Replay

3-1 Reintegration

A/N: Merry Christmas! Or if it's not when you're reading this, then have a nice day, I guess?

I modified the first chapter a little. The plot remain the same, but I altered Blake's character a bit to be less peppy, now that I have a better grasp at writing her. The first chapter was mainly to show her character anyway, overcoming her initial shock and establishing her goals. Don't worry about going back to read it.

Blake's monologue at the end of 2-4 (Answer) has also been tweaked. To be specific, I cut part of it out and added the underlined portion. This is the new version:

"Saying I was going to save everyone had been an in-the-moment thing, but thinking about it now with a more logical head, what exactly would I do? Should I confess my omnipotent knowledge to Takemichi and join forces with him? Certainly, I could see the benefits. Knowing what role I took in the future, for one. In a way, I'd be given a 'second chance' myself. But telling him wasn't something I could undo. I had to think about it more deeply before coming to a decision."

If I ever do make future edits (I will NOT change anything major unless I cannot see any other way around it), I will do them at the same time I post a new chapter and notify of said edit, like I am now.

Carry on with the chapter.

A massive sigh whistled out of my nostrils and agitated the open page, which gave a raspberry back as it was repeatedly slapped into the page below. I rolled my head upright across the lacquered wood once the page had settled and blew at it through my lips, lifting my head slightly to achieve the perfect angle. The pages remained stubbornly stuck together despite my attempts. I instead gave it a sharp puff and was rewarded with ten or so pages blasting by, the current one an exact replica of the previous.

My pencil clattered against the table as my chin fell back down. The noontime sun passing in through the translucent curtains bleached my room in a pale-yellow haze. Despite the quietly humming air conditioner in the corner, each breath felt stale and shallow.

Normally, I'd be able to keep going for around an hour or two until my attention started to wander. But after studying like this for the past two weeks, I was in the mood to go outside and set my textbooks ablaze even if I got in trouble for it. But no, I couldn't even do that. My host parents had confined me home since the festival fight, with the exception of a supervised walk every afternoon. I understood their concern, but I had nothing to do after finishing my homework in the first few days. While that cursed word was typically a target of my enmity, I'd felt pleasingly productive while completing them. Part of it was due to the fact that they were considerably easier than the kind I was used to in college, and finishing them was a breeze. And then I'd done all the easy stuff and was left with Japanese history.

On the bright side, I'd caught up in that department in forcing myself to study. I doubted I'd be able to ace tests from now on, but I at least wouldn't fail them. Hopefully. Japanese history was admittedly somewhat interesting with its numerous wars and political strife. Interesting in a sure-I-guess-that-happened way. I pushed aside my open textbook. Most of it had no immediate relation to me and thus invoked no immediate urge in me to allocate any of my time into it, aside from my motivation to not fail history class. But there was a particular sliver of relevant history that I was currently engrossed with, of which my aptitude to retain it would be continuously tested.

I pulled towards me the notebook sitting inconspicuously at the edge of my desk and picked up a pencil. My hand had healed completely, although a thin white scar marred the first joint of my fingers, as if someone had stupidly grabbed a knife by its blade and played tug-of-war with it. Very, very luckily, I hadn't needed any surgery or special treatment, and the scar was barely visible with my pale skin tone. Only someone looking for it would notice it.