"What do you call a man with honor, anyone?"
The teacher's voice echoed across the room, dry and expectant. A few students exchanged glances, others scribbled in their notebooks, too disengaged to respond.
"Hmm... Luca, what about you?"
Luca sat near the window, head resting against his hand, eyes half-lidded like he hadn't slept in weeks. He looked up slowly, his voice calm and detached.
"A man with honor... is a man without pride."
The class fell into silence. Some students blinked, unsure how to respond. Even the teacher paused.
After a beat, Mister Fredrick raised an eyebrow. "Luca... quite the answer. Where did you hear that?"
Luca shrugged, grabbing his bag as the bell rang. "On the spot, I guess."
He left without another word, stepping into the fading light of a cloudy afternoon. The streets were gray, the world still, like a stage waiting for its actors. Each footstep echoed louder than it should have.
He turned onto the familiar corner near his apartment, hands in his pockets. His face was calm, but his steps slowed as he approached the crosswalk.
Then he whispered to no one, "It should happen... now."
CRACK.
The bullet tore through his skull. A clean shot. He collapsed onto the sidewalk as passersby screamed and scattered. Blood pooled across the concrete. Sirens wailed. Lights blurred.
Darkness.
"Hello. My name is Luca Medricks."
"And I have been repeating the same day for seven years."
The world rewound.
A desk. A classroom. Mister Fredrick. The question. The students. The same tired faces.
"What do you call a man with honor, anyone?"
Luca didn't answer this time.
You'd think seven years repeating the same day would drive someone mad. Maybe it did. He lost track of what counted as sane a long time ago. He tried everything—confession, rebellion, isolation, even suicide. Nothing stopped the reset.
Die? Restart.Leave the country? The plane explodes mid-air.Try to hide? Someone finds him.Go out in public? He was kidnapped once. Only once. That was new. He remembers that day clearly—because it ended differently. Almost. But not enough.
Every decision branches out and loops back like a cruel joke.
And every loop ends the same way.
Shot in the head. Every. Single. Time.
"I've memorized every breath of this city, every glance people make, every inch of this street. I've tried saving people. Ignoring people. Killing people. Loving them. Doesn't matter. The clock resets. My death is the signal."
He paused as he walked through the hallway again, watching students laugh and talk as if their world wasn't paper-thin. It was strange how predictable chaos became after so long. You stop fearing it. You start expecting it.
He passed by his locker. Opened it. Same crumpled schedule, same photo taped inside. A memory that didn't matter anymore.
He walked the route home like he always did. The same crosswalk. The same cold breeze. The same looming sense of finality.
As he turned the corner, he glanced up.
"Any second now..."
The world slowed.
A glint on a rooftop.
CRACK.
Darkness again.
But this time, before the reset...
A voice.
"You're getting closer, Luca."
His eyes snapped open, gasping as he sat up in the classroom again.
Mister Fredrick turned to the class. "What do you call a man with honor?"
Luca didn't say a word.
But this time, he was listening for something else.
For the first time in years...
Something had changed.