After a dozen more minutes of driving, we finally arrived back in our neighborhood. Kagetsu parked near their house, and we all got out.
"See you guys later," I waved as I walked home, passing through the metal gate and stepping inside.
I kicked off my shoes. "I'm home!" I called out, letting my mom know I was back.
"Hey, Zane! So, how did it go?" she asked, appearing from around the corner.
"It went great! Kagetsu and I actually passed the exam," I said as I headed toward the staircase.
"I knew you could do it, son. I'm so proud of you," she said, her smile warm and heartening.
Back in my old world, I never heard words like that from my mother.
A smile crept onto my face despite myself. I had always been treated like I didn't matter—no matter how hard I worked, I fell behind other kids. I was the "troubled kid" other parents warned their children about.
That's probably why she never felt proud of me. She never had a reason.
I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower, letting memories wash over me.
A distant past.
A ten-year-old boy sat at a desk, papers scattered everywhere. The room was dark; the only light came from a single lamp. He scribbled furiously onto the sheets.
"I'll get a good grade and make Mom proud of me," the young boy whispered, determination shining in his eyes.
Unknown to him, an eye watched through the doorway. His mother observed silently, her expression a mixture of anger and annoyance.
"I wish he was never born," she mumbled under her breath.
The next day arrived in a blur. During the test, questions I thought I had memorized now seemed alien. It was as if all my studying had been for nothing.
When the results were handed back, I eagerly awaited my grade.
"Zane, come up and take your paper," the male teacher called.
I walked forward and took it, heart racing. My grade: a measly 40%.
The teacher shook his head in disappointment. "Zane, you need to work harder."
I didn't care. Forty percent was better than usual. I skipped home in quiet joy, thinking maybe, just maybe, my mother would finally be proud.
I ran into her arms, paper in hand. "Mom! Mom, look at what I got!"
She took it, her cold eyes scanning the grade. Then, without a shred of warmth, she said, "Is this the best you could do? I should have listened to myself and gotten an abortion."
She crumpled the paper and tossed it in the trash. "Talk to me when you're not a disappointment," she added, her words slicing deeper than any blade.
The smile vanished from my face. In its place, an empty, emotionless expression settled in. I carried that look throughout elementary and middle school. No matter how hard I tried, nothing changed. Other parents said I was destined to be worthless—and they weren't wrong. I tried harder than anyone else, yet always ended up last.
By the first year of high school, I had given up. I became the silent kid in the back, fading into the background. Those memories shaped me into a quiet, seemingly lazy boy who no longer expected praise or recognition.
That lazy, worthless guy isn't who I am anymore, I thought, closing the blinds of my room. Today had exhausted me completely.
Dressed in black pajamas, I slid into bed, pulling the blanket over me. Sleep came quickly.
When I opened my eyes, I was falling through a vast, endless sky, bathed in the yellow-orange hues of sunset. There was nothing—no land, no sea, no trees—just me, suspended in the void.
Ahead, dozens of golden pocket watches; some were surrounding me and some hovered in the air. No matter how far I fell, they all remained fixed, unshaken. Their hands inched toward twelve, each tick echoing like a heartbeat counting down to something inevitable.
As the hands aligned at twelve, a familiar chime resonated:
"Tick… Tock… Tick… Tock… Ding—"
I jolted awake, drenched in sweat, my stomach twisting in nausea. I stumbled toward the bathroom, hand over my mouth. The hallway was dark; night had arrived.
I fumbled for the light switch, finally illuminating the room, and rushed to the toilet just in time to vomit. My back pressed against the cold porcelain as I fished my phone from my pocket.
The time displayed: 12:00 PM.
The exact moment from my dream.
"What is happening…" I murmured, lowering my phone and staring blankly at the ceiling.