Chapter 9: Loops and Lies

Ren’s shoes scuffed against the pavement as he paced back and forth outside his school, trying to calm the chaos in his head. This wasn’t the plan. None of it was. Kai had promised the glitches would stop once the timeline stabilized. No more rewinds. No more resets.

But now—standing in the morning light, heart hammering—Ren knew something was still wrong.

The proof was in his hand: a cheap plastic wristwatch with the second hand stuck on 11:59. No matter how many times he tapped it, shook it, or slapped it, the hand refused to tick forward. Time had stopped. Or maybe just his time.

He squeezed the watch tight. “This shouldn’t be happening.”

The warning signs started the moment he woke up.

First, his alarm hadn’t gone off—again. He’d rolled over to check the time, only to realize his watch had been frozen since midnight. Then, as he brushed his teeth, he noticed something else: a sticky note on the bathroom mirror that read:
“Don’t be late. 11:59 is waiting.”

Ren blinked at the note, confused. It was his handwriting, but he didn’t remember writing it.

And now, standing outside the school gates, clutching his faulty wristwatch, Ren felt like he was trapped in someone else’s dream—a dream where time only moved when it felt like it.

“Ren?”

The familiar voice broke his thoughts. Ren looked up to see Shun jogging toward him, his ever-present grin plastered across his face. Shun was carrying two cans of soda, one of which he tossed lazily in Ren’s direction.

Ren caught it out of reflex. “Hey,” he muttered, stuffing the faulty watch into his jacket pocket. No need to freak Shun out.

“You good?” Shun asked, cracking open his own soda with a loud hiss. “You look like you saw a ghost or something.”

Ren gave a weak laugh. “Something like that.”

Shun took a swig of soda and leaned casually against the gate. “Well, whatever it is, forget about it. We’ve got bigger problems—like Kondo’s math quiz. I’m thinking we fake food poisoning. You in?”

Ren shook his head. “Not this time.”

“Whoa. You?” Shun raised an eyebrow. “Actually going to take the quiz? Who even are you?”

Ren forced a smile, but inside, his mind was spinning. He had spent so many jumps dodging mistakes, rewinding every moment that went wrong. Now he had no more outs. No more excuses. If today went badly, he’d have to live with it.

“Guess I’m trying something new,” Ren muttered, popping open his soda. “Gotta grow up sometime, right?”

Shun snorted. “Not if I can help it.”

The bell rang, and the students trickled inside. Ren shoved the soda can into his bag, the sticky note still nagging at the back of his mind.

11:59 is waiting.

He didn’t know what it meant, but one thing was clear—this wasn’t over. Even if the timeline was supposedly locked, something strange was still lurking beneath the surface.

And Ren had a feeling it wouldn’t stay hidden for long.

Inside the classroom, Mr. Kondo was already writing equations on the chalkboard, humming a cheerful tune that did not match the dread sitting in Ren’s stomach. Ren slid into his seat, setting his bag down carefully as if it held something dangerous.

“Alright, everyone,” Mr. Kondo said brightly, turning to face the class. “Time for a little pop quiz!”

Groans filled the room, followed by the rustling of papers and the tapping of pens against desks. Ren glanced at the clock on the wall.

It was stuck—just like his watch. 11:59.

His pulse quickened. This wasn’t right.

The quiz papers landed on his desk with a soft plop. Ren stared at them, trying to focus, but the numbers swam in front of his eyes. It felt like the room was shifting beneath him, tilting at odd angles.

“Come on, Ren,” he whispered to himself. “Get it together.”

He picked up his pen, only to find the ink wouldn’t flow. Frustrated, he shook the pen violently, and that’s when it happened.

The world flickered.

For a split second, everything went dark. The classroom vanished, replaced by something else—an empty street, silent and still, bathed in a strange orange glow. The air felt thick, heavy with the scent of metal and rain.

Then, just as quickly, the classroom snapped back into place.

Ren gasped, his heart pounding wildly. His hands were shaking so badly that he dropped the pen. No one else seemed to notice the flicker. The other students were scribbling away as if nothing had happened. Mr. Kondo hummed cheerfully at his desk.

Ren wiped sweat from his brow, trying to steady his breathing.

“This isn’t real,” he whispered, gripping the edge of his desk. “I locked the timeline. This shouldn’t be happening.”

The flicker happened again—this time for longer. Ren found himself standing in the middle of an empty street, the same strange orange light casting long shadows across the pavement. The air buzzed with a low hum, like the sound of a clock winding down.

In the distance, something moved—a shadow flickering at the edge of his vision. Ren turned to look, but the shadow darted out of sight, slipping between the cracks of reality.

“Who’s there?” Ren called, his voice echoing strangely in the stillness.

No answer. Just the hum of the clock.

And then, from somewhere behind him, a voice whispered:

“11:59 is waiting.”

Ren spun around, but the street was empty.

And just like that, the classroom snapped back into focus.

Ren sat frozen in his seat, heart racing, his mind struggling to make sense of what just happened. The clock on the wall still read 11:59. His watch, buried deep in his pocket, felt heavier than ever.

He glanced around the room. No one else had noticed the flicker. No one else had heard the voice.

Ren’s hands clenched into fists beneath the desk. He had thought locking the timeline would fix everything, but now it felt like he was standing on the edge of something much worse—something creeping in from the cracks, waiting for the right moment to strike.

And whatever it was, it wasn’t going to wait much longer.

The bell rang, jolting Ren from his thoughts. He shoved his unfinished quiz into his bag and bolted out of the classroom, ignoring Shun’s confused look.

He needed answers. And fast.

As he raced down the hallway, the ticking of the clock followed him—soft at first, but growing louder with every step.

Tick.
Tick.
Tick.

And then it stopped.

Ren skidded to a halt, heart pounding in his chest. He pulled the watch from his pocket and stared at it in disbelief.

The second hand was moving again.

Slowly, painfully, it ticked forward—finally landing on 12:00.

Ren stared at the watch, his breath catching in his throat, as the distant voice echoed in his mind one last time:
“Time’s up.”