Chapter 44 Last Chance

The obnoxious chime of his phone alarm blared from his desk, signaling the start of another grueling workday. He squinted against the morning light filtering through the office blinds, his suit wrinkled from sleeping at his desk again.

With a tired sigh, he reached for his briefcase. As soon as he lifted it, a sickening rip echoed through the quiet office. The handle tore loose, and the worn leather split open at the seams. Its contents spilled out across the floor—documents, pens, an old keychain he barely remembered keeping.

Shachiku blinked in surprise.

His lucky briefcase. The same one he'd carried for seventeen years. Through storms, train delays, and god-awful overtime. The same briefcase that had endured everything with him.

Gone.

A strange lump formed in his throat. He ran a hand over its rugged, battered surface, feeling the deep scratches and dents—wounds from a lifetime of struggle. He hadn’t realized how much this thing had been with him, how much of his life it had carried.

A small, weary smile crossed his lips.

“You’ve done more than enough,” he murmured, gently patting it. 

“Thanks for sticking with me for so long, old friend.”

As his hand made contact one last time—

A flicker.

For the briefest moment, a soft glow pulsed beneath the worn leather, faint as a dying ember. A single, golden spark shimmered and vanished into nothingness.

Shachiku’s breath hitched. His fingers lingered on the surface, a strange chill running down his spine. Something about that glow… something about this moment...

A whisper of a memory stirred in the back of his mind.

Red. A red ocean. A sky filled with jagged, blood-crystal spires. A battlefield. His hand clenched around this very briefcase, but not here, not in this world—

A roar.

His heart pounded against his ribs. What was that? It felt so real—so vivid, like he had been there. But that was impossible. Wasn’t it? A dream?

The thought slipped away as quickly as it came, dissolving like mist in the morning light. His head ached. He must’ve been dreaming. Just another stress-induced hallucination from overworking.

 "Yes, it was just a dream. Right?" A thought crossed his mind.

Shachiku exhaled sharply and shook his head, stuffing the remnants of his briefcase into his desk drawer.

“That’s enough daydreaming,” he muttered to himself.

 “Early meeting with Ichiban. Can’t be late.”

He straightened his tie, running a hand through his disheveled hair. But as he turned to leave, his fingers twitched involuntarily—just for a second.

A sensation lingered. A weight. Like something heavy had been in his hands.

And a voice. A laugh—warm, gentle, familiar.

He frowned, his pulse quickening, but the moment passed.

Shachiku stepped out of his office, unaware that the world had just given him one last chance.

He reached the meeting room and knocked. The moment his knuckles tapped the door, a strange sensation flickered in the back of his mind again.

"This has happened before."

The thought was absurd, of course. He had meetings with Ichiban all the time. He was just tired. That was all.

“Come in,” came the familiar, warm voice.

Shachiku pushed the door open.

There she was—Dr. Ichiban, sitting at the desk, flipping through her notes. The morning light streamed through the blinds, painting soft lines across her white coat. She glanced up, locking eyes with him, and smiled.

"Ah, Shachiku-san. You're five minutes early. Did the corporate world finally beat timeliness into you?"

The moment Ichiban said those words, a shock ran through him. He barely reacted, only managing a stiff nod as he sat down across the desk. His mind was spinning.

He had heard that exact sentence before. Not just once—not just something similar—that exact phrasing, in that exact tone.

Ichiban tapped her pen against her notes, studying him.

 "Or maybe you're just eager to get scolded first thing in the morning?"

Another jolt shot through him. His fingers trembled slightly.

He remembered this. Not just that—it wasn’t just vague familiarity. The words were burned into his mind like a script he had memorized long ago.

And then— more memories surfaced.

A flash—Ichiban’s voice, playful yet firm.

"Shachiku-san!? Sha-chi-ku-san!"

His gaze flickered toward her lips as she spoke now, and for the briefest second, his mind overlapped the past and present. She had said that before. Not here. Somewhere else.

Another flash—her face, illuminated by light. The lingering exhaustion in her eyes, softened by the amusement she tried to hide.

"I don’t want to be late for my lecture at the university—my students are waiting."

Shachiku inhaled sharply.

His head hurt. The memories weren’t clear, but they were coming faster now, melting into the conversation he was having right now.

"Did you hear what I said? I want you to handle the shipment and processing of the materials we need. As usual."

Shachiku flinched.

That was exactly what she had said back then.

This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t exhaustion. This wasn’t deja vu.

He had lived this before.

And then, out of pure instinct, the words left his mouth.

"Ahhh, I’m sorry, Ichiban-san, I got lost in your eyes there for a second. But thanks to your beautiful voice, I found my way back."

The moment he said it, Ichiban froze.

For a heartbeat, time itself seemed to hesitate.

Shachiku felt his stomach drop.

He hadn’t meant to say that. It wasn’t a rehearsed line, not a joke he had planned—he just knew that was what he was supposed to say. That was what he had said before.

Ichiban blinked, her lips twitching slightly—just like before. But this time, Shachiku was aware of the subtle shift in her expression. He noticed how the tired weight in her gaze lifted for just a moment, the same way it had before.

This was real. And he had lived it already.

"Shachiku-san… if nothing else, I can always count on you to say something unexpectedly charming."

Another jolt.

She had said that before.

The memories were slipping through his fingers like water—too fragmented to grasp all at once. But the more he listened, the clearer they became.

And if this conversation was repeating exactly as before…

Then that meant… The disaster hadn’t happened yet. His breath caught in his throat. The world hadn’t ended. Not yet.

And if he could remember what was coming—if he could remember in time—

Then maybe this time, he could stop it.

The conversation with Ichiban had ended exactly the same way as before. Word for word. Tone for tone. Her amused smirk, her sigh, the way she gathered her documents before leaving—it was all the same.

He should have told her. Should have said something. But he couldn’t. His thoughts churned like a storm as he made his way back to his desk in the vast corporate office. Something was wrong.

The hum of conversations. The clatter of keyboards. The dull murmur of tired workers slogging through another day of mindless labor. Everything was as it should be.

And yet—

As he settled into his chair, adjusting his tie, he already knew what was going to happen next.

A few desks away, Watanabe was about to stand up. She would stretch, groan about back pain, then rub her temples because she stayed up too late working.

Shachiku already knew this because he had seen it before.

And sure enough—

“Uuugh,” Watanabe groaned, arching her back like a cat. 

“Damn, my spine’s turning to dust. Maybe I should start doing yoga or something.”

He glanced to the side. The intern—what was his name again? —Takuya. The kid was about to drop his pen. Any second now.

A clatter. The pen hit the floor, rolling under his desk. 

For hours, he sat at his desk, refusing to acknowledge it. Refusing to let his mind spiral into conspiracy. He was just tired. Overworked. Maybe he had a fever. Maybe this was a dream.

But then—

A shadow passed by.

"Oi, Shachiku," a familiar voice called.

 "I need your sign-off on that contract from this morning—whoa!"

A bump against his desk. A sudden jolt. And then—

The unmistakable splash of liquid spilling onto paper. Shachiku’s breath stopped. He turned his head slowly.

Coffee. Spilled across Ichiban’s signed contract.

His coworker stood frozen, staring down at the mess in horror.

And Shachiku…

Shachiku remembered this perfectly. This exact scene had happened before.

The way his coworker panicked, scrambling for napkins. The exact curse words he muttered under his breath. The exact tilt of the coffee cup, the way the dark liquid seeped into the paper’s fibers, ruining Ichiban’s signature.

This wasn’t coincidence anymore. This wasn’t deja vu anymore. His hands trembled slightly as he pressed his fingers against the desk.

No. This was real. He was back. Back two weeks before Helios-9’s disaster. Back before the world ended.

The realization slammed into him like a freight train, and for the first time all morning—Shachiku felt like he couldn’t breathe.