The noise was endless—an unrestrained, youthful chaos that filled every corner of the campus like a living thing.
Fresh-year students crowded the wide orientation hall and spilled into the open corridors beyond, their voices overlapping in excited bursts. Laughter rang out when old high school classmates spotted one another unexpectedly, disbelief quickly turning into shrieks and half-running embraces. Some clutched their orientation booklets like lifelines, others already tossed them aside, far more interested in gossip than guidance.
"This place is huge!" "I didn't think you'd get in here!" "Did you see the seniors? They look so cool—"
It was vibrant. Alive. Painfully alive.
Lian Yu stood among them, yet utterly apart.
He didn't need a guidebook. Didn't need the campus map projected on the screen, nor the overly enthusiastic senior volunteers waving signs and shouting directions. Every building, every shortcut, every shaded bench—he knew them all. He had walked these paths before, not as a nervous freshman, but as a man already worn down by regret.
The only reason he was here—standing obediently through orientation like a model student—was righteousness.
A performance.
He needed to look normal. Harmless. Like a boy at the beginning of his life, not a man who had already watched everything he loved be buried six feet under. If fate was watching him closely—and he suspected it was—then he would play his role properly.
But his heart wasn't in the lecture hall.
It was elsewhere.
With her.
Ciao Ren.
The name echoed softly in his chest, heavier than the noise around him. He remembered it clearly now—she was a senior here. A graduating senior. Brilliant enough to have left long before him, yet she hadn't.
She had stayed.
Intentionally.
She delayed her graduation, endured extra semesters, additional paperwork, the quiet whispers of people who didn't understand—just so she could graduate alongside him.
So they could stand under the same sky, wearing the same academic robes, smiling for the same camera.
Love really was blind.
Back then, he had thought it was romantic.
A small sacrifice. Something she chose willingly.
Now, standing here again with the weight of the future pressing against his spine, it felt like a crime.
That wasn't the main concern—no, not right now.
He corrected himself silently.
The real question burned far deeper.
Why was he back?
His mind drifted, unbidden, to that night—the night that no longer existed yet still haunted him as if it had happened only yesterday. Luo had come to him then, his expression complicated, his voice heavy with things left unsaid.
"I was invited to a party," Lian Yu said to himself rubbing his temple. "I drank a few… and the next thing—"
He had paused, frowning, as if even his own memory resisted him.
"—poof. I came back."
Came back.
Those words echoed now, weaving through the noise of the lecture hall like a thread only Lian Yu could hear.
Was it the alcohol? A coincidence? Or something else entirely?
Lian Yu didn't believe in coincidences
anymore. Not after everything that had gone wrong so perfectly, so cruelly. If he had been dragged back into the past, then there was a reason for it—whether it was redemption, punishment, or a twisted joke from fate itself.
Perhaps the answer was simpler than he feared.
Perhaps he was sent back because his life had been unbearable to witness.
Because the man he became—empty, hollow, kneeling before a grave every week—was never meant to exist.
The lecture finally began. A professor's voice echoed through the hall, steady and practiced, explaining university rules, expectations, and the importance of discipline. Slides changed. Pens scribbled.
Phones buzzed discreetly.
Lian Yu listened—half-heartedly.
On the surface, he appeared attentive, eyes forward, posture straight. But behind his calm exterior, his mind was racing, weaving possibilities and outcomes like a chessboard laid bare before him.
What could be changed? What was fixed? What events were unavoidable—and which ones had once only happened because of his neglect?
Somewhere on this campus, Ciao Ren was still alive.
Breathing. Walking. Smiling at the world he had once failed to protect.
That thought alone made his chest tighten.
Whatever the reason for his return—divine mercy, karmic debt, or sheer anomaly—one truth stood firm in his heart:
This time, he would not be absent.
This time, he would watch every step. Make every choice count. And if fate intended to repeat itself—
He would break it with his own hands.
----
Just two weeks after his rebirth—if that was truly what this cruel miracle could be called—Lian Yu met Ciao Ren again.
The campus was drenched in late-summer light, the kind that made everything look deceptively gentle. Trees cast broken shadows across the stone pathways, their leaves whispering softly as students passed beneath them. The air smelled faintly of books, dust, and freshly brewed coffee drifting from a nearby café. Life was moving forward at its usual, careless pace.
And then—there she was.
Ciao Ren stood near the steps of one of the academic buildings, her back half-turned as she spoke to a friend. Her hair was tied loosely, a few strands escaping to brush against her cheek. She looked thinner than he remembered, younger too—untouched by exhaustion, grief, or quiet disappointment. She was alive in a way that pierced straight through his chest.
For a moment, Lian Yu forgot everything.
The rules. The timeline. The fact that this version of her had not yet met him.
All he saw was the woman he had buried.
Before reason could catch up, his legs were already moving.
He crossed the distance between them in seconds, arms wrapping around her with a force born of loss and desperation. He held her as if letting go would mean losing her forever—again.
"Ren… you're back," he breathed, his voice breaking despite himself. "I missed you. I missed you so much."
His grip tightened unconsciously, fingers curling into the fabric of her clothes, as if she might vanish the moment he loosened them. Her warmth was real. Her heartbeat—alive.
He was shaking.
But in his rush of relief and overwhelming emotion, he failed to notice the stiffness in her body.
The way her breath hitched—not from recognition, but from shock.
Slowly, deliberately, Ciao Ren pulled back just enough to look at him. There was no warmth in her eyes. No familiarity. Only confusion… and faint irritation.
"Who are you?" she asked coolly. "Do I know you?"
The words hit him harder than any slap ever could.
A bell rang in his head—sharp, deafening, long overdue.
Shit.
Reality crashed down all at once.
Of course she didn't know him. Not yet. In this timeline, they wouldn't truly meet until his second year. Right now, they were nothing more than strangers who shared the same campus.
Just university mates.
The color drained from his face as realization sank in. He released her abruptly, stepping back as if burned.
"I—sorry," he stammered, his mouth suddenly dry. "I… I thought you were someone else."
But before he could say anything more, pain exploded in his chest.
Not the emotional kind.
This was sharp. Brutal. As if something inside him had clenched and refused to let go. The air was knocked from his lungs in a silent gasp. His vision blurred at the edges.
At first, he tried to endure it.
Be a man. Stand straight. Don't show weakness—especially not in front of her.
But the pain didn't care about pride.
It worsened with every heartbeat, radiating outward until his fingers trembled
uncontrollably. He clutched at his chest, nails digging into his shirt as if he could tear the agony out by force.
Across from him, Ciao Ren frowned briefly, her gaze lingering on him for a second longer than necessary. But whatever sympathy might have flickered there vanished just as quickly. To her, he was nothing more than a strange junior acting out an overdramatic scene.
With a slight shake of her head, she turned away.
Leaving him alone.
The world tilted.
Why does it hurt this much?
His thoughts came sluggishly now, tangled and incoherent.
Did I have a heart condition in the past?
No.
He remembered clearly—his health had been fine. Not exceptional, but good enough. Good enough to live long. Good enough not to collapse at twenty-one like this.
Then why—
The pain surged violently, stealing his breath. He cried out, the sound torn from his throat before he could stop it. His knees buckled, and the sky above blurred into an indistinct wash of light and shadow.
Voices filtered in—faint, distorted, as if coming from underwater.
"Hey—are you okay?" "Wake up!"
"Someone call an ambulance!"
One voice stood out among the chaos.
Familiar.
So painfully familiar that it made his chest ache for a different reason altogether.
He couldn't place it—not now. His consciousness was slipping, dragged downward by the relentless pain. He felt himself being lifted, arms supporting him as his body went limp. Then he was laid down on something soft.
Too soft.
The sensation stirred an ache of nostalgia so deep it made him nauseous. He swallowed hard, forcing himself not to vomit, clinging to the last threads of awareness he had left.
Through the haze, one name surfaced—clearer than anything else.
"C… Ren."
The syllable slipped past his lips like a confession.
And then the world went dark.
---
The world was cruel—so cruel that even his subconscious could no longer keep count of how many needles had pierced into him.
If pain could be measured, his body would have long exceeded its limits.
In the haze between consciousness and oblivion, he drifted in and out, trapped in a half-dream where voices echoed without faces and sensations came without meaning. Cold metal. Sharp pricks. A burning spread through his veins that made his muscles twitch involuntarily.
"I want to go home…" he murmured in his dream, his voice fragile, childlike.
Anywhere.
Anywhere but here.
And then—darkness.
Not the gentle darkness of sleep, but a suffocating void. He found himself standing in a room so black it felt tangible, pressing against his skin. He stretched his hands out, fingers trembling, yet he couldn't see them.
The darkness swallowed everything—depth, direction, sound. He could have walked into a wall, a table, a blade—and never known until it struck him.
He couldn't get used to it.
Fear crawled up his spine.
And then—
He was back.
Standing in the familiar, hollow quiet of his old house.
The scent of incense clung to the air, heavy and bitter. Thin smoke curled upward in slow spirals, blurring the edges of the room. In front of him sat Ciao Ren's urn, polished and immaculate, just as he kept it. Beside it stood her memorial photograph—the same gentle smile, frozen forever in time.
No.
No—no, no, no.
Horror seized him so violently that his knees nearly buckled.
It was all a dream.
The rebirth.
The past.
His mother alive.
Ciao Ren walking under the sun.
All of it—nothing more than the desperate fantasy of a man who had lost everything.
A bitter laugh clawed its way out of his throat, broken and hollow.
"Of course," he whispered hoarsely. "Why would the gods grant me such a wish?"
His voice cracked.
"An undeserving betrayer like me…"
A single tear slid down his cheek. Then another. And another. Soon, they came freely, dripping onto the floor like silent confessions. He didn't wipe them away. He didn't have the strength to pretend anymore.
He stared at the photograph—at her.
And then something shifted.
He couldn't tell whether it was his vision blurring through tears or something far worse—but the smile in the photograph faded. The warmth drained away, replaced by cold, judging eyes that stared straight through him.
Condemning.
Then the voices came.
Loud.
Persistent.
Merciless.
They tore through his skull as if trying to rip him apart from the inside.
"You think it will be easy?"
"That will never happen."
"Asshole."
"You deserve to die."
"You don't belong in the world of good people."
"Cheaters like you deserve to rot in hell."
Each word struck harder than the last, sharp as knives. He clamped his hands over his ears, pressing so hard his palms ached, but it did nothing. The voices weren't coming from outside.
They were inside him.
"No… stop…" he whispered, shaking his head violently.
And then—
Reality crashed back in.
Frantic shouts overlapped, sharp and urgent, slicing through the darkness.
"He's crashing!"
"Heart rate dropping—"
"Increase the voltage!"
"Charging—one, two—shock!"
The word shock echoed endlessly.
Each time it was spoken, pain ripped through him like lightning, searing through his chest, his spine, his bones. His body arched involuntarily, every nerve screaming. He wanted to beg. To scream. To die.
For the first time in a long while, he wished death would just take him.
End it.
Then—amidst the chaos, the curses, the unbearable pain—he heard it.
A voice.
Faint.
Trembling.
Desperate.
"Didi… don't die on me. Don't you dare!"
His heart—whatever remained of it—lurched violently.
That voice.
He knew it.
Even through the noise. Even through the agony. Even after all these years.
"Ci…ci?" he muttered weakly, his lips barely moving. Sweat drenched his face, soaked his hair, clung to his skin like a second layer.
"Cici… is that you?"
The wicked voices laughed again, shrill and cruel.
"Die."
"You don't deserve to live."
"You cheater."
"You don't deserve to live."
"No!" he cried hoarsely, tears streaming freely now. "I didn't cheat! I didn't cheat!"
His voice broke completely. "I didn't—!"
Their laughter grew louder, tearing at his sanity.
He sobbed—truly sobbed—for the first time in years, the sound raw and unrestrained, as if all the grief he had buried was clawing its way out at once.
On the other side of the veil, panic erupted.
"He's not going to make it!" someone yelled.
"We continue—until there's nothing left to save!"
Suddenly, new voices—sharper, frantic. He couldn't see them, but he felt them, heard them from wherever he was.
"You can't come in here!"
"Stop her—don't let her in!"
Then—
Warmth.
Real, undeniable warmth wrapped around his hand.
It was gentle. Familiar. Trembling.
A grip that refused to let go.
"Don't you dare die on me!" the voice cried, breaking. "Who will take care of Mom? Hasn't Dad done enough already? Who do you think will protect us if you're gone?!"
The words poured out in desperation, tangled and aching.
"If you die, I'll drag you back from that void myself," she sobbed. "I swear it. I'll force you to live. You hear me? You can't die on me. You must not die on me!"
The voices blurred together. Machines beeped. The world spun violently.
He couldn't tell who was real anymore.
The darkness closed in again, heavy and suffocating. His legs gave way in the void of his mind, and he collapsed, curling inward as if trying to disappear—willing the ground to swallow him whole.
And then—
Everything went silent.