Choices, choices, and more choices. Every day, we make an infinite number of them — each branching into countless possibilities. The choice to sleep a little longer, to arrive a bit late to a meeting, or to indulge in a guilty delight.
Many believe there exists a thread — one that splits into countless others at every decision, whether small or grand.
There's a universe where you woke up early today. And simultaneously, another where you decided to sleep in.
You don't know what happens to that parallel version of you; for you, only this thread exists — the one where you chose to stay in bed.
Throughout the day, you keep making choices, dividing your fate again and again, unaware of what you've missed… or what you've narrowly avoided.
And sometimes, all you're left with is regret.
That's exactly what I'm left with.
Regret — for not living my life to the fullest.
I made every choice like a fool, always thinking of the future — of the day that was yet to come.
And here I am now, lying alone on the roadside… still saving for that future.
But the future I was saving for will never come. Because I won't be there to see it.
Man, dying really made me quite the philosopher, huh?
Ahh… I just want this all to end already. Hopefully, I'm greeted by some beautiful angels with great personalities in heaven.
Actually, scratch that — I'll settle for not ending up in hell. That'd be enough.
Fina—lly, my e—yes a—re g—et—ti—ng s—o h—ea—vy…M—y th—ough—ts a—re ge—tt—ing…
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"Hayato!"
"Ren Hayato!!"
"REN HAYATO!!!"
A sharp poke jabbed into my ribs, followed by the shout of a middle-aged man.
So much for peace and tranquility after death.
If I'd known the afterlife came with surprise body-checks and yelling, I would've asked for the deluxe heaven package.
I was about to yell back when a soft whisper reached my ears.
"Hurry up and go get your mark sheet."
My body moved before I could think — I stood, walked up to the teacher, took the sheet from his hands, and returned to my seat — all on autopilot.
Then it hit me.
Why was I even walking? Shouldn't I—
I froze. The room around me wasn't the sterile white of a hospital or the blurry nothingness of death. It was a classroom.
Desks lined neatly in rows, sunlight spilling across scuffed floors, the faint hum of ceiling fans mixing with the smell of chalk and cheap detergent.
My eyes darted around, scanning faces that tugged at my memory. Those hairstyles. Those uniforms. Especially those short skirts — the same ones that I remember from my high school days.
These people felt... familiar.
My throat tightened. I looked down at the mark sheet in my trembling hands.
Ren Hayato – 1-B
For a moment, my brain refused to connect the dots.
Then it did.
This... this was me.
Or rather, me from years ago.
I shot a quick glance at the date printed in the corner of the sheet. The numbers twisted my stomach.
May 2009.
"What the hell…?" I whispered under my breath.
The teacher called the next name, students laughed at some inside joke, and outside, sunlight filtered through green leaves where cherry blossoms had already fallen weeks ago.
The air was warm, heavy with the scent of early summer — and nostalgia.
I leaned back in my chair, heart pounding.
Somehow, for reasons I couldn't even begin to understand—
I'd gone back.
Back to high school.
Back to the start.
Back to the one time in life I swore I'd never repeat.