There are times in life that make who you are, not in your achievements, but in the way you respond to humiliation.
Kaito Fujimura did not wish to be noticed. Did not wish to be recognised. But here he stood, in the eye of the rumour storm, battered from the beating he did not instigate, suspended for defending whatever no one comprehended, least of all himself.
But Arisa Kanzuki realized.
And that terrified her more than anything else.
_____________-
The Monday after his suspension, Kaito returned to school with his head low and his heart braced for impact.
He lasted six minutes.
A message was scrawled across his locker in thick red marker:
Accessory Boy—Handle With Care
The ink dripped like blood.
Whispers followed him down the hallway. Snickers behind hands. Photos. Video edits. A remix of him ducking Ren's punch had already made it into a meme format with fake sound effects.
And someone—bless their creativity—had made stickers of him holding shopping bags labelled "Timekeeper's Pet."
He wanted to sink through the floor.
Arisa wasn't in homeroom that morning. Or second period. Or even the third, where she usually walked past his class with perfect timing and gave him a look only he could read.
By lunch, he was alone again.
And that hurt more than the bruises.
But Arisa had seen the locker.
She'd seen the stickers. The whispers. The rising tide of shame around Kaito was like ink spreading in water.
And she had made a decision.
No. Not again.
She wouldn't let someone else unravel because of her.
Not Kaito.
Not this time.
She found him outside near the old gym, hunched on the stone steps, picking at a bent paperclip in his palm like it held the answers to the universe.
"You didn't show up," he said without looking at her.
"I had something to prepare," she replied.
Kaito turned to her. His eyes were tired, but still sharp. "You're going to rewind it, aren't you?"
Arisa nodded. "I have to."
He stood abruptly. "Don't."
She blinked. "Why not?"
"Because it happened. I was humiliated. I was laughed at. But at least it was real. If you rewind it, you're just covering it up. Again."
She looked at him, pain flickering across her otherwise calm features. "You don't understand what they're saying about you."
"I don't care anymore. Let them say it. Let them meme it. If we keep hiding behind rewinds, nothing is real."
"I'm not hiding," she said quietly. "I'm protecting."
"And where does that stop, Arisa? Where do you stop?"
She didn't answer.
Because she didn't know.
But later that afternoon, Kaito opened his locker.
And the writing was gone.
The stickers? Gone.
The hallway? Quiet.
His name? Forgotten.
As if it had never happened.
And he knew.
She'd done it anyway.
Meanwhile, Arisa stood at the centre of the old observatory on the school roof—alone, the wind rushing around her.
She had triggered a controlled rewind.
Sixty seconds. Contained on the fourth floor.
Just enough to undo the locker defacement and shift memory fog over the morning's events.
But something was wrong.
The air shimmered longer than usual.
She could feel the earrings pulsing erratically against her skin.
And when she opened her eyes, the sky was tinted—just slightly—too blue.
Birds flew backwards for three seconds before righting themselves.
The leaves on the trees outside the biology wing uncurled, then furled again like film run in reverse.
And a student—a girl Arisa barely knew—walked in a circle twice, her eyes glassy, before collapsing against the vending machine and blinking in confusion.
The rewind hadn't stayed contained.
Arisa staggered.
Her hands shook.
That evening, she found Kaito again—this time behind the old science building, the place they'd first spoken after his accidental lock-in.
"You rewound it," he said softly.
She didn't deny it.
"It was already spiralling. If I hadn't…"
"Then I would've survived it," he said. "Like a normal person."
Arisa leaned against the railing, her expression unreadable.
"I used to think the earrings gave me control," she said. "That I could fix anything. Rewind the worst parts. Polish my life like editing a film."
"You've done that for years?"
"Yes. For speeches. For perfect exam scores. For keeping up appearances. For—" she paused—"for stopping grief from sinking in."
He looked at her carefully. "Grief?"
She didn't answer that.
Instead, she whispered, "But today… Something changed."
"What happened?"
Her hands curled into fists. "The rewind spread."
"Spread?"
"Beyond my tether. Beyond the time window. I think it latched onto anything emotional."
He swallowed. "Is that new?"
"It's not supposed to happen at all."
They were silent for a long moment.
Then Kaito asked, "What if the earrings are… breaking?"
She looked up, her eyes stormy. "Or I am."
The admission hung between them.
Not a threat.
Not a plea.
Just the truth.
She was unravelling—bit by bit.
Later that night, Aya found something strange while researching Arisa's family.
In an old archive from a discontinued local newspaper, she found a photo from ten years ago. A funeral. Rain-soaked. A black umbrella with gold trim.
The caption read:
"Memorial service for the Kanzuki Matriarch—tragically lost during the attempted containment of a family heirloom."
And in the photo, barely visible, stood a young girl.
Arisa.
Wearing only one black earring.
And behind her?
A boy who looked eerily like Kaito.