Walking through the street toward his school, White was amazed. Just a week ago, he had been on the verge of death—yet here he was, alive, with no major injuries.
'It felt like a miracle.'
'A miracle… yes, that must be it. Even the doctor had been surprised. After such a terrible accident, I had recovered within a week.'
Life hadn't changed much—except that he now realized how precious it truly was. Breathing, touching, seeing, feeling… it all felt like a gift. As if someone had rewarded him, fulfilling his desperate dying wish.
'A wish I begged for—to live again.'
"Really… everything is still unchanged, yet I feel like I've changed," he murmured to himself.
He reached the place where, one week ago, the truck had hit him. Now he stood there again, waiting for the red light to turn green.
Beside him, people waited too.
An old man.
A mother with her child, distracted by her phone.
An office worker.
Everything seemed normal.
"Mama…"
A little girl tugged at her mother's skirt, clutching a ball.
"Suzi… stop tugging my skirt. I'm busy right now," her mother said.
"Uu… okay…"
She pouted, then began bouncing her ball against the ground.
Then—
The ball slipped from her hand.
Before White could react, she ran forward. A car passed by him as she reached the middle of the crosswalk.
Everyone screamed.
A large truck was coming at full speed.
The mother rushed after her daughter—
But it was too late.
White's heart pounded.
Everything that had happened a week ago… was happening again.
His hands shook.
"No… not again…" he whispered.
He looked around. Surely someone—someone brave enough—would help.
But reality hit him hard.
Everyone hesitated.
'Why?'
'Why was no one moving?'
'Why were they only screaming?'
They weren't heartless.
They were afraid.
Afraid of dying.
Because if anyone tried to save them now… it would be too late.
Flashbacks struck him.
The accident.
The pain.
The desperate wish to live.
'Maybe… it would be best to look away. Like everyone else. I don't want to feel that again. I am afraid. I am helpless. If I go… I will die. Dying is painful. Lonely. I don't want to feel that again.'
'And it was her mother's fault anyway.'
'Not watching her child.'
'This wasn't my problem.'
"…So, this is your decision?"
A voice echoed in his head.
The same voice.
The white-haired girl from his dream.
"What you choose is the correct way of thinking… but knowing you…"
"You still want to save them, right?"
he clenched his fist.
And he ran.
He ran toward them.
So, he wouldn't regret letting them die.
He pushed them away just before the truck could hit—
But then… he was in its path.
"Ahh… I did it again…" he muttered.
Time slowed.
His body remembered the pain.
Closing his eyes, he accepted it.
Why… again…
Before hitting the truck
"So here you are."
A child's voice.
Then—something unexpected.
He hit the ground.
But not because the truck struck him.
It felt like someone had pushed him further away.
The woman and her child lay beside him—unconscious, but unharmed.
He looked at the truck.
It had swerved, crashing into a pole.
"How…?"
It was supposed to hit me.
Then why—
People rushed toward them.
Someone called an ambulance.
Someone called the police.
White insisted he was fine. They tried to take him to the hospital, but he refused, saying he was late for school. Somehow, he escaped the commotion.
As he walked, he still felt it—someone had pushed him.
But when he looked around, no one was there.
'Maybe I'm overthinking.'
He put on his earphones, letting music drown out his thoughts.
By the time he reached the classroom, everything looked the same as always.
Desks.
Students.
Laughter.
Roll call.
Another test announcement.
Sitting at his desk, he looked around. Everything was normal.
No one noticed his absence.
Which made sense. He barely talked. He kept to himself.
But… there was one person.
"Yo. Look who's back—Mr. Loner."
"Zen… how are you? And could you please stop giving me weird names?"
"How am I? How are you? Where the hell were you? I kept calling! You didn't reply! I even tried visiting, but no one was there. I thought you died or something!"
"…Funny you'd say that," White muttered.
"My phone broke. I went with Miss Elsa to visit her parents. That's all. Relax."
He lied.
"You are telling the truth. You suck at keeping in touch, you know that?"
"Hey Zen! Let's go for practice!" someone called.
"Coming!"
Zen turned back to him.
"Sorry, I've got a match coming up. I need to train. Tell me if you need anything. Bye!"
And just like that—
White was alone again.
After school, he went to the shopping street. He stopped at a grocery shop and a cake shop. Miss Elsa usually prepared dinner, but since she was visiting her hometown today, he had to handle it himself.
While shopping, everything felt normal again.
Like nothing had ever happened.
Until—
He opened his room door.
"…What the…?"
His things were scattered everywhere.
Drawers open.
Clothes thrown around.
Someone had broken in.
"Is this a robbery…?"
Then—he heard snoring.
Clutching a bat, he stepped inside. The sound led him to the bedroom.
Someone was lying on his bed.
Covered with a blanket.
He pulled it back—
And froze.
A little girl.
Eight, maybe nine years old.
Pale skin.
Soft features.
Silver hair spread across his pillow, glowing faintly in the dim light.
"Why is there a child on my bed…? Is she Miss Elsa's relative? But she didn't tell me anything…"
Before he could wake her—
She stirred.
Her crimson eyes opened slowly.
She smiled.
"Oh! You're back, Papa!"
…Papa?
"Wha—wait—WAIT! HOLD ON! WHO ARE YOU?! And why are you in my bed?! And what's with this 'Papa' nonsense?!"
She tilted her head, confused.
"I'm not your father, okay?!"
Her lips trembled.
Tears filled her eyes.
"B-but… Papa is my Papa…"
"Oi—oi! Don't start crying! Dammit…"
Panicking, he searched his bag and found a pudding cup. He handed it to her.
She sniffed once… twice…
Then her face lit up.
"What is this, Papa?"
"…This is pudding. Eat it. Kids usually like it."
"I see…"
She took a bite.
"Ummhh… this is so tasty! Can I have more?"
"…Yeah, here."
He gave her another, watching her eat happily.
After she finished—
"…What's your name?"
She puffed her chest proudly.
"Bell! My name is Wishing Bell!"
"…Bell, huh. Did Miss Elsa leave you here?"
She shook her head.
"…So you're lost? Where are your parents?"
She pointed at him.
"Papa."
…He sighed.
Pointless.
"…Do you have a mother?"
"I don't know."
"…Then why are you here?"
"A lady told me. She said if I waited here… Papa would come."
"…Did she have black hair and eyes?"
"No. She had white hair… and beautiful purple eyes."
…
That answer hit him hard.
The girl from his dream.
Before he could ask anything—
Bell suddenly went still.
Her eyes turned blank.
She collapsed.
"Bell?! Hey—Bell!"
He shook her. No response.
"Damn it… I should call an ambulance—"
As he turned—
He saw it.
A purple mist near the entrance.
It slowly took shape.
Silver hair.
Violet eyes.
Her.
The same woman from his dreams.
Standing right in front of him.
A soft smile formed on her lips.
"Welcome back, White."