Chapter 7: An Error in the Arcade

The hum of neon lights buzzed like angry flies as Ren stepped into the arcade, the door hissing shut behind him. Kai was already at a machine, idly flicking the joystick of a beat-‘em-up game, not really playing—just passing time.

Ren wiped the sweat from his palms and tried to settle his racing thoughts. The time machine, glitches, a duplicate of himself—everything was spiraling out of control, and now he was about to gamble on a solution that might lock him into whatever mess he had already created.

Kai didn’t even glance at him. “You look worse than before.”

Ren forced a weak laugh. “That’s because I feel worse.”

Kai shrugged, still tapping the joystick. “You get used to it.”

Ren slid into the seat next to him, the smell of stale popcorn and old plastic sticking to the air. For a few moments, neither of them said anything. The flickering lights from the arcade games painted strange patterns across the walls, as if the room itself wasn’t quite real.

“So...” Ren started awkwardly. “What’s this plan of yours?”

Kai cracked his knuckles. “We stabilize the timeline before it collapses.”

“Cool,” Ren muttered, sarcasm thick in his voice. “And how exactly do we do that? Press a magic reset button?”

Kai gave him a side glance, as if Ren was painfully slow. “We force everything back into sync by closing open loops. No more rewinds, no more double versions of yourself. Every unresolved timeline has to collapse back into the main one.”

Ren’s head spun. “That... sounds complicated.”

“It is,” Kai said without a trace of humor. “But it’s the only way. Think of it like sealing a crack before it splits the whole wall.”

Ren groaned, rubbing his temples. “And what happens if we screw up?”

Kai leaned closer, his voice low and calm. “If we screw up, the crack gets bigger. And everything—us, this world, your precious memories—gets rewritten.”

The weight of Kai’s words settled like a heavy stone in Ren’s gut. As much as he hated it, he knew there was no easy way out. He had made a mess of things, and now the only option was to clean it up—permanently.

Kai leaned back, studying the game screen with a distant expression. “There’s one more thing.”

Ren tensed. “What?”

Kai sighed. “Once we close the loops, everything you’ve done with the machine... it’ll reset. Every conversation, every moment you tried to change—it’ll revert to what it should have been.”

Ren’s stomach dropped. “You mean... Hana—”

“She’ll never remember the new version of you,” Kai finished flatly. “Whatever bond you tried to force? Gone.”

The realization hit Ren like a punch to the chest. All the little rewinds, every attempt to be smoother, funnier, better—it would all vanish. Hana would go back to seeing him as the awkward kid who once tripped over his own shoelaces in front of her.

Ren ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling to the surface. “So I’ve been running in circles, fixing everything for nothing?”

Kai’s eyes darkened. “That’s the problem with rewinding time. No matter how hard you try, it’s never really yours to fix.”

The two sat in silence for a moment, the arcade noises clattering around them. A pair of kids raced by, shouting about their high scores. Ren watched them, envy tugging at his heart. He wished his biggest problem was winning a game, not holding reality together with duct tape and a prayer.

“You ready to do this?” Kai asked quietly, his tone more serious than before.

Ren exhaled sharply. “Do I have a choice?”

Kai didn’t answer. Instead, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a strange device—a small black tablet with glowing symbols etched into its surface.

Ren blinked. “What the heck is that?”

“The override,” Kai said simply. “It syncs with your machine. Once we activate it, everything will collapse back into the original timeline.” He paused, eyeing Ren carefully. “No rewinds. No retries. You sure you can live with that?”

Ren swallowed hard. “Guess I don’t have much of a choice.”

Kai gave a small, humorless smile. “That’s the spirit.”

They stood up together, the weight of what was coming heavy in the air. The override device in Kai’s hand pulsed faintly, as if alive.

Ren took one last look around the arcade—at the neon lights, the kids cheering at the claw machine, the endless hum of digital sounds. Somehow, it felt like saying goodbye to something he couldn’t quite name.

“Alright,” Kai said, holding the override out to Ren. “You press the button.”

Ren hesitated. His thumb hovered over the glowing surface of the device, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of his chest.

“On three,” Kai instructed. “One... two...”

Before Ren could press it, the world flickered.

Everything stuttered. The lights in the arcade blinked in and out, and for a brief moment, Ren felt himself pulled sideways—like falling into a dream and waking up halfway.

When the world snapped back into focus, the two of them weren’t alone anymore.

Standing by the pinball machine was Hana Nishimura.

Ren’s heart lurched. She looked... different, somehow—like a version of her from a life Ren never lived. There was a strange flicker in her expression, as if she recognized him but couldn’t remember from where.

“Hana?” Ren whispered, barely able to breathe.

She blinked, her gaze drifting between him and Kai. “Do I... know you?”

Ren’s throat tightened. The answer was supposed to be simple—Yes. We’ve met a thousand times. But now, standing in front of her, every timeline collapsing into one, all he could do was stand there, frozen.

Kai gave him a warning glance. “Ren—”

The override device beeped, a soft but insistent sound that reminded Ren the moment was slipping away. He had to press the button. Lock the timeline. Stabilize reality.

But if he pressed it now... Hana would forget. This would be the last time she looked at him with even a glimmer of recognition.

Ren’s hand shook as he held the device. Time felt stretched, like the world was waiting for his decision.

Hana tilted her head, frowning slightly. “Have we... met before?”

“Yes,” Ren whispered, his voice breaking. “But not like this.”

Kai gave an impatient sigh. “Ren, we don’t have time for this.”

Ren ignored him. He knew what he had to do, but it didn’t make it any easier. Slowly, painfully, he pressed his thumb against the override’s surface.

The device hummed, and a soft ripple spread outward—like a stone dropped into still water.

The arcade lights flickered one last time. Hana blinked, confusion clouding her face.

And then... she was gone.

Ren stood still, the override device cooling in his hand. The world settled around them, stable and solid once more. No more glitches. No more duplicates. No more rewinds.

Kai gave a small nod, satisfied. “It’s done.”

But Ren barely heard him. His chest ached with the weight of everything he had just lost.

He turned toward the empty space where Hana had been moments ago, whispering to no one in particular:

“I’m sorry.”

As the quiet hum of the arcade returned, Ren knew that even though the timeline was fixed, some things would never be the same.