Part 1 – One Year Left
April 2nd.
The second day of her second year of high school.
Or the second day of her second chance.
Reina sat alone in her room, blinds half-closed, dressed but unmoving. Her phone buzzed with messages — group chats, school reminders, one from a girl in her class asking if she wanted to stop by the café after cram school.
She ignored them all.
Instead, she opened the calendar app. Scroll. Scroll. Scroll.
There it was again.
March 31st.
Circled in red.
The day he died.
> Exactly one year.
She had thought, at first, that maybe she'd just gone back a day or two. A week. A month, maybe. But now she was sure.
This wasn't just a time skip.
This was a reset.
Fate, a curse, a miracle — she didn't care what it was called. It didn't matter.
All that mattered was Alex was still alive.
And if she had one year to stop him from walking into that station, from stepping off that edge… then she would.
Even if it meant tearing apart everything.
---
Part 2 – Watching Him Without Being Seen
Reina started paying attention.
Real attention.
She became a quiet observer — trailing a few steps behind him on the way to school, pretending to do homework while he laughed with classmates, watching the way he always made people feel seen, wanted, appreciated.
He was the perfect golden boy. Teachers adored him. Students drifted toward him without even trying. If he was tired, no one noticed. If he was hurting, they looked away.
Everyone believed in his smile.
Everyone… except her.
Now that she knew the truth, the cracks were everywhere.
The way his laugh lingered a second too long.
The slight twitch in his hands when he thought no one was looking.
The way he always sat near the window, like he was watching something far away.
She started keeping a notebook.
She never labeled it with his name. Just symbols. Words. Fragments of things he said. Who he spoke to. Who he didn't speak to. What days he stayed late. What days he left early.
She wasn't trying to stalk him.
She was trying to understand him.
Because if she couldn't figure out what pushed him over the edge… she'd lose him again.
And there wouldn't be another rewind.
---
Part 3 – The First Rule
By the second week of school, Reina made a decision.
She couldn't just watch anymore.
She had to talk to him.
Not as his gloomy stepsister.
As someone real.
Someone who cared.
"Hey."
Alex looked up from his lunch tray in surprise. She rarely initiated conversation.
They were in the courtyard. It was warm. He was sitting under the cherry blossom trees with two boys from class — Sota and Hiro — both of whom seemed more interested in their phones than the petals falling around them.
"You're eating out here?" she asked, awkwardly.
"Wanted fresh air," Alex said. "Tired of indoor vibes."
Reina hesitated. "Can I sit?"
Alex blinked. "Since when do you ask?"
"Since now."
He grinned and scooted over. "I must be dreaming. You voluntarily sat next to me twice in one week. Should I be worried?"
"You should always be worried," she muttered, unwrapping her sandwich.
He laughed.
She tried not to look at him too long. But she was drinking in the moment, memorizing it — the curve of his lips when he smiled, the light in his eyes, the way his fingers rested loosely around his juice box.
So alive.
> Please don't leave me again.
"Reina," he said suddenly.
She flinched. "What?"
"You're really different lately."
> Too soon.
"What do you mean?"
"You're softer. Like… less ice queen, more mysterious dark heroine."
She scowled. "I'll kill you."
"There she is!" He grinned. "My gloomy stepsis. I was starting to miss her."
> He still jokes like nothing's wrong.
But now, Reina heard every sentence with a shadow behind it.
Every smile like a scream no one else noticed.
She lowered her gaze.
Rule #1, she decided.
Don't push him. Not yet.
If she rushed, he'd shut her out.
If she waited too long… it would be too late.
Part 2 – Shadows in the Music Room
April 9th. One week into the new school year.
Reina stayed late after classes on purpose.
She'd told Alex she had extra cleaning duty. That wasn't entirely a lie — she'd traded shifts with another girl just to create this opportunity.
She waited until the hallway emptied.
Then, quietly, she made her way toward the old music building.
Few students went there anymore. The newer wing had better instruments, air conditioning, and less creaky floors. But some teachers still kept equipment stored in the old wing — and the piano room there had a grand model, old but finely tuned.
And more importantly… it was soundproof.
She slipped through the side entrance, shoes muffled against the worn linoleum floor. The sun had already dipped low, and most of the light in the hallway came from the glow of amber through dust-covered windows.
She heard it before she saw him.
Music.
Soft. Uneven. Like fingers remembering something painful.
She approached the door slowly and peeked through the small glass panel.
There he was.
Alex.
Sitting at the piano.
Alone. Shoulders tense. Eyes focused. His white hair fell over his eyes as he moved — not with the flamboyant showiness of a prodigy, but the haunted grace of someone who had no choice but to play.
The piece was classical. Chopin? No… it was slower, darker. Maybe something he wrote himself.
Reina's breath caught.
She'd never heard him play before. Not once in all the years they'd lived together.
She remembered him saying he "wasn't good" or that it "wasn't fun anymore."
> But that's a lie.
He plays like someone who was made for it.
Like someone who bleeds through the keys.
Then — a mistake.
His hand slipped.
The melody faltered. Crashed.
Alex froze.
His back tensed like he'd been struck. For a second, he didn't breathe.
Then, slowly… he reached for his sleeve and rolled it up.
Reina's heart stopped.
Scars.
Faint, pale ridges. Some old, some newer. Woven across the back of his hand and forearm.
Not self-harm.
Whip marks. Belts. Burn scars.
Her stomach turned.
He stared at his hand for a long time. Then stood up, closed the piano softly, and left through the back door — never once noticing her watching.
---
Reina didn't move until the silence swallowed the room.
> You've been hiding this from everyone.
Even from me.
Even now.
She stepped inside.
The keys still felt warm under her fingertips.
And suddenly, she understood something.
> Music was his curse.
And his only escape.
Whatever had happened in his childhood… it was still inside him.
Still echoing through his bones.
---
Rule #2: Find the past he buried — and the part of him that still plays through the pain.
Part 3 – Notes Behind a Smile
Sunday afternoon. April 10th.
It was one of those rare, quiet weekends where no one had anything planned.
Reina sat on the living room couch, her legs curled beneath her, flipping through a book she wasn't reading. The spring light streamed in through the open curtains. Somewhere upstairs, the faint thud of music played — a playlist Alex often used when cleaning his room.
Or pretending to.
He came downstairs a few minutes later, towel draped over his neck, hair slightly damp like he'd just showered.
"You're alive," he teased. "Didn't think you left the couch on Sundays."
"I was reading."
He raised a brow. "You were staring at the same page for ten minutes."
She ignored him.
He collapsed onto the opposite end of the couch, dramatically, arms flung wide like he'd just returned from war. "Reina, I am exhausted."
"You cleaned your desk."
"It was an emotional process."
"…You dusted it."
"Thoroughly."
She let the corner of her lip twitch.
For a second, things felt almost... normal.
Then she said it. Casual. Measured.
"I didn't know you played piano."
Alex stiffened.
Just for a moment.
Then he rolled onto his side, propped his head up with his arm. "What, you saw the busted keyboard under my bed or something?"
"No. I heard you humming Chopin last week."
He blinked. "Did I?"
"You did."
He paused. "I used to play. Not much anymore."
"You were good."
He laughed, but it was hollow. "I was scary good. Like, strict-dad-wants-a-prodigy good."
Her heart pinched.
> That's not what he told her in the original timeline.
She tilted her head. "Do you miss it?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he looked at the ceiling. His smile was still there, but it was thinner. Like a veil.
"I don't know," he said finally. "Sometimes, when it's quiet. I miss the feeling of it. Not the memories. Just... the sound. The way it made things stop for a while."
Reina watched him closely.
> He still won't say it.
He won't talk about the pain. The scars. The pressure. The fear.
He won't say what they did to him when he messed up a note.
So she didn't press.
Not yet.
She just said, softly, "If you ever feel like playing again… I'd like to hear it."
Alex blinked.
Then smiled again — brighter this time.
"You? Listening to music voluntarily? That's new."
She nudged him with her foot.
"Don't make it weird."
He laughed.
But something in his eyes lingered. A quiet flash of uncertainty. Like her words had touched something long buried.
---
That night, Reina stood by her window.
The city lights blinked below like stars that had fallen and gotten stuck between buildings. She opened her notebook and wrote slowly:
> Rule #3: Let him choose to open up. Don't force it.
But when the door opens — even a little — be ready to step in.