A soft breeze slipped through the half-open window of the small bedroom. The thin curtains fluttered gently, letting in slow shafts of early morning sunlight. The room was compact, almost cramped, with just enough room for a single bed, a small study table pushed against the wall, and a narrow wardrobe with chipped edges that had survived more years than it should have.
Textbooks lay scattered across the desk beside a cheap lamp. The faint smell of books mixed with something youthful hung in the air, like a life still waiting to begin. Posters of landscapes and guitars clung to the walls with old tape, the kind of decoration only a boy with limited money but unlimited dreams would care to put up.
On the bed, a boy slept with one arm dangling over the edge, blankets tangled around his legs.
Suddenly, Leo's eyes shot open.
He sucked in a sharp breath, chest rising too fast. For a moment, he couldn't move.
What the…? Didn't I die?
He remembered the crushing pain in his chest, the darkness swallowing him whole. Yet here he was, lying on… this. He slowly looked up. The ceiling was plain white, a crack running through one corner.
Not his apartment.
Not the 25th floor of anything.
His heart thudded painfully.
Where… am I?
He pushed himself up, the blanket rustling softly. Everything around him felt too small, too simple, too familiar in a way that clawed at the edges of his memory.
He turned his head.
The textbooks. The old lamp. The posters of places he once wanted to travel to.
He knew this room.
But that made no sense.
His gaze dropped to his hands resting atop the blanket.
Lean. Thin. Veins visible beneath smooth skin.
Not the thick, fleshy, stress-swollen hands he had carried to his death, the hands of a man who'd spent years behind a desk, living under pressure until it shaped his body.
No.
These hands belonged to someone young.
Someone untouched by burnout and age.
A cold tremor rippled through him.
"What… the hell…"
He reached for the phone lying on the desk. It wasn't his sleek modern device. This one was older, slightly heavier, the blue case scratched on the edges. He had bought that case during a summer festival when he was… seventeen?
His fingers hovered before he finally picked it up.
The screen lit up.
Monday | 7:00 AM
16 July 2070
Leo froze.
'What...?'
This day. The same day he received his third Employee of the Year award. The same night he died.
"Did I… regress ten years?"
His voice sounded too loud in the quiet room.
No.
No, that's impossible. This only happens in fictions… right?
Had someone drugged him?
Was this a dream?
A hallucination?
He rubbed his eyes hard, but the date remained unchanged.
Leo shot to his feet, the bed creaking beneath him. His pulse raced as he walked toward the narrow mirror beside the wardrobe. He stopped in front of it, bracing himself.
Slowly, he looked.
A young face stared back.
A faint jawline that hinted at growing definition. Clear grey eyes touched with blue, still bright and untouched by sleepless nights. His ice-blonde hair fell to his neck in a slightly messy wave, and his skin looked smoother than he remembered, young, unmarked, and free of the stress that had once carved lines into him.
He sucked in a shaky breath.
It was him.
The version he thought he'd lost forever.
A half-strangled laugh escaped him.
"No… no way…"
He raised a hand to his face, fingertips brushing the unfamiliar youthfulness. His knees nearly buckled.
This couldn't be real.
Unless…
He lifted his hand again, deliberate this time, and slapped himself hard.
A sting bloomed instantly.
"Ow—!"
He winced, rubbing his cheek as a red mark appeared.
Pain. Real. Immediate. Unmistakably alive.
His eyes widened.
His heart pounded.
"This isn't a dream."
He stared at the mirror, barely recognizing the boy he once had been.
"I actually… came back."
He didn't know how long he stood there, seconds or minutes, but his thoughts snapped back to reality when he heard a knock on the door.
A soft, familiar voice followed.
"Leo? Wake up! Don't you have to check your college exam result?"
The words slipped into his head like a sudden ripple.
'College exam… result?'
For a brief second, confusion wrapped around his thoughts, then memory rushed back in a wave.
Today.
This was the day.
The day all the silent nights, the endless revisions, the pressure he had carried for three years would finally turn into a single outcome.
Then the door creaked open.
Aunt Emily, a woman in her early thirties stepped in, brown hair pulled into a loose ponytail, green eyes bright but soft with concern. She wore a white T-shirt and black shorts.
She looked exactly as she had back then.
Alive. Young. Warm.
His breath hitched. His eyes burned unexpectedly.
Leo didn't think. He simply moved.
He rushed forward and hugged her tightly.
"I missed you, Emily," he whispered, voice trembling.
She stiffened in surprise but quickly wrapped her arms around him, one hand gently stroking his hair.
"Hey… what's wrong? Are you okay?"
Leo swallowed hard, forcing back the sting in his eyes. He didn't want her to worry. Stepping back slightly, he managed a faint smile, trying to look normal again.
"I'm sorry. I just,"
Emily's gaze suddenly focused on his face. Her hands lifted gently, thumbs brushing his cheeks. "Leo… why are your cheeks red?"
His heart skipped. "Ah, um… I don't know," he said quickly, avoiding her eyes. "Maybe I slapped myself in my sleep or something."
She frowned, studying him more closely. "A nightmare?"
He hesitated for half a second, then nodded faintly. "Maybe. Or I just overexerted myself. I was really tense about the results, so… probably stress."
Emily finally relaxed, letting out a quiet sigh as understanding softened her expression. "You've been pushing yourself too hard these past months," she said gently. "But I know you, Leo. You'll get into one of the best colleges in the country. Don't worry so much."
Her confidence in him made his chest tighten, for very different reasons this time.
She squeezed his shoulder gently.
"Take a shower, freshen up and after breakfast, we'll check the results together."
He nodded, watching her leave the room. His chest tightened again, but this time from gratitude.
He picked up his towel, slipped out of his room, and made his way toward the bathroom. The flat was small, just a modest living room, a narrow kitchen, a toilet and bathroom, and two compact bedrooms, all rented, but for a long time, it had been everything he and Emily needed.
Inside the bathroom, he hung his towel, turned on the hot water, and stepped into the shower. Winter air seeped through the window, but warm water soon washed over his skin, sliding through his ice-blonde hair.
Leo closed his eyes.
Ten years.
The thought still felt absurd, like something borrowed from a dream he hadn't fully woken from. And yet the warmth of Emily's arms, the familiar scent of their old flat, the faint sting still lingering on his cheek, none of it could be faked. These small, ordinary sensations anchored him far more than any clock or calendar ever could.
This was real.
And if it was real…
Then this second chance would not be wasted.
He wouldn't grind himself down into a hollow corporate shell again. He wouldn't let his youth disappear behind glass towers and office deadlines and obviously, he wouldn't repeat a life that only looked successful from the outside.
This time, he would live.
He would walk the streets he had always rushed past.Travel to the places he once only watched through a screen.Learn skills just because he wanted to.Meet people without calculating what they could give him in return.
No more "later."No more "someday."
Only now.
And he already knew how he wanted to begin.
He would share his life with the world.
He would become an influencer, not for fame alone, not for hollow praise, but to document his rebirth, his failures, his growth, his everyday steps forward. To turn this second life into something real, visible, and alive.
The kind of life he once admired through a screen…
This time, he would step into it himself.
For the first time in both his lives, Leo Archer didn't want to merely survive.
He wanted to live.