Chapter 2: Second Chances (and Thirds)

Ren’s second encounter with the alarm clock was less of a battle and more of a compromise—7:32 AM, and he was already halfway out the door with one shoe on and the other stuffed under his arm. Today, there was no room for mistakes, not with time on his side. He felt invincible, the kind of invincible that only comes with knowing the future.

After bolting down the stairs two steps at a time, Ren skidded into the kitchen. His mother raised an eyebrow but said nothing, already accustomed to his morning chaos.

“Breakfast?” she offered, holding out a slice of toast.

Ren shook his head. “Already ate.”
He hadn’t, but hey—what was one missed breakfast when you could bend reality to your liking?

He crammed his foot into his second sneaker and shot out the door, schoolbag slapping against his side. His target for today: Mr. Kondo’s math class. A quiz was coming, and if there was ever a moment to flex his newfound abilities, this was it.

Ren’s first attempt went… poorly.

He scribbled answers he thought were correct, only to watch the paper come back littered with red marks. The grade, a pitiful 32%, mocked him. Mr. Kondo had sighed deeply as if grading Ren’s work personally aged him another ten years.

But Ren wasn’t worried. This was just the warm-up.

He slipped back into the time machine hidden in the old lab during lunch, heart racing with excitement. The familiar hum of the machine filled the air, blue light swirling as his surroundings warped and folded. Before he knew it, Ren was back in his room, groggily staring at the clock.
7:32 AM. Again.

“Alright, Kondo,” he muttered. “Round two.”

This time, Ren sat confidently in his seat during the quiz. He’d memorized the right answers from his previous attempt, scribbling them down with smug precision. Mr. Kondo arched an eyebrow when Ren handed in his paper within five minutes, but said nothing.

“Perfect,” Ren whispered as the class ended. He practically danced back to his seat, mentally rehearsing how he’d show off his perfect score to his friends.

But when the results came back, his quiz wasn’t there. It had somehow vanished from Mr. Kondo’s stack entirely. The teacher scratched his head in confusion, muttering something about “misfiled papers,” but Ren could only stare in disbelief.

“How does a quiz just disappear?” he whispered to himself, clutching the desk edge with white knuckles.
Something wasn’t right. And this wasn’t part of the plan.

Not one to give up easily, Ren leaped back into the time machine at the first chance he got. This time, he rewound to 7:15 AM, figuring that a slightly earlier start would iron out the weird glitches. If time didn’t want to cooperate, he’d just outsmart it.

The familiar glow washed over him, and the world reset. 7:15 AM. A new chance to make everything flawless.

But when Ren got to math class, Mr. Kondo’s seat was empty. In his place sat a substitute—a woman Ren had never seen before. She introduced herself as Ms. Hoshino and announced there would be no quiz today.

“What?” Ren slumped into his chair, stunned. “That’s not how it’s supposed to go…”

He tapped his pen anxiously against his desk, watching as his classmates happily doodled on blank sheets of paper. No one else seemed concerned. To them, this was just another easy day without a quiz. But for Ren, it felt like the universe was toying with him.

The day dragged on painfully. Every hour, Ren became more convinced that each time he reset, the timeline grew further out of his control. Conversations seemed… off. Tiny details didn’t line up. His homeroom teacher called him “Ken” for no reason, and his best friend, Shun, swore Ren had dyed his hair blond over the weekend—a thing that definitely never happened.

By the time lunch rolled around, Ren’s head was spinning.

He retreated to his safe spot—the rooftop of the school. It was quiet up there, with only a slight breeze carrying away the sounds of students from below. Ren leaned against the railing, gazing at the city skyline.

“Alright,” he whispered to no one in particular. “I’ve got a time machine. I’ve got infinite do-overs. Why is this so hard?”

He clenched his fists, frustration bubbling to the surface. What good was having this much power if things still didn’t go his way? He thought time travel would make life easier—not messier.

As he stood there, lost in thought, a crow perched on the railing beside him, tilting its head curiously. Ren glared at it. “You don’t happen to know how to control the fabric of reality, do you?”

The bird cawed once, flapped its wings, and flew off.

“Yeah, didn’t think so.”

Just as Ren was about to head back downstairs, his phone buzzed with a message from Hana.

“Weird question, but… Have we met before? You seem kinda familiar.”

Ren’s heart skipped a beat. The text felt like a lifeline. Maybe this was his chance—a small sign that the timeline wasn’t beyond saving after all.

But the excitement was short-lived. Another text followed almost immediately:

“Sorry! Wrong number. Ignore that last message.”

Ren stared at the screen, a knot tightening in his chest. It was like the universe was playing some kind of cruel joke on him, dangling hope just out of reach.

Wrong number? How could it be the wrong number when it was clearly Hana’s name on the chat?

Something wasn’t adding up. And the more Ren thought about it, the more uneasy he felt.

He needed answers. Fast. Before things unraveled any further.

Ren sprinted to the nearest stairwell, making a beeline for the lab where the time capsule was hidden. His mind raced with questions: What if the machine wasn’t malfunctioning? What if he was causing the glitches? Or worse—what if someone else was meddling with the timeline too?

As he reached the dusty entrance to the abandoned lab, Ren stopped to catch his breath. The door creaked open slowly, and he stepped inside, the familiar hum of the time machine welcoming him like an old friend.

He reached out to the control panel, hesitating for a moment. “Alright, one more time,” he muttered, setting the dials for a minor rewind. “I’ll figure this out.”

The machine roared to life, lights flickering ominously. But just as Ren braced for the time jump, the control panel sparked violently, sending a shock through his hand. He yelped, stumbling backward.

The machine sputtered, then died. Completely.

“No, no, no!” Ren slapped the side of the machine, panic rising. “Not now!”

The capsule sat there, lifeless, as if mocking him with its silence.

Ren took a step back, heart pounding. He was stuck. There would be no more resets. No more do-overs.

For the first time, the gravity of his situation sank in. Time wasn’t just a game—it was unraveling in ways he couldn’t control.

And now? Now he had to face the consequences head-on, without the safety net of rewinding.

Ren slumped against the wall, clutching his head. “What do I do now?”