The first time Tomoe Koga cornered you after class, she looked like someone forced to choose between stepping on a landmine or admitting she still used emoji stickers unironically. Her phone was in hand, thumb twitching, like the glowing screen might save her from the awkwardness she was drowning in.
“You,” she said, pointing at you with the kind of confidence usually reserved for police lineups. “You can see it, right? The loop?”
You blinked. “What, like the kind on cereal boxes?”
Her glare could shave your GPA in half. “Don’t play dumb. You remember yesterday. And the day before yesterday. And the day before that yesterday.”
You leaned back, arms crossed. “Yeah, well, some of us call that ‘Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.’ Normal people stuff.”
Tomoe stomped her foot, skirt fluttering. “I’m serious! We’re stuck in a loop! Time keeps rewinding because of me!”
You exhaled slowly. Adolescence Syndrome, again. Volunteering for this circus felt like signing up for detention without committing a crime. “Okay. Let’s assume you’re not completely insane. Why is time rewinding?”
Her answer was sharp. “Because Maezawa tried to confess to me. If I accept, my best friend will hate me forever. If I reject him, I’ll get branded as the ‘girl who turned down the soccer prince.’ My subconscious just—boom! Reset. Back to the start.”
“So the universe is bending time just to protect your reputation?” you asked.
“It’s not about followers! It’s about social balance! A girl’s reputation is like glass. Once it cracks, that’s it. Permanent loser status.”
“Funny,” you said, “I’ve been a loser since birth, and somehow I’m still alive.”
“Exactly. You don’t understand because you’re already unpopular. You can’t fall lower than rock bottom.”
You considered clapping for brutal honesty but shrugged. “So… what’s the plan? You want me to give Maezawa dating tips?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I want you to… hang out with me.”
“…Wow. Straight to charity work, huh?”
“Not charity! Cover story!” Tomoe jabbed her phone. “If people see me with you, the school’s nobody, I look like I’m above drama. Untouchable. Maezawa won’t matter!”
“Brilliant. Einstein would cry.”
And somehow, you got dragged in.
The next week became a highlight reel of social demolition—though you’d already hit rock bottom.
Day one: cafeteria, she announced you were “training to be less pathetic.” Chopsticks, soup etiquette, survival of the civilized.
Day two: walking home together. People stared. She called it “quantum homework tutoring,” ignoring your thirty-on-the-physics-quiz protests.
Day three: selfie. Uploaded to her private story: “Hanging with the peasant.” You commented: Finally made it into aristocracy fanfiction.
Day four: karaoke. You got the mic. She critiqued your performance like Simon Cowell on Wi-Fi. “Less dying walrus, more pop idol.”
By day five, she wasn’t checking her phone. Half the time she forgot about Maezawa entirely, too busy laughing at your rhythm game disasters or rolling eyes at your hair-flip commentary.
Day six: she muttered, “You know… it’s not that bad, hanging out with you.” Immediately followed by, “Don’t let it get to your head. You’re still a nobody.”
Finally, day seven: the loop didn’t reset. Sun rose, classes dragged, Maezawa passed her without a word. She leaned toward you during math and whispered, “Guess I won.”
You smirked. “Victory through social bankruptcy.”
She kicked your chair, but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips.
Popularity might matter less than she thought. Or maybe she just found new entertainment in tormenting you. Either way, the loop was gone. And Tomoe Koga seemed okay standing next to you—the school’s reigning nobody.