I woke up with a dry throat, my heart pounding, and a vivid memory of being crushed by something with way more legs than it should've had.
For a second, I thought it was just another bad dream—but then I saw the baby-blue walls of my room, the crooked Kizuka-chan poster taped up with old adhesive, and the ceiling fan spinning with the motivation of a retired slug. That's when it hit me: I was back.
I sat up slowly, massaging my neck like it would ease the pain—it doesn't. The body is new, but the memories aren't. And they come in heavy.
"Five years. That's how far back I go every time I die. A lovely consolation prize, huh? Congrats, you failed—here's a replay with no skip button."
The worst part of dying isn't the pain. It's the re-living. Waking up with all the memories of all the deaths. Some heroic. Others... humiliating.
Getting sliced in half by an interdimensional creature is impressive—the first time. By the seventh, it gets old.
I've been a Legendary Conductor, the last-hope hero, gave speeches with epic music swelling in the background, cried in slow motion, tried to save the world.
I failed. Gloriously.
One time I died choking on a mint. Another time, I was peeing in the jungle and got snacked on by a carnivorous Varekmon looking for a midnight treat.
Nothing like dying with your junk in your hand and your dignity in the dirt.
And now, here I am again. Back at ten years old, in a tiny body stuffed with too many memories and not nearly enough patience.
"NII-KO!" called the familiar voice from downstairs. For a second, I froze. That voice... alive, sweet, annoyingly cheerful.
I couldn't even remember the last time I'd heard it without gunshots or the scent of smoke in the air.
I took a deep breath. Not from longing—well, maybe a little—but mostly because it felt... weird. I'd never been thrown this far back before.
Usually, resets took me to thirteen, fourteen—maybe fifteen. This time, I died earlier. Which means something went even more wrong than usual.
I stood up, body light, soul dragging chains. No aching joints, which was a plus. But being stuck in this size, and not being taken seriously despite knowing so much? That was punishment enough.
I went downstairs carefully, the way someone does after tripping on them in another lifetime. Passed the living room with the old plasma TV that only worked on channel 3, the saggy crochet couch, and the irresistible smell of fresh bread from the kitchen.
Mom was there, in her usual floral apron, slicing fruit like the world wasn't doomed.
I'd never noticed before, but there were white strands in her hair now. Wrinkles around her eyes.
How had I missed all the effort she put in for me over the years? She noticed my quiet stare, smiled that gentle smile only she can manage, and pulled me to the table—setting down my favorite food.
"Happy Choice Day, champ!"
"Mhm," I murmured, accepting the bread with quiet sadness.
She didn't pick up on my tone, just kept smiling and went back to slicing fruit. It wasn't time for her to worry.
I took the moment to eat slowly, eyes closed. Maybe the only good thing about this time-loop hell is getting to taste my mom's bread again.
Outside, Zone 3 was buzzing as usual—dust in the air, solar panels reflecting crooked sunlight, kids screaming, bizarre creatures trotting through the streets.
Red Belt. Forgotten colony. Far from the Capital—far from anything that shines.
Here, life is raw, and Varekmon are part of the scenery like backyard chickens.
Except chickens don't breathe plasma through their nostrils.
"Conductor Base. Cradle of domesticated monsters. And, of course, home of the Varekmon that once ate my leg. Fond memories."
The air smelled of rust, oil, and something no one should be smelling this early in the morning.
The kind of place that teaches you early on not to have expectations. A paradise, if you're a masochist.
And there I was again, backpack on, walking to school.
In the middle of what looked like a commercial pretending the world was at peace.
Domesticated creatures pulled carts, kids fed their flaming larvae with chilled fruit, adults smiled with factory-made optimism.
No one had a clue what was coming.
Then, as always, he appeared.
"NIKOOOOOOO!" shouted an excited voice behind me.
Alek. My best friend.
Messy hair, grin glued to his face, shirt with the Blue Clan symbol—same as always.
He looked like he'd just stepped out of a cartoon, always full of energy, always believing everything will be fine.
And of course, he always dies in the future.
"Morning, Alek."
"You pumped for the big day?"
"How could I not be? Screaming crowds, unstable eggs, and the chance of being hugged to death by a monster—I can hardly wait."
He laughed. He always laughed, even when it didn't make sense.
And maybe that's the saddest part. He didn't know. None of his versions ever did.
And they all ended the same.
I tried warning him. Tried changing things. Even tried running.
Nothing worked.
But maybe this time...
We arrived at school on time. A crooked building with a metal sign that read:
"Initial Conductor Training Institute – Unit 07"
Under it, sprayed in red: "School of Death-Pets"
No one ever cleaned it.
Inside, chaos. Kids running, shouting, throwing energy balls at each other like it was war.
I watched it all with the eyes of someone who's seen it fall apart more times than he can count.
Every face told me something.
That girl? Loses an arm in two years.
That kid in the back? Leads a northern village someday.
Braids-girl? Falsely accused of treason. Dies defending those who blamed her.
The cycle is cruel.
And I've seen all the endings.
I sat in the back—my usual corner. Where I could see everything without being seen.
And then she walked in.
The teacher. Dayana.
You know that natural glow some women have? Hers came with harp music and built-in lighting. Like a luxury perfume ad.
Straight posture, firm voice, hair in a neat bun that screamed "responsible" but let one rebellious strand fall—just to mess with you.
The kind of woman who, even dressed modestly, makes you think of sins not yet invented.
Tight skirt. Fitted blouse that hinted at the weight below her shoulders.
Nothing a kid would actually notice—except, in the future, she'd be known as "Parent-Slayer."
"Good morning, young Conductors!"
"Good morning, reason for my long bathroom meditations," I muttered—just loud enough to sound polite, but not enough to avoid the suspicious eyebrow raise.
She looked at me like she thought she heard something inappropriate but chose to ignore it.
I smiled—the kind of smile that says I know I'm flirting with detention... and don't care.
The other kids looked hypnotized. Excited. Full of dreams.
Me? I was counting how many times I'd seen this world end.
And how much I missed the way she smelled.
As Dayana explained today's ceremony rules, my mind wandered. Something felt... different.
The air, maybe.
The scent.
The weight on my shoulders.
This timeline... had a strange taste.
"And remember," she said, with a sparkle in her eyes only the hopeful can manage,
"Today, you'll meet a professional Conductor!"
And then it clicked.
The moment.
The beginning.
The first domino being nudged downhill.
"It's today," I thought, leaning back in my chair,
"It all starts now. And for the first time... I truly have no idea what kind of shit is about to hit the fan."
...
Today on the Varekpedia we have:
Species: Lumenbell — "Bell of Light"
Type: Ethereal / Oneiroide
Origin: Zone 1, White Belt
Evolution Stage: Adult
Threat Level: None — it does not react, even when attacked
Description:
"When hope fades, it walks..."
Lumenbell is a rare Varekmon, surrounded by legends and whispers. Its body resembles that of a tall, slender lamb, with wool made of living mist and eyes that glow like forgotten memories. Its horns emit a hypnotic light, and the bioluminescent bell around its neck doesn't ring with sound — but with emotion.
They say it appears to lost children, to dreams on the verge of fading, or when the forest itself chooses to protect someone.
Some believe Lumenbell isn't a physical being at all... but a response from the Weave to pure souls in danger.