Chapter 10: Fate’s Warning

The sun dipped behind the school buildings, leaving the rooftop wrapped in a quiet orange glow. A breeze rolled across the concrete, carrying the smell of chalk, distant traffic, and the fading warmth of the day. Ren stood with his hands on the railing, staring down at the courtyard where students were heading home in groups. Their laughter floated up, soft and careless. A life he once lived without knowing how precious it was.

Footsteps scraped against the floor behind him.

Yuki stepped out, her shadow stretching across the rooftop. She didn’t speak at first. She just looked at him the way she used to—trying to understand him before speaking, hesitant, but determined.

“You ran off pretty fast,” she said quietly.

Ren let out a breath. “Thought I needed some air.”

“Air or solitude?” she asked.

“Both,” he admitted.

She walked to his side and leaned on the railing. For a moment, neither of them said anything. The silence wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t hostile either. It was something in between, like two people standing in the doorway of an old house, unsure if they should step inside again.

Ren finally spoke. “I’ve been thinking about… all of this.”

“All of what?” she asked softly, though her eyes said she already knew.

“Why we’re here,” Ren said. “Why we went back. Why things reset. Why—” He broke off, staring straight ahead. “What’s the point? Is this chance or punishment?”

Yuki turned her head slightly. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing.”

He looked at her. “Do you think we’re supposed to fix something?”

“Or avoid something,” she said, her voice thin. “Or maybe… change something.”

The wind shifted, brushing her hair across her cheeks. She didn’t touch it. Ren watched it fall back naturally, the way it used to in their early days.

It hurt in a way he wasn’t ready for.

“Yuki,” he said quietly, “do you remember… the last fight?”

She nodded once, eyes dropping to her hands. “Every word.”

They didn’t need to say more. The last fight, the slammed door, the tears, the look on their kids’ faces. The guilt.

Ren swallowed. “I don’t want to repeat that again.”

“Neither do I.”

He hesitated, then said what scared him. “But what if everything we do eventually leads to the same ending?”

Yuki let out a shaky breath. She faced him fully now, her expression raw, stripped of every wall she tried to put up since the rewind.

“Ren,” she said, “if we repeat everything… we’ll end up divorced again.”

Her voice trembled slightly on the last word, but she held steady.

The wind suddenly grew stronger, rattling the loose metal sheet near the water tank. A soft chime sounded—like a bell swinging somewhere just out of view. Ren frowned and glanced around. There was nothing on the rooftop that could make a sound like that.

Yuki noticed it too. “Did you… hear that?”

“Yeah,” he muttered.

The air felt different. Thicker. Heavy with something neither of them could name.

Time wasn’t just repeating.

It was reacting.

Ren straightened. “Yuki… whatever sent us back, it’s not random.”

“Feels more like… a warning,” she whispered.

The sky dimmed into evening. The rooftop lights flickered on. Below, the last few students left the gate chatting about the festival.

Haru and Mina walked together under the archway—close enough to brush shoulders but too shy to do it on purpose.

Mina laughed at something Haru said, and Haru quickly looked away like he didn’t want her to see him smiling too much. When Mina teased him, he covered his ears dramatically and she poked his cheek in return. They were arguing, but in the soft way people do when they don’t hate the argument at all.

Ren caught the sight from above and almost smiled.

So even they were being pulled together again.

Yuki followed his gaze and felt her chest tighten. “Do you think they’ll end up the same too?”

“I don’t know,” Ren said. “But it looks like fate is pushing everyone around.”

“And us?” she asked. “Where is it pushing us?”

He met her eyes. “Toward each other.”

She froze.

He didn’t say it romantically. He said it like a fact. Like gravity.

Yuki forced her voice out. “Ren… we can’t… let it happen. We can’t make the same mistakes.”

“Yeah,” he said. “But pretending we’re strangers isn’t working either.”

The wind brushed past them again. Another faint chime echoed. This time, it felt closer.

Yuki stepped back. “Let’s go home. Before something else weird happens.”

He nodded.

They walked toward the door. Not holding hands, not walking apart—somewhere in the middle.

The moment Ren opened the rooftop door, he felt something shift behind him. A pressure, like an invisible thread tugging.

He didn’t look back. Yuki didn’t either.

But the rooftop stayed humming with the strange, soft chime long after they left.

Like something unseen was watching.

Waiting.

And deciding.