"How dare you!"
The loud slapping sound cracked through the hallway like a gunshot, drawing gasps from a few students who hadn't yet left the school grounds.
Matthew staggered back, one hand flying to his cheek, the sting radiating outward like fire. His eyes widened—not from the pain, but from the sight in front of him.
Her.
Catherine. In a school uniform again. Her hair was pulled up in a lazy ponytail, her eyes sharp, mouth curled into a sneer.
"You think you can buy me with this?" she snapped, holding up the shiny black credit card like it was something gross. "Is that all women are to you, just something you pay for? Is that it, Matthew!?"
Matthew opened his mouth, but no words came out.
He was too busy drowning in the storm crashing inside his skull. He died. He remembered dying.
This isn't right. He saw her. She watched him die. She stood there with Lenox, and Kyle. She said Kyle wasn't his… she said… His thoughts churned as he thought about the things that he could recall before 'dying'. What is going on? He mumbled as he looked around.
He turned his eyes back to the hallway ahead.
Familiar mahogany doors lined the walls—classrooms, lounges, and staff offices. At the far end of the corridor was a wide glass window that overlooked the campus courtyard. Beyond that were fountains, manicured gardens, and the circular driveway where luxury cars were often parked in rows. He could remember it now.
He knew this hallway. It was the east wing of Lindberg University—named after his grandfather.
Catherine's sneer deepened. "You think everything has a price tag, don't you? That just because you were born with money, the rest of us are supposed to fall at your feet?" She stepped closer, her voice rising. "You think I'm some damsel waiting to be rescued by your credit card? Newsflash, Matthew, I'm not for sale."
Gasps echoed again through the hallway.
"You think throwing cash at someone counts as love?" Catherine continued. "That's not affection, that's manipulation! And this will make me hate you more!"
Catherine's words hadn't stopped ringing in his ears, but now his head was starting to clear. He looked down at himself. The uniform was familiar. Not the clothes he died in, but the one he wore at seventeen—no, eighteen. Black and gold trim. The school crest on his breast pocket.
Everything was too familiar, too real.
Then, Catherine threw the card at his chest. "Take your filthy guilt money and shove it!"
It fell to his feet.
Matthew didn't move and stared at the card.
Not because he couldn't move.
But because the world had tilted too violently on its axis. Because Catherine was seventeen again. Because he was eighteen again.
His eyes dropped to his reflection in the glass panel of the trophy case beside them.
The face staring back was too familiar and yet completely foreign—cleaner skin, no wrinkles, no beard. No pain was carved into the corners of his eyes. This was him years ago! To be exact, thirty years before he died!
"Say something!" Catherine demanded. "What? Are you angry? After you insult me, you still had the guts to be angry?" Catherine muttered bitterly, her voice cutting through the fog of his thoughts.
"I…" His throat felt dry. "This… isn't possible." Inwardly, Matthew didn't know what to say.
"What do you mean it's not possible? You already know that Catherine doesn't like you! Can you just stop bothering her?" Elisa—Catherine's best friend—said. Her loud voice was enough to attract the attention of a few more students who looked at Matthew in disgust. "Just because you are related to Young Master Lenox doesn't mean that you can do whatever you want with his money!"
A few students murmured nearby, amused or scandalized, but Matthew heard none of it. The hallway smelled like floor polish and youth. The buzz of fluorescent lights hummed above his head. Everything was too vivid.
Too real.
His gaze darted to the date displayed on his phone screen—February 3rd, 2025.
It wasn't a mistake. It wasn't a fever dream.
It was thirty years ago.
He looked down at the black card on the floor. She had no idea what that card had meant to him in his last life.
"Seriously, Matthew?" May— another one of Catherine's friends— said, frowning as she looked at him. "You thought giving her a credit card would count as a gift? How stupid."
She turned to Catherine, taking her hand. "Cathy, don't let it get to you. It's your birthday. Lenox gave you those flowers you love. At least he put some thought into it."
She glanced back at Matthew. "If you actually like someone, try being real about it. Throwing money around doesn't mean anything."
Matthew blinked. In his last life, he had been stubborn about giving Catherine that card for her 18th birthday. Lenox—his best friend at the time—was the one who'd planted the idea in his head.
He told Matthew that Catherine's mother was in the hospital and the family was struggling with the bills. The stupid Matthew actually thought it was a nice idea to give her a credit card for her mother's bills! The card had no limit and he thought this would help them tremendously.
"Matthew, you probably don't know this, but Catherine's mom is in bad shape right now," Lenox said. "She's not upset with you. She's just under a lot of stress. That's why she isn't acting happy on her birthday."
Here we go, Matthew thought. In the past, this was always how it started. Lenox would bring up Catherine's mom, play the sympathy card, and Catherine would storm off.
But back then, Matthew didn't let it go. He still pushed the gift on her. He chased after her down the hallway, thinking he was helping.
And what did Catherine say? That she hated him. That she never wanted his money. That he disgusted her.
And what did the old Matthew do?
He tried again. He paid for everything—but let Lenox take the credit. In the end, Catherine believed it was Lenox who had stepped in and helped her.
Well, that isn't going to happen today.
"Don't tell him anything, Lenox," Catherine said before walking away. Then she looked over her shoulder. "Grow up, Matthew. No one wants your pity. And stop following me. It's pathetic."
This time, he didn't move.
He didn't chase her.
He didn't say a word.
He just stood there, breathing, watching her walk away.
After what felt like forever, Matthew finally bent down and picked up the black card. His fingers closed around it with a slow, eerie calm.
So this was it.
This is real.
He wasn't dreaming.
He wasn't hallucinating in a hospital bed.
He had been reborn.
Reincarnated.
Or whatever the heck you call something like this.
But he was sure of one thing—he'd been thrown back into the same damn hell… only this time, he remembered everything.
A slow smile curved his lips.
Not one of amusement.
But of awakening.
Of reckoning.
He slipped the card back into his wallet, adjusted the sleeves of his uniform blazer, and straightened up. His heart no longer beat with panic.
He turned toward the stairwell.
There were things to set in motion.
And this time?
He wasn't going to die.
He was going to rule.
"But first, I need to eat," he mumbled as he stroked his stomach. "Lunch," he mumbled. "Food is still the most important thing."