Chapter 5: The World That Isn’t Mine

Ren’s mind swirled as he stared at Kai Saito—the boy standing calmly by the entrance to the abandoned lab.

“You… found one too?” Ren repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

Kai gave a small, knowing smile. “I take it you’ve been having trouble keeping the timeline intact?”

Ren’s gut twisted with suspicion. This wasn’t some casual conversation. Kai had the calmness of someone who knew far too much—someone who had been here before.

He tried to play it cool. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Kai snorted softly. “Sure you don’t.” He took a step forward, examining the rusted machine with an almost bored expression. “Here’s the thing about time machines: they don’t come with manuals. Took me a while to figure that out, too.”

Ren blinked, struggling to keep up. His stomach churned at the thought that someone else had been tampering with time—maybe even changing the same events he had.

“How many times have you jumped?” Kai asked casually, as if asking about homework.

Ren hesitated. “...A few. You?”

Kai’s gaze flicked to Ren’s malfunctioning watch. “Enough to know that things are about to get messy.”

Ren’s nerves prickled. “What do you mean, messy?”

Kai shrugged, running a hand through his dark hair. “Timelines hate being rewritten too many times. When things overlap, corrections start happening on their own—unscheduled corrections.”

“Unscheduled?” Ren echoed, his anxiety creeping upward.

Kai’s expression darkened. “Reality starts patching the gaps—fixing things you didn’t even know were broken.” He leaned casually against the wall, but his words carried a weight that made Ren’s throat dry. “Sometimes it corrects people out of existence.”

Ren’s heart stuttered. “Out of—what?”

Kai crossed his arms, as if this was a regular Tuesday for him. “The people closest to you? Friends, family… They start slipping through the cracks.”

Ren could feel the floor tilt beneath him. He thought back to the strange glitches—conversations replaying out of order, Hana forgetting who he was, his teacher vanishing in the middle of class.

And now, Kai was telling him it could get worse? People disappearing? This was spiraling way beyond anything Ren had imagined.

“Why didn’t you stop using it?” Ren demanded, frustration leaking into his voice. “If you knew it would mess things up, why didn’t you just—”

Kai raised an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you?”

Ren opened his mouth, then shut it again. Fair point.

The truth was, he hadn’t stopped because the temptation was too strong. Fixing mistakes, reliving perfect moments—it had felt like having the ultimate cheat code. But now? Now it felt like the universe was dangling that cheat code just out of reach, mocking him for even trying to use it.

Kai gave a slight shrug, as if reading Ren’s mind. “That’s the thing about time travel. No matter how careful you are, the cracks show up eventually.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “The only question is how much you’re willing to lose before you stop.”

Ren’s head buzzed with questions, but one burned hotter than the rest. “How do we fix it?”

Kai’s smile faded. “You can’t.”

“Then what’s the point?” Ren snapped, throwing his hands in the air. “If we can’t fix anything, why even—”

“There is a way to stop it,” Kai interrupted calmly, “but it’s risky.”

Ren glared at him. “Define ‘risky.’”

Kai gave him a long, considering look. “We can stabilize the timeline by locking it—making everything that’s happened so far permanent.”

“Lock it?” Ren frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means no more changes. No more rewinds. No resets. Everything stays exactly the way it is, glitches and all.”

Ren’s chest tightened. “But what if I mess up again? What if—”

“That’s the trade-off.” Kai’s voice was sharp, cutting through Ren’s panic. “If we lock the timeline, there’s no going back.”

Ren swallowed hard. No second chances. No do-overs.

He thought of Hana, of the little mistakes he’d been trying so hard to fix. Could he really walk away from the time machine, knowing he’d never get another chance to make things right?

Kai pushed off the wall, brushing dust from his jacket. “Think about it. But don’t take too long.” He glanced meaningfully at Ren’s watch. “We’re running out of time.”

Ren looked down. The watch face ticked backward in slow, jerky movements—like a wind-up toy struggling to stay alive. He could almost feel the timeline unraveling beneath his feet, pulling everything he cared about into the void.

“How do we lock it?” Ren asked quietly.

Kai gave him a grim smile. “Meet me at the arcade tomorrow night. Midnight. We’ll finish this.”

And with that, Kai turned on his heel and left the lab without another word, leaving Ren alone with the machine—and a choice he didn’t know how to make.

The silence in the room felt heavy, pressing down on Ren’s shoulders. He stared at the time machine, his mind racing with possibilities. If he kept using it, things would only get worse. But if he locked the timeline now, everything—every mistake, every missed opportunity—would be set in stone.

He thought of Hana. Thought of the moments he could have made better if only he had tried harder, moved faster, said the right thing at the right time. Could he really let those moments slip away forever?

The lab’s overhead light flickered, casting long shadows across the room. Ren exhaled slowly, rubbing his eyes. This was too much. He needed air. Space to think.

He stepped outside into the cold evening, pulling his jacket tight around him. The streets were eerily quiet, the city bathed in the orange glow of streetlights. Ren’s mind whirled as he walked aimlessly, lost in thought.

What if Kai was right? What if the only way to stop the glitches was to give up the time machine entirely? Could Ren live with the version of himself he had become—the boy who stumbled through life, made mistakes, and never got it quite right?

The weight of the decision settled on him like a heavy fog. Either way, there were no perfect endings.

Ren stopped in front of a vending machine, more out of habit than thirst. He dug into his pocket for loose change, trying to distract himself from the storm in his head.

As the can of soda clunked into the tray below, Ren hesitated.

Was it just his imagination, or had the vending machine flickered for a split second—like a video on pause?

A chill ran down his spine.

Ren clenched the soda can in his hand, heart racing. “I think it’s already started.”