entire life as a homework machine."
Bram's mouth opened and closed like a fish. "Okay. Okay. This is good. This is very good. I support this. I will be your club consultant."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "That sounds like a scam."
"It is," Bram said proudly. "But it's a friendly scam."
Lyra pinched the bridge of her nose. "We're going to be late."
They hurried down the hall toward their homeroom.
Kael walked between them, listening to Bram's nonsense and Lyra's complaints, feeling like he'd stepped into a scene he'd once abandoned halfway through.
At the end of the corridor, the classroom door stood open. Students filtered in. The teacher's voice droned from inside.
Kael paused on the threshold for half a second.
He didn't know what the universe wanted from him.
He didn't know why he'd been given this.
But he knew one thing.
He wasn't going to waste it.
Kael stepped into the classroom, took a seat, and let the noise of teenage life wash over him like a tide.
Outside, the school day began.
And somewhere in the building, on a bulletin board he hadn't yet read, a bright flyer fluttered slightly in the draft:
CULINARY CLUB — MEMBERS WANTED
NO EXPERIENCE NECESSARY
(YES, YOU CAN EAT YOUR RESULTS)
Kael didn't see it yet.
But for the first time, the future wasn't a tower.
It was a kitchen.