The lab beneath our house was a labyrinth of wires, tools, and half-finished inventions. Blueprints covered the walls, and the air hummed with the sound of machinery. Uncle Shizumori stood at the center of it all, his sleeves rolled up and his glasses perched on the edge of his nose. He looked up as I descended the stairs, his expression a mix of determination and exhaustion.
“Ready to get to work?” he asked, handing me a stack of papers.
I nodded, though my hands trembled as I took them. The equations were complex, but familiar. Differential calculus, quantum mechanics, molecular vibration—it was all there, laid out in Uncle Shizumori’s precise handwriting. I flipped through the pages, my mind racing.
“This is incredible,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s going to take time.”
“We don’t have time,” he replied, his tone grim. “Every second we waste is another second your mom suffers.”
I clenched my fists, the weight of his words pressing down on me. He was right. We had to move fast. But building a time machine wasn’t like fixing a radio or solving a math problem. It was uncharted territory, and the stakes were higher than anything I’d ever faced.
---
The Blueprint of Salvation
Uncle Shizumori spread a set of blueprints across the workbench. “This is the plan,” he said, pointing to a detailed diagram of a bunker. “I built this years ago, just in case. It’s hidden, self-sustaining, and completely off the grid. When you go back, you’ll arrive just before the officers take your mom. You’ll warn her—without revealing your identity—and guide her to the bunker. She’ll be safe there.”
I stared at the blueprints, my mind racing. “What if she doesn’t believe me?”
“She will,” he said firmly.
“You’ll have proof. And if she doesn’t… well, you’ll figure it out. You’re her son, Shinra. She’ll trust you, even if she doesn’t know it’s you.”
I nodded, though doubt gnawed at the edges of my mind. What if I messed up? What if I couldn’t save her?
---
The Spark of Creation
Uncle Shizumori walked over to a locked cabinet and pulled out a small, glowing vial. Inside was a swirling mass of light, pulsing like a living thing.
“This,” he said, holding it up, “is the God Particle. I acquired it years ago through… let’s just say, less-than-legal means. It’s the key to the machine.”
I stared at the vial, mesmerized. “What does it do?”
“It’s the fundamental building block of existence,” he explained. “Scientists first theorized its existence in the early 21st century, calling it the Higgs boson. They said it gave mass to everything in the universe. But they barely scratched the surface. This—” he held up the vial, “—is the real thing. It allows us to manipulate matter and energy on a subatomic level. With it, we can vibrate and break down your molecules enough to enter the subatomic quantum dimension. But it’s not just about your body, Shinra. It’s about your soul—your essence. The God Particle will guide you through the flow of time, ensuring you arrive intact.”
I swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in.
“And the old timeline? What happens to it?”
---
The Fracture of Time
Uncle Shizumori grabbed a marker and drew a straight line on a whiteboard.
“This is the original timeline.”
“Everything that’s happened—the wars, the company, your mom’s suffering—it’s all here.”
He drew a second line branching off at a 45-degree angle.
“This is the new timeline you’ll create. When you go back, you’ll change things. The original timeline won’t just disappear—it’ll be erased.
The universe can’t sustain an infinite number of timelines. though the number is close to infinite, it is defined.
If you create a new one, the old one will be overwritten.”
I frowned.
“But what about the people in the old timeline? What happens to them?”
“They’ll be redirected,” he said.
“Their souls, their essence—it’ll all flow into the new timeline. To them, it’ll feel like nothing changed. They won’t remember the old world. But to you, Shinra, it’ll be different.
You’ll know what you’ve done.
You’ll know you’ve removed them from a world of suffering and brought them into a new one.”
He paused, his expression turning serious.
“But remember, you cannot be identified as Nishi Shinra. You can use your name with people you trust, but that’s it. You’ll be forgotten. The new you from the new timeline you create will be the son of Rika Nishi. It won’t be you. She might not think of you as her son, but trust me,
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a mother’s love is the strongest thing in the universe. She might not remember you, but she will love you. To her, you’ll be like a son she never gave birth to. But the love—that’s what’s important.”
I clenched my fists, the gravity of his words hitting me like a ton of bricks.
“So… I’m saving Mom. That’s all that matters.”
He nodded. “But it comes at a cost. Once you go back, there’s no coming home. The old timeline will be gone. You’ll have to live with the consequences of your actions. No do-overs.”
---
The Gambler’s Guide to Survival
Uncle Shizumori reached into a drawer and pulled out a thick, leather-bound book. He handed it to me, his expression serious.
“This is everything you’ll need to survive in the past. Lottery numbers, casino wins, sports bets—every major event from the last two centuries is in here. Use it to make money quickly and quietly. But be careful. Drawing too much attention could ruin everything.”
I flipped through the pages, my eyes widening at the sheer amount of information. “This is… incredible.”
“It’s your lifeline,” he said. “Use it wisely.”
He then handed me a folder filled with blueprints. “These are the plans for the time machine. I know you can’t build it without me, but take them anyway. Just in case.”
I nodded, tucking the book and blueprints into my bag.
“Thank you, Uncle.”
---
The Weight of a Promise
Uncle Shizumori’s expression turned serious.
“Listen carefully, Shinra. Your mission is to save your mother. That’s it. Do not interfere with the war, the company, or anything else. Changing too much could destabilize the timeline. Things won’t go as planned, and you could make everything worse. Focus on her. Nothing else.”
I nodded, though a part of me wondered if I could really stand by and do nothing. But I pushed the thought aside. Mom was all that mattered.
---
The Forge of Eternity
We worked tirelessly, day and night. The lab became our world, a place where time seemed to stand still. Uncle Shizumori handled the engineering, welding steel and calibrating circuits with the precision of a master craftsman. I focused on the theoretical side, refining the equations and ensuring the machine’s stability.
The machine itself was a marvel—a towering structure of steel and glass, its core glowing with a faint blue light. It looked like something out of a sci-fi movie, but it was real. And it was ours.
“The God Particle will power the core,” Uncle Shizumori explained one night, his voice hoarse from hours of work. “It’ll vibrate your molecules, break them down into subatomic particles, and guide your essence through the quantum dimension. But remember, Shinra, this isn’t just about physics. It’s about the soul. The God Particle will ensure you arrive intact—body and spirit.”
I nodded, though the concept still felt surreal. There was no safety net. No second chance. If I messed up, it was over.
---
The Leap into the Unknown
After weeks of work, the machine was finally ready. Or at least, as ready as it would ever be. Uncle Shizumori stood at the control panel, his face pale but determined. I stood in the center of the machine, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Remember,” he said, his voice steady.
“Your mission is to save your mother. Nothing else. Do not interfere with the timeline more than necessary. Focus on her.”
I nodded, clutching the pendant around my neck. Inside was the photo of Mom and me, a reminder of what I was fighting for.
“I’m ready,” I said, though my voice shook.
Uncle Shizumori hesitated, his hand hovering over the switch.
“Shinra… be careful. I can’t lose you too.”
I managed a small smile. “You won’t. I promise.”
He nodded, then flipped the switch. The machine roared to life, its core glowing brighter and brighter. The air around me crackled with energy, and I felt my body begin to vibrate. It was like nothing I’d ever experienced—a sensation that was equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.
And then, everything went white.
---
The Echoes of Another Time
When I opened my eyes, I was no longer in the lab. The air was cleaner, the sky bluer. The city around me was alive with noise and color, but it felt… wrong. The buildings were shorter, the streets narrower, and the cars were boxy, outdated models I’d only seen in old photos. It was like stepping into a history book.
I checked the date on my watch: March 2, 2025. My heart skipped a beat. This couldn’t be right.
I was only supposed to go back three years—to the day before Mom was taken. But 2025? That was over two decades before the war even started.
I stumbled forward, my legs shaky, and looked around for confirmation. A newspaper stand caught my eye. The headline screamed: “New Tech Boom: AI Revolutionizes Industries!” The date on the paper was clear: March 2, 2025.
I stopped a passerby, a man in a suit who looked like he was in a hurry. “Excuse me, what year is it?”
He gave me a strange look, like I’d just asked him if the sky was green. “Uh… 2025? You okay, kid?”
I didn’t answer. My mind was racing. I’d gone too far back. Way too far. Mom wasn’t even born yet. The war, the company, the CEO—none of it had happened. I was in a world I barely recognized.
---
The Ghost of a Smile
I barely noticed the woman approaching me. She was in her mid-twenties, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail, her face kind but concerned. Beside her stood a man, his arm around her shoulders, his expression equally worried.
“Hey, are you okay?” she asked, her voice soft. “You look… lost.”
I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. My mind was a whirlwind of shock and disbelief. I barely registered her presence until she placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.
“Do you need help?” the man asked, his tone cautious. “You’re stumbling around like… well, like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I finally looked up, my vision blurry with tears. And then I saw her. Really saw her.
She looked exactly like Mom.
The same kind eyes. The same soft smile. The same way she tilted her head when she was concerned. It wasn’t her—it couldn’t be—but in that moment, reason didn’t matter. The sorrow, the pain, the years of missing her—it all came crashing down.
I lunged at her, wrapping my arms around her in a desperate hug. “Mom!” I cried, my voice breaking.
“Mom, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”
She froze, startled, but didn’t push me away.
“Uh… kid, I think you’ve got the wrong person,” she said gently, patting my back. “I’m not your mom.”
But I didn’t care. I clung to her, sobbing uncontrollably. For the first time in years, I felt like I was home.
End of Chapter 2 // To be continued.