The girl across from him blinked slowly, concern creasing her brow.
> "You've been spacing out all morning. Was the meeting with your dad that bad?"
Renji's lips parted. He wanted to say something. Anything.
But every word stalled behind his teeth.
Green eyes.
That wasn't right.
Rika had always had brown eyes, soft and warm, the color of the tea she'd brewed when they stayed in on rainy days.
This girl… she looked like Rika. Sounded like her.
But something was off. Slight differences in her smile. Her posture. Her presence.
"Who… are you?" he finally whispered.
Her expression dropped.
"I'm Rika, dummy," she said, then laughed a little too nervously. "What's wrong with you? You're scaring me."
Renji turned away, gripping the pole beside him as the train rolled into the next station.
Aizu District – East Platform.
The name didn't exist yesterday.
He stepped off the train without answering.
---
The World Was Bleeding Edges
Aizu felt like Tokyo and yet not.
The same towering buildings, blinking signs, crosswalks filled with muted chatter. But the sky was off-color, not quite blue. Not quite gray. And when he looked too long at a pedestrian, he sometimes saw static over their faces—as if a glitch ran through the world.
The Regret Engine in his chest pulsed once. Faintly. Like a heartbeat echoing through steel.
> "A piece of the world will die so you may try again."
Was this the price?
He wandered the streets until the sun dipped behind the strange skyline. He didn't know where he was going, but something pulled him—an instinct deeper than thought.
---
He Found the Clockmaker
A narrow alley, the kind you don't see unless you've already regretted something.
At the end stood a crooked old shop:
"Tomoe Timepieces – Repairs, Restorations, Reality Calibration"
Inside, dust danced in the beam of a single desk lamp. A wall of clocks ticked in unison—then all stopped when Renji entered.
Behind the counter sat a blindfolded old man, his fingers oil-stained, winding a gear with infinite care.
"You used the Engine," the man said without looking up.
Renji froze. "You… know about it?"
The man nodded. "Everyone who touches Regret learns of me. You activated yours far too early. Most people don't get the choice until they've ruined far more."
"I didn't choose it," Renji said. "It chose me."
Now the man smiled—a slow, sad smile.
"No, boy. It never chooses. It only listens. Regret is a trigger, not a gift."
---
The Map of Lost Timelines
The old man rolled up his sleeve and pressed his forearm against the wall. Ink flowed out from under his skin—thin lines spidering across the plaster.
A map revealed itself. Cities layered atop each other. Places with different names. Roads that looped into versions of themselves. And blinking dots—seven, each a different color.
"You're not the only one," the man whispered. "There are six others. Each carrying a version of the Engine. Each rewriting the world with their own regrets."
Renji stared. "Why?"
"Because the Architect is looking for something. Or someone. Each time you rewind, it brings him closer."
"Closer to what?"
The man's expression darkened.
> "To erasing the real timeline. The one we were supposed to stay in."
---
End of Chapter Two