BZZZZT.
The alarm tore through the silence like a siren—shrill, relentless. 06:30. Tuesday.
Sora's eyes flew open.
For a moment, he couldn't breathe. The ceiling above him was pale and cracked in one corner. The familiar hum of the fridge rumbled in the distance. His pillow smelled like detergent and sweat. His blanket had twisted around his leg.
He was home.
His heart thudded like it wanted to break free from his chest. He sat up too fast. The ache in his neck from the boat was gone. His hands—his hands—were his again, slender, pale, familiar.
But the weight inside him hadn't gone anywhere.
Sora leaned over the side of the bed and threw up into the trash can.
His world spun like a top knocked off balance, vision narrowing, breath catching in his throat. Back there—in her body—he'd tried to vomit too, gagging over the side of the boat, stomach heaving, but nothing had come out. Just dry, burning swallows and the ghost of bile.
Now, in his body, the nausea finally seized control, dragging everything up in a bitter, violent rush.
His entire body shook as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. There was no blood on his hands now. No wooden deck beneath him. No taste of river water. No scream.
But he remembered it.
The fisherman's eyes. The way the blade slid in, like pushing through wet fruit. The warmth that followed. The body slumping forward.
It wasn't a dream.
It was real.
"I killed him…" Sora whispered into the empty apartment.
And yet… he was alive. He was here. Did it matter? Did it change something?
He wasn't sure. But if he hadn't—if he hadn't stabbed that man—he would be dead right now. Would he have drowned? Would Akiko's body be floating in that river?
He reached for his phone, hand trembling as the lock screen came into focus.
Tuesday, April 15th – 06:32 AM
A buzzing ache sat in the back of his skull. Too much. It was too much. He opened his messages.
Sora:
Hey. Don't come by today.
Tell Fukuda-sensei I'm sick.
Seriously. Don't.
He hovered for a moment, then hit send to Kazuki.
Could he get arrested for skipping school? It hadn't ever crossed his mind before. Probably not. Not if he was "sick." But he didn't want to take chances. He tugged open his closet, threw on a hoodie, some worn jeans, and shoved a plain baseball cap over his mess of black hair. Just to make sure he did not look like a high school student.
He opened the trash can, curious as to what Akiko was up to yesterday—as him.
An empty curry pouch sat crumpled inside, the one he left out yesterday with a note. The one labeled "Heat this first" in Sharpie.
She'd eaten it.
He stood there, staring into the bin like it held proof of something holy. Then he turned toward the small table near the window.
Every single note he'd left for her—"don't touch this," "how to flush," "TV remote, not a weapon," "don't answer the door"—had been stacked neatly, aligned edge to edge like someone had taken time to read and file them.
Sora's breath caught.
"She was here…" he whispered.
He stepped into the bathroom, closed the door behind him, and stripped off his clothes with slow, mechanical motions. The water from the showerhead hissed into the tub as he sat on the low stool, letting the warmth wash over him while he scrubbed at skin that still didn't feel like his.
Once clean, he eased into the bath. The heat clung to him like a second layer of skin. He sank lower, until only his nose and eyes stayed above the surface.
He thought of the boat. Of the blood. Of her trembling hands around the blade—no, his hands. That man's weight. The look in his eyes.
The water began to darken.
Crimson spread like ink under the surface, dancing in slow, hypnotic swirls. The bathroom melted away. The walls gave in to river mist and creaking wood beneath him. He gripped the edge of the tub—no, the boat—heart pounding.
Ping.
His phone buzzed from the sink. He jolted.
A message lit up the screen.
Kazuki: "Sure, take care! want me to come over after school?"
Sora blinked, breath shallow. The red was gone. Just clear water now. Plastic. Tile. Normal.
He wiped a shaky hand over his face and grabbed the phone.
Sora:No, I'm fine. Just need rest. I'll see you tomorrow.
He stared at the reply for a long moment. The faint ripple of the bathwater was the only sound left in the room.
Then slowly, like someone crawling out from under rubble, he exhaled and leaned back against the cold tile wall.
What if it mattered?
The thought came quiet at first, like a whisper under all the noise in his head.
What if that fisherman hadn't been just another piece of some endless, unchangeable past? What if stopping him meant something? If—if that moment, that choice, rewrote even a single line of history?
He thought of Yasuhiro's scarred hands, Tsukasa's watchful gaze and the way they were prepared to sacrifice themselves for Akiko.
They didn't deserve to vanish into footnotes.
Something had changed—he had changed. And if there was even the slightest chance that history had shifted along with him… he had to know.
Not tomorrow. Not someday.
Today.
The answer would be waiting for him in that museum, in Ueno Park.
No time to waste. He got out of the tub, unplugged the drain, and dried off in a hurry, the cool bathroom air clinging to his skin. As he walked toward the wardrobe, water still dripping from his hair, the thoughts came quicker now—sharper, clearer.
Maybe he really had saved them.
Maybe Yasuhiro was alive. Maybe Tsukasa would make it home. Maybe… maybe Akiko was safe, and breathing, and laughing somewhere in that world because of what he did.
He paused with his hand on the closet handle, a slow smile creeping across his face. The thought of seeing them again—of hearing Akiko's voice, of knowing she was okay—it made something warm flicker in his chest. For the first time since waking up, he felt something close to excitement.
Maybe he'd helped her. Maybe he'd changed everything.
He decided on his clothes—nothing flashy, just something familiar. A black hoodie with NASA printed across the front, slightly faded from too many washes. Normal jeans. And a navy-blue baseball cap—the one Kazuki gave him. It had his favourite team's logo on it… he thinks. Honestly, he never watched baseball, but Kazuki did, and that was enough.
It was 07:30 now. He wandered over to the fridge and opened it, half-expecting disappointment. But there they were. Three onigiri neatly stacked in the corner, each wrapped in plastic with a bright red label in his handwriting: DO NOT EAT.
Akiko had listened. A small, grateful breath slipped out as he grabbed one for now and slid the others into his bag for later. He added a half-empty bottle of Pocari Sweat, still cold. Then came his keys, his wallet, and the familiar shuffle of his shoes at the genkan.
With the door closing behind him, the morning light spilling down the stairwell, he felt his heart beat with purpose for the first time in hours.
Next stop: The Tokyo National Museum in Ueno Park.
He walked toward the train station, relieved by how light the crowds were. It made sense; it wasn't rush hour like it usually was when he'd be on the packed morning trains. But today, everything felt quieter, almost like he had the world to himself. A few stops, and he'd be there.
Sora fished out his wallet, confirming he still had enough for the entrance fee. The student discount would be nice if he could get a card at the self-checkout, though he wasn't sure if that would be possible. Otherwise, they'd definitely notice he was a student skipping class.
After a few moments of weighing his options, he stepped off at Ueno Station and walked toward Ueno Park.
Is Tsuka okay? Is Yasu? Had he really saved them? The questions bounced around in his mind, making his stomach churn. What if he'd just made everything more complicated? What if he'd changed things so much that it made their mission impossible?
A small hope crept up. I hope it doesn't come back on Akiko.
The early morning sun filtered through the trees, casting streaks of light across the path. It was unusually silent for a spring morning, the air still and heavy, no wind to stir the leaves. He felt like he was walking through an empty world.
When he reached the museum, he stood before the sliding doors, which opened with a soft whoosh. The usually quiet museum seemed even emptier today. He noticed there was no self-checkout available—shit.
He walked up to the register, a nagging sense of unease tightening his chest. The older woman behind the counter hardly looked up as she processed his ticket. "750 yen," she said, not bothered in the slightest.
Sora took the ticket and pocketed it, barely feeling the weight of it in his hand. Let's hope this is the last time I have to pay for one of these... His thoughts turned back to what had happened, to that moment in the boat.
With a shaky breath, he walked into the museum, the feeling of impending change still heavy on his mind.
Sora wandered through the museum, his feet dragging slightly as his mind raced. The feeling of an unseen force, pulling him away from the exhibit he so desperately wanted to see, hung over him like a fog. Every step toward the section that housed the skeletons, his chest tightened. It was like something was telling him not to go there, that he might find something he wasn't ready for.
He turned down a different hallway, seeking a distraction. His eyes skimmed over the exhibits in a daze—ancient pottery, tools, and sculptures from long-forgotten eras. Each item seemed to whisper stories from the past, voices of people who had lived centuries before him. But for a moment, it was enough to just look, to focus on something that wasn't the suffocating weight of his own questions.
The next room was filled with early Japanese armour—displayed in neat rows, glinting under the soft museum lighting. Sora paused in front of a suit, examining its intricacy. It was astounding how much effort had gone into creating these pieces of history. The metal plates, lacquered to perfection, seemed so heavy, yet so elegant. He ran his fingers lightly over the glass display, as if he could feel the weight of those who once wore them. He wondered if Akiko had ever worn something like this, a warrior's armour.
Moving on, he found himself in front of a large, detailed map of ancient Japan. It depicted the many warring states, the borders constantly shifting over time. He marvelled at how much had changed, how history was shaped by the ebb and flow of conflict, alliances, and betrayals. For a moment, he tried to imagine what Akiko's life had been like in that world—what it would be like to live in constant fear of war and political manoeuvring. How would someone like her survive in a world so different from his own?
Sora's thoughts drifted as he passed by exhibits of ancient calligraphy, tools used by artisans long since forgotten, and scrolls of wisdom passed down through the centuries. His anxiety slowly began to ebb, replaced by a quiet fascination. There was something oddly calming about seeing all these remnants of history, knowing that no matter how much time passed, they would still remain.
After a few minutes, his racing thoughts quieted, and he felt a little more cantered. He could almost pretend, for a moment, that everything was normal again. But the pull of that one exhibit, the question of whether history had changed, was never far from his mind.
When the final piece of the exhibit came, Sora finally felt steady enough to face what he had been avoiding. The deep breath he took before stepping back into the Timeline Through Japan exhibit felt heavier than usual, as if each step was laden with uncertainty. His footsteps echoed lightly in the quiet museum as he passed by the delicate display of a Fujiwara lady's robes, so fine and regal, they seemed to whisper secrets of a past long gone. His eyes caught the intricate map of Heian-kyō, the city that Akiko had called home, and for a fleeting moment, he wondered if she had ever walked those very streets.
But he didn't stop. Not this time. Not until he reached the corner.
His heart quickened, his breath shallow, as he came to the place that had been haunting him ever since the moment he had left the boat. The space where it all began. The skeletons of Akiko, Yasuhiro, and Tsukasa had been displayed here, behind glass cases, lifeless and cold, in stark contrast to the vibrant, living world of history Sora had been trying to understand.
The corner was quiet now, almost too quiet. For a moment, it felt like time stood still. He could almost feel the air thicken with tension, as if the very walls of the museum were holding their breath, waiting for him to make this decision.
He glanced at the display of the Fujiwara lady's robes one last time. Her image, so far removed from his own world, faded into the background. His eyes locked onto the corner where the skeletons had once stood, hoping, praying, that something had changed.
Sora felt his chest tighten, his thoughts swirling. Had he really changed history? Or had he simply made a mess of things? What if, by killing the fisherman, he had only made things worse? The cold dread in his stomach began to rise again, but he swallowed it down.
Sora's breath caught in his throat as he stepped closer to the exhibit. The world around him seemed to slow, each step heavy, the noise of the museum distant and muffled as if the walls were closing in on him. His vision blurred slightly, his thoughts a tangled mess of disbelief and dread. The corners of his eyes grew darker, his heart pounding in his chest.
There it was. The display he had been desperately avoiding.
Behind the glass, the skeletons of Akiko, Yasuhiro, and Tsukasa were just as they had been. Just as they had been when he first saw them—the same cold, lifeless remains, frozen in their final positions. The dull, empty gaze of Akiko's skull stared out at him, as if mocking his every effort, every ounce of energy he had poured into that night. The bones of Yasuhiro and Tsukasa were unchanged as well, positioned exactly as they had been.
It hit him all at once. The weight of the world crashing down on him. He took another step forward, but the sound of his footfalls felt far away, swallowed up by a deep, unrelenting silence. His throat tightened, and his hands balled into fists at his sides, the anger and despair roiling within him. All the time, all the pain, all the confusion—it had been for nothing.
His fingers trembled as he reached out toward the glass, but his gaze never wavered from the skeletal remains before him. Everything he had done—every decision, every moment of panic, every action—had meant nothing. The fisherman, the blood, the struggle… It had all been in vain. They were still dead. Nothing had changed.
A sense of hopelessness gripped him like an iron vice. His chest tightened with a sickening ache. He had tried to save them. He had tried so damn hard. But this? This was his failure. This was the consequence of a choice he had made without fully understanding the cost.
He stood there for what felt like an eternity, staring at the display. His eyes blurred with tears, but he refused to blink. Refused to let them fall. The skeletal remains of Akiko, Yasuhiro, and Tsukasa remained unchanged, indifferent to his pain, indifferent to his struggle.
Sora's world had come crashing down around him, could he really not save them?
Sora sat on the stone bench outside the museum, his body leaning forward slightly as he absentmindedly picked at the onigiri he'd brought with him. The rice was cold, the seaweed limp, but he barely noticed it. His mind was empty, like a river carrying everything he felt downstream, until all that was left was a calm, dull emptiness. The whole day seemed to drift by without him even realizing it—like time was sliding past him, unnoticed. His thoughts, once frantic and full of hope, had quieted into a hollow ache.
The soft spring sun warmed his face, but it felt like a cruel reminder. It wasn't supposed to be this way. He had fought for something, for them, and here he was, alone, sitting in the shadow of his failure. He thought about Akiko, about the fisherman, about the fight that should have changed everything, but it hadn't. His failure sat heavy in his chest, and the sunlight that should have felt comforting instead felt like a mockery of the warmth he thought he deserved.
He took another bite of the onigiri, chewing slowly but tasting nothing, until a buzzing sound pulled him out of his stupor. His phone vibrated in his pocket.
Sora pulled it out, squinting at the screen, his thumb hovering over the notification as he saw Asuka's name. The text message was short, but it hit him like a wave.
Sora, are you okay? I heard you're home sick, I'm coming over and not taking no for an answer. I got some soup that will make you feel right better!
Sora stared at the message for a long moment, the weight of it settling on him like a brick. Shit, if she's coming over… He cursed under his breath. He couldn't let her see him like this. He had to make it look believable.
His mind scrambled for a plan, but there wasn't time. Just get home and act sick, he told himself, he might actually feel sick now. The whole world inside of him felt completely out of place anyway.
He stood up slowly, wiping the crumbs from his hoodie, and walked toward the train station. The city felt even more distant now, like he was walking through a dream that didn't quite fit, everything blurry and off-kilter. His footsteps echoed in the streets as he made his way through Ueno Park, heading for the station. The breeze was calm, but there was a slight chill to it now, a sign that the afternoon was creeping into evening. He could see the faint orange glow of sunset hanging just beyond the buildings, but it didn't make him feel anything. He only kept moving, the weight of the day on his shoulders.
The train ride was quiet. Sora sat by the window, staring out at the passing cityscape, his reflection faint in the glass. The buildings blurred by, each one familiar but distant, as though they belonged to someone else. The train hummed steadily beneath him, but all he could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat, thumping in his ears. The usual rush of the station's energy, the chatter of people around him, seemed to fade into the background. He was there, but he wasn't.
When the train finally reached his stop, Sora got off and walked towards the exit, his steps slower now, the weight of the impending encounter with Asuka heavy on his chest. The evening air was cooler, and he tugged his hoodie tighter as he passed through the automatic doors of the station.
By the time he reached his apartment, he was already in full-on "pretend mode," trying to push the heaviness from his mind. He didn't want to face Asuka with this—whatever this was. He didn't know how to make things feel normal, but he had to try.
As Sora walked up the stairs to his apartment, his phone buzzed again. He glanced at the screen, seeing another message from Asuka:
I'm almost there, so be ready in 5 minutes, okay?
Sora took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. There was no escaping this now.
He entered his apartment, the familiar scent of his place grounding him, but it felt foreign today. The notes he'd left for Akiko were still stuck to various surfaces—reminders, scribbled instructions, messages for a girl who'd lived in his skin just hours ago. They had to go. He moved quickly, tearing them from the walls, the fridge, the counter, stuffing them into the trash without a second thought. The sharp sound of paper ripping filled the room as he cleared away every trace of the day before.
Once the apartment was as clear as he could make it, Sora shuffled to his bed, pulling the covers up around him. His heart was beating faster than it should, the weight of what had happened still pressing down on him. He picked up his phone with trembling hands and sent a quick message to Asuka.
The door is open.
A response came almost immediately.
Okay, I'll be there in a sec.
Sora dropped his phone onto the bed and leaned back, closing his eyes. He tried to steady his breathing, but nothing could quite quiet the storm in his chest. Less than a minute later, a soft knock came at the door.
"Come in," he called out, his voice thick with a mixture of exhaustion and the rawness of everything that had happened. He didn't really want to see Asuka—not now, not with the weight of what he had done hanging over him—but she had invited herself in. You couldn't say no to a girl who wanted to take care of you when you were sick.
The door creaked open, and Sora heard her steps on the hardwood floor before she appeared in the doorway, holding a steaming bowl of soup.
"Hey," Asuka said, her voice warm and slightly teasing. "I brought you some soup, just like I promised." Her smile was soft, but there was a trace of concern in her eyes that made Sora feel like he was drowning in guilt. She stepped into the room, the door closing quietly behind her.
Sora sat up slightly, forcing a smile. "Thanks, Asuka."
She put the bowl on his nightstand, then took a seat beside him on the bed. "You look like crap," she remarked bluntly, a small laugh escaping her lips. "Are you sure you're okay?"
Sora didn't respond immediately. His gaze dropped to the bowl of soup, the steam rising like some kind of fragile illusion. Everything in his body screamed to tell her the truth—to tell her what had happened, what he'd seen, the horrors he'd lived through. But that would make everything real, and he wasn't ready for that. Not yet.
Instead, he forced himself to swallow, his throat tight. "I'm fine, just... just need a little rest."
The lie felt like it was tearing him apart from the inside, but he couldn't let her know. Not now.
Asuka studied him for a moment, then sighed, clearly unconvinced. "I don't know, Sora. You really scared me when you didn't come to class this morning. It's not like you to just disappear like that."
Sora rubbed his face, trying to mask the panic rising within him. The lie was getting harder to keep up with. "I just... needed some time to myself."
"Yeah, I get it," Asuka said, her voice softening. "But you've got to stop doing this to yourself. Let people help you, okay?"
He nodded, unable to say anything more. He didn't want her help. Not in the way she thought. Not when the truth of everything felt like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.
Sora took a deep breath, then glanced at her. "You really don't have to stay, though. I'm fine now. You can... go back."
But Asuka didn't move. She just looked at him, a subtle shake of her head telling him everything he needed to know.
"You're not fine, Sora. But that's okay. You don't have to be perfect." She smiled again, the warmth in her eyes unmistakable. "Let me stay with you for a bit. I'm not going anywhere."
Sora stared at her, feeling a lump form in his throat. She didn't know it, but this simple act of kindness was the only thing keeping him from falling apart. She had no idea what he had seen, what he had done. She didn't know how badly he'd failed.
The silence stretched between them, the air heavy with the unspoken words that hung in the room. Asuka sat beside Sora, her presence a quiet comfort, her gaze lingering on him with an intensity that made Sora feel exposed, like she could see the storm raging inside his chest. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. There was nothing he could say to make things better.
Minutes ticked by, the only sound the soft ticking of the clock on the wall and the occasional creak of the floor as Asuka shifted slightly, making herself comfortable. Sora wasn't sure if it was the weight of his thoughts or the silence between them, but it felt like a lifetime had passed before he felt her hand on his shoulder.
Then, without warning, Asuka reached over and wrapped her arms around him in a gentle, tight hug. Sora froze for a moment, not expecting it, not knowing how to react. Her warmth seeped through him, and he felt the tension in his body begin to ease—if only just a little.
"I know you're not sick," she said softly, her voice steady and full of care. "But whatever it is you're going through... Kazuki and I both are here for you. And whatever it is, Sora, you can do it. Don't give up, okay?"
Her words, simple as they were, hit him harder than anything else. Sora's chest tightened, and for the first time since he'd woken up in his own body, he felt the smallest flicker of hope. He wasn't alone. Not anymore.
She pulled back slowly, her eyes soft but unwavering. "I'll be here, whenever you need me," she said, before standing up to leave.
Sora didn't say anything as she moved toward the door. He didn't trust his voice to hold steady. But as she opened the door, she looked back once more, offering him a quiet smile.
"I'll check in on you tomorrow, okay? Rest up."
With that, she stepped out, leaving Sora alone in his room, the silence swallowing him once again.
He sat there for a moment, staring at the door where she had left, the weight of her words sinking in. The emptiness that had settled in his chest didn't seem so heavy anymore. It was still there, of course—the crushing feeling of failure, the haunting question of whether what he'd done had even mattered—but now, there was something else.
Hope.
Sora leaned back against the pillows, closing his eyes. I can do this. It's not over. Not yet.
He thought about waking up in Akiko's body again. About finding a way to make things right. About the next time, when he would fix it—no matter how impossible it seemed. He would try again. He had to. For Akiko. For Tsukasa and Yasuhiro. For everything.
The exhaustion from the past few days finally hit him, his mind spinning less and less with each passing second. He shifted under the covers, pulling them tight around him, and let his body relax. His eyelids grew heavy, and the soft hum of the world outside became a distant murmur in his ears.
He didn't have all the answers. But he knew one thing: next time he woke up as Akiko, he would fix it.
With that thought, his body gave in to the weariness, and he drifted into a deep, much-needed sleep.