Chapter 3: A Moment Unchanged

Renji stood frozen in the hallway of his childhood home, staring at the door to his sister's room. His fingers gripped the doorknob, yet he couldn't bring himself to open it.

This was impossible.

This was before everything had gone wrong.

The soft hum of the melody—the lullaby Saya used to sing to herself before bedtime—filled the silence around him. The warm, golden light seeping from under the door was the same as it had been that night. The smell of fresh laundry, the faint traces of his mother's perfume… it all felt so real. So alive.

His heart raced. His mind screamed for him to open the door and take a step forward. To stop the accident, to save her.

But what if it wasn't real? What if this wasn't the past?

"Renji…?"

The voice behind him—so soft, so innocent—made his blood run cold.

He turned slowly.

Saya stood there, looking exactly as she had that night. In her pajamas, her hair messy from sleep, her wide eyes gazing at him with confusion.

"Renji, are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Her smile was warm. Genuine. She was there, standing in front of him, just as she had been the night before everything had changed. The night he hadn't been able to protect her.

A lump formed in his throat. He couldn't speak. The words he'd practiced for months—the words he never thought he'd have the chance to say—stuck in his chest.

But then, something about her smile faltered.

Saya stepped forward, eyes narrowing slightly. "Renji? You're not acting like yourself. You're shaking."

Renji swallowed hard. This is wrong.

"Please, Saya… don't go to bed yet," he finally managed to whisper. His voice felt weak, pleading. "I—there's something I need to tell you."

Saya tilted her head, a flicker of concern in her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, a loud sound—a crash, followed by a series of screams—ripped through the house.

Renji's heart stopped.

Saya gasped, her eyes wide with fear. "What was that?"

But before he could even react, the walls around him began to warp. The warmth of the room disappeared, and the world twisted again, pulling him away from his sister's face, from his desperate attempt to keep the night from repeating itself.

"Renji!"

The voice was distant, but it was Mikoto's.

He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the changing scenery.

And there, standing by the edge of the bridge at Kageri Lake, Mikoto looked at him with an unreadable expression. Her silver pocket watch hung loosely from her wrist.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" she asked, her tone detached but curious.

Renji's breath hitched. He felt the weight of what he had just experienced press down on him. His chest ached with the weight of loss—of memories too painful to relive.

"I… I didn't change anything," he murmured, looking back at the bridge. "I couldn't."

Mikoto's gaze softened, just for a moment. "The bridge gives you a chance to relive things, not to change them. You're still you. But with every step you take, you risk losing more of what you are."

Renji's mind was a mess of confusion. "What's the point of that? If I can't save her—if I can't make things right—then what am I supposed to do?"

Mikoto stepped closer, her voice calm but heavy. "The point isn't to save someone else, Renji. It's to understand your own choices."

Renji clenched his fists. "What does that even mean?"

"You can't undo the past," Mikoto said softly. "But you can accept it. Only then can you move forward."

The wind shifted, the twilight deepening around them, and Renji felt something inside him—a weight lifting. The pull of the bridge was no longer a promise of redemption, but a reminder of the cost of changing what was already lost.

"Do you want to go back?" Mikoto asked. "You still can. But remember, the more you cross this bridge, the less of you will remain."

Renji took one last look at the endless dusk, at the faded outlines of his memories lingering like ghosts. Then, with a slow exhale, he shook his head.

"I'm done trying to change the past."

For the first time in a long while, he felt a strange sense of clarity. Not victory. Not defeat. But the acceptance of something he had been avoiding.

Mikoto gave a small nod. "Then let's walk forward."

And together, they left the bridge behind, walking into the unknown.