Chapter 8: The Day Reality Stood Still

For a moment, the world seemed normal again. The glitches were gone. No more flickering walls, no alternate selves showing up at inconvenient moments, and no weird shifts in time. The arcade was silent, save for the low hum of forgotten machines blinking quietly under neon lights.

Ren exhaled slowly, gripping the edge of the pinball table for support. His fingers trembled slightly, as if reality had only just stopped spinning beneath his feet.

“It’s done,” Kai repeated from behind him. There was no triumph in his voice—just cold certainty.

Ren nodded absently. It didn’t feel done. If anything, it felt like something precious had just slipped through his fingers, something he couldn’t get back.

“Everything’s stable now,” Kai added, dusting off his jacket. “No more rewinds, no more cracks. We’re locked in.”

Ren didn’t respond. His chest was too tight to speak. Locking the timeline had been the only way to stop everything from falling apart, but it came at a price. A heavy one. Hana was gone—her memories of him wiped clean by the stabilization.

And that was the point, wasn’t it? That was what Kai had warned him about.

They stood there in silence for a while, the weight of finality pressing down on both of them. Ren ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake the dull ache settling in his chest.

“So,” Ren mumbled, forcing the words out, “what happens now?”

Kai didn’t look at him. “Now? Nothing happens. That’s the point. No more changes.”

“No more glitches.” Ren’s voice was flat.

Kai gave a curt nod. “Exactly.”

Ren shifted uncomfortably, glancing around the arcade. Without the time machine, without the chance to redo moments and fix mistakes, the world suddenly felt unbearably heavy—like a book with no room left for edits.

“Congratulations,” Kai muttered dryly. “You get to live a normal life again.”

A normal life.

The words tasted bitter on Ren’s tongue. What did normal even mean after everything he’d done? After bending time to his will, playing with fate, trying to rewrite himself into someone better?

He leaned heavily against the pinball machine, feeling the weight of every decision settle on his shoulders. All those rewinds, all those small changes... None of it mattered now. Everything had snapped back to its original shape—Hana’s smile, the conversations they never really had, the version of him she would never get to know.

“Does it ever get easier?” Ren asked quietly, not really expecting an answer.

Kai’s gaze was unreadable. “No. But it gets quieter.”

Ren let out a hollow laugh. “Great. Quiet.”

They left the arcade together, the cool night air brushing against their faces as they stepped out onto the empty street. For once, the city felt normal—still and unchanging, as if it had finally exhaled after holding its breath for far too long.

Kai glanced at Ren. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Ren lied. “I’m fine.”

Kai gave a small shrug. “See you around, then.”

And just like that, Kai turned and disappeared down the street, his footsteps fading into the night.

Ren stood there for a long moment, watching the spot where Kai had vanished. The loneliness crept in slowly, like a cold draft slipping through a cracked window.

“Guess I really did it,” Ren whispered to himself. “Back to square one.”

The walk home felt longer than usual, each step weighed down by the strange emptiness left in the wake of the timeline’s collapse. Everything looked the same—the familiar streets, the glow of convenience stores, the faint buzz of passing cars—but it all felt... distant. Like a photo you could look at but never really touch.

Ren’s phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him out of his thoughts. He glanced at the screen: a message from Shun.

“Yo! Skipping tomorrow’s math quiz. Wanna hang after school?”

Ren stared at the message for a moment, his heart sinking. The timeline was locked—permanently. No rewinds. No second chances.

Shun had no idea how many times Ren had rewound his life just to dodge quizzes, or avoid awkward conversations, or—more often than not—fix the stupid things that seemed to happen every time he opened his mouth.

For the first time in a long while, Ren realized he wouldn’t be able to skip anything. Not quizzes, not embarrassing moments—nothing.

He sighed and typed back a quick reply:

“Nah. Gotta pass this one. See you after.”

The words felt strange, like they belonged to someone else. But that was the point, wasn’t it? To move forward. No more rewinds. No more cheats. Just life—messy, complicated, and unfixable.

When Ren got home, the first thing he did was collapse onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His room felt too quiet without the usual hum of the time machine tucked away in his bag. He could still feel the weight of it, like a phantom limb—something that had been part of him for so long that it felt unnatural to let it go.

He rolled onto his side and reached for his watch. The ticking sounded painfully normal now. No glitches, no wild spins, just the steady rhythm of time moving forward.

Tick, tick, tick.

The sound was strangely comforting—and maddening.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Ren had no plan. No backup strategy. No cheat codes. Just... now.

The next morning arrived like any other. Ren’s alarm blared at 7:00 AM sharp, and for once, he didn’t hit the snooze button.

He got out of bed, pulled on his uniform, and made it downstairs without tripping over anything. His mom was already in the kitchen, humming quietly as she flipped pancakes.

“Morning,” she said cheerfully, handing him a plate. “You’re up on time for once.”

Ren gave a small, tired smile. “Trying something new.”

He ate quickly, the pancakes warm and sweet—simple, ordinary, and, somehow, perfect in a way he hadn’t noticed before.

As Ren made his way to school, the streets buzzed with the familiar rhythm of the morning commute—cars honking, students chatting, the occasional dog barking from a nearby yard.

And then, as he turned the corner near the school gates, Ren saw her.

Hana Nishimura.

She stood by the entrance, scrolling through her phone, her long hair catching the morning light. For a moment, Ren just watched her, heart pounding painfully in his chest.

She didn’t remember him. Not the way he wanted her to. Not the way she had in the countless loops and resets he had created just to get close to her.

But that was okay.

This time, Ren wouldn’t rewind.

He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and walked toward her.

“Hey,” he called out, forcing himself to smile. “Hana, right?”

She looked up, blinking in surprise. “Uh... yeah. Do I know you?”

Ren shook his head. “Nope. Not yet.”

Hana smiled—a small, curious smile that made Ren’s heart ache in the best way possible.

For the first time, Ren didn’t need a time machine to feel like things were exactly where they needed to be.