The soft tick of a clock was the first sound I heard.
Not the echo of rain. Not the screech of tires. Not the laughter of traitors.
I opened my eyes to a ceiling far too familiar yet impossibly distant. The air smelled faintly of dust and summer sunlight. Slowly, I turned my head toward the wall.
A calendar hung there. April, 2016.
My breath caught. That date… my first year of high school. The day before Miyuki's confession.
I pressed my palm against my chest. My heart still raced from the betrayal, from the headlights of that truck. But the pain was gone. No blood. No broken bones. Only the echo of memories that didn't belong here.
"…I came back." The words slipped out in a whisper.
The weak me—the one who trusted blindly, who was betrayed and destroyed—had died on that street. The one who opened his eyes now… would never be the same.
I tried to remember everything, but my thoughts were clouded. The only memory clear enough to cut was the betrayal—my wife, my mother, and my best friend.
The alarm clock glowed: 6:20 a.m.
Frustration rose in my chest. Just thinking about them made my blood boil.
"If this is a second chance, I'll use it wisely. Souta Hayashi… I will make you pay."
For the first time, I was grateful to that truck driver. Not for saving me, but for ending the hollow shell I was becoming. If all that pain had piled up without release, I would have turned into an emotionless doll long before death.
Time slipped by until a knock rattled my door.
"Haruto, time for school," my mother's gentle voice called.
For a moment, I almost answered like I always had—the obedient son. But the images clawed at my mind: the laughter, the betrayal, the tattoos glinting under dim light.
I clenched the blanket in my fists. That woman… here she was still the smiling housewife, the caring mother. But I had seen her future. I knew what she truly was.
Do I pretend nothing happened? Or tear it all down now?
No. Not yet. I couldn't burn everything too soon. This reset wasn't a gift to waste. If I wanted revenge, it had to be perfect. I would let them trust me. I would let them love me. And then, when the time was right, I would break them.
The door slid open. My mother peeked in, smiling warmly.
"Haruto, you'll be late if you keep sleeping in."
I stared at her—the woman who once called me weak. My lips curled into a faint, bitter smile.
"…I won't be weak anymore."
"Yes, Mom," I answered quietly. She nodded and left for the kitchen.
I laughed under my breath. The woman who stood by while I was humiliated is now making me breakfast. How ironic.
I gathered myself and put on my uniform. The fabric felt looser than I remembered, my arms thinner, my frame smaller. In the mirror, a boy's face stared back. Innocent. Ordinary. Untouched by scars.
"…This really is me from nine years ago," I muttered. My voice was softer, higher. It felt like wearing someone else's skin.
Downstairs, the smell of miso soup filled the air. My father sat at the table, tie half-fastened, sipping tea. He looked up with a smile so warm it made my chest ache.
"Morning, Haruto. Don't forget, I'll be home late tonight."
A normal morning. A normal family. If I hadn't seen the truth, I might have believed it. My mother set a bowl before me, her movements graceful, ordinary. To anyone else, she was the perfect housewife. To me, a ticking time bomb.
I forced down the knot in my throat. I'll play along—for now.
After breakfast, I left the house without a word. How can I face them? How do I sit at the same table as her? Questions swirled, but I pushed them down and walked toward school.
The classroom buzzed with chatter as I stepped inside. Desks scraped, friends exchanged jokes, and the faint scent of chalk hung in the air.
And then it hit me—how small I had been. My reflection in the window told the truth: fifteen years old, shorter, thinner, softer. My eyes carried none of the cold fire I felt inside. To them, I was just Haruto Kurogane, the quiet, reliable honor student.
"Morning, Haruto!" Souta waved from across the room, soccer bag slung over his shoulder, his smile bright as ever. Girls giggled nearby. Of course—they always liked him.
I forced a smile back. So this is where it begins.
"Ah, Haruto-kun, you're early as always," my homeroom teacher greeted warmly as she entered. To her, I was still the polite, diligent boy. She had no idea that behind my calm expression, every step, every word, was sharpened by revenge.
I bowed politely, the same way I always had. But this time, I wasn't just a student. I was a man carrying two lifetimes—and I would use every lesson of betrayal to rewrite my fate
Just as I lowered my gaze to my desk, a flash of memory stabbed into me—Miyuki's hand locked with Souta's in a dimly lit room.
I gasped, clutching my temple.
The memories… they were coming back.