Traveling Back Ten Years
I'm twenty-eight, lying next to an eighteen-year-old girl named Jessica, and it honestly feels a bit awkward. Even though she's my first love. Even though I look like a high schooler now.
Yes, I've traveled back in time. Back ten years.
When I "woke up," school had just let out. My eighteen-year-old self was being cornered in the bathroom by Derek the Fat.
"You little coward, you think you deserve Jessica?"
Derek was the school's top dog. He liked Jessica, and Jessica only let me walk her home.
She'd been my girlfriend for a while already—just nobody in class knew. So Derek always thought he had a chance, and he'd beat me up regularly, about 3.9 times a month.
I'd just arrived and was still reeling from a splitting headache, but after he slapped me a dozen times, I was wide awake.
His next slap swiped through empty air. He spun half around grabbing my collar.
"The hell?" He yanked my shirt. "Try dodging again."
I looked down at my school uniform, then at my reflection in the distant mirror, then at the sunset outside the window. I felt incredible.
I couldn't believe that device actually worked.
There was hope. Everything still had hope.
My name is Marcus, and I'm the detective with the highest complaint rate in Southside District, Essen City. I traveled back in time to save my girlfriend, Jessica, who died ten years ago.
"You... what are you smiling about?" Derek noticed my odd expression. "Did I knock you stupid?"
I stopped smiling and looked at the bully I'd feared most in high school.
I couldn't exactly beat him like a criminal.
But how should I get rid of him?
"Derek, you'll never win Jessica. Stop wasting your time."
His eyes narrowed. "What did you say?"
"In college, you'll fall for Lily Zhang. You'll chase her for four years."
Derek's eyes went wide, too stunned to react. After all, Lily was plain, chubby, and painfully introverted in class—one of Derek's favorite targets for cheap laughs.
"She loses weight freshman year of college. Gets really pretty," I added.
Derek kicked me hard in the stomach.
"Like hell I'd go after her!"
In my memory, that kick hurt like hell. But this time, I instinctively tensed my core and barely felt a thing.
"You never did get her. She married someone else, and you crashed her wedding."
As I'd hoped, he went berserk, beating me worse than any session in high school.
I screamed in pain the whole time, while making small tactical adjustments to protect all my vitals.
"Stop it!"
A girl burst in and shoved Derek away with all her strength.
There she was.
Jessica.
Ten years. I'd finally seen her again.
In... the men's bathroom.
I looked at her and realized she was still the most beautiful girl I'd ever met.
I wiped away a tear secretly, then slid to the floor and started groaning.
Yes—according to my memory, I was supposed to get beaten by Derek this Saturday, and when Jessica realized I hadn't made it to the school gate, she'd come running within minutes.
I only had minor scrapes, but how would these teenagers know the difference?
"Derek Long, you jerk!"
Even when Jessica was angry, her voice sounded wonderful.
---
"The school clinic's closed. Should we go to a hospital?"
After driving Derek off, Jessica crouched beside me, carefully examining my injuries.
"I'm fine."
"How is this fine!?"
I didn't answer, waiting for Jessica to offer a solution.
She sighed, testing the waters. "How about... my place?"
Exactly what I wanted.
I glanced at her and kept silent. I had to let her decide on her own.
She was still hesitating, so I raised my hand and pressed hard against the bruise on my lip, forcing out a tiny mouthful of blood.
"I'm really fine."
"Let's go to my place. Stop being stubborn."
---
She was my girlfriend—the kind where we'd never even held hands. But today I had to go to her place. I had to stay by her side.
Because tomorrow, she would die.
Fall from a building.
I still remembered her lying sideways on the asphalt, wearing nothing but a nightgown, barefoot, her body curved into a soft arc, like a feather in the darkness.
Then I had nightmares for a whole year.
The teachers said it was suicide, but I refused to believe it. I remembered the way she smiled after school.
After graduating high school, I enrolled in the police academy and trained like crazy.
Later I joined the detective squad and threw myself into every case so fiercely that the entire precinct thought I had violent tendencies.
But Jessica had been dead for ten years, and I hadn't found a single clue.
Not until 2017, when Captain Reeves said to me, "You've always wanted to investigate that case, haven't you?"
"Go back ten years and investigate it."
He took me to a military lab. Inside was a "Gate."
A Gate that could send consciousness back to the past.
He told me to travel through that Gate and complete an "extremely important mission" for the military. As a reward, I could make small changes to history.
But the time-travel process was so agonizing—my whole skull felt like it had been pulverized—that I forgot everything: the temporal regulations, the rules of conduct, the mission itself. Only one thing remained in my mind...
I had to keep Jessica alive.
---
It was already late when we got back to Jessica's place.
When Jessica put medicine on me, her face was so close I could smell her hair and feel the warmth of her breath on my skin.
She smeared ointment on my bruised eye socket, on the corner of my mouth, gently spreading it with her fingers, occasionally blowing on it to soothe the sting.
Because she was so close, every word she said was as tender as if she were coaxing a child.
"Is it spicy?" "Just a little sting." "One more second."
When Jessica finished, she gathered all the medicine boxes and suddenly asked in a whisper, "You did this on purpose, didn't you?"
"What?"
"Coming to my place on purpose."
Being seen through by a girl ten years younger than me was more embarrassing than screaming in the bathroom.
"Yeah... I did."
"Why?"
I was stumped.
What could I say? The truth? The truth was that tomorrow morning, she'd die.
The truth was that even ten years later, I hadn't found a shred of evidence suggesting murder. And she showed no signs of being suicidal.
Her death had tormented me for ten years.
Now I was back, and I couldn't let it happen again.
I had to stay by her side, every second.
"Speak up?" she whispered.
"I'm not leaving tonight."
"Huh?"
"I'm sleeping here."
"Here?"
"No one's at my place. I'm scared of the dark. Believe it or not."
Jessica obviously knew these were excuses, but she didn't call me out.
After a while, her face turned even redder. She glared at me, pouted, and said, "Just this once!"
---
At ten-thirty, after showering, I stood by her bed.
She was wrapped in her blanket, cheeks flushed, biting her lip, which made her look even prettier.
"Should I take the couch?"
"Stop pretending."
I nodded, turned off the light, and climbed into bed. Then we both lay there rigidly, motionless, for a long time.
"Are you asleep?" she asked.
"No."
"Marcus, I feel like you're... different today."
"Am I?"
"I like it, though."
She slowly turned toward me, leaned in, and kissed my cheek. Her lips were so soft.
Moonlight spilled white through the window, her scent filled the air, and I felt warmth bloom in my chest. A feeling both deeply joyful and profoundly sad spread through my heart.
I didn't kiss her back. I just held her gently in my arms.
My watch read 10:50. Seven hours until her body was discovered, and only one hour until the time of death estimated by the forensic examiner.
My plan was simple: stay awake all night, and wait for her "death" to arrive.
But I'd overlooked one very simple thing: this eighteen-year-old body of mine had never gone through professional training. By the time I realized I was feeling abnormally drowsy, it was already too late to fight it.
---
At 11:30 PM, I was jolted awake by a basin of cold water thrown in my face.
Jessica was kneeling on the floor, hair disheveled, blood at the corner of her mouth, missing one slipper, wearing only a nightgown.
Beside her stood three men in black. Two were enormous bruisers. The third was average-sized but wore a mask—clearly the leader. The masked man was interrogating Jessica.
"I'll ask one more time. Where is Victor Zhou?"
Victor Zhou? The name sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it.
I tried to get up, only to find my hands were bound behind my back to a chair, and my mouth was gagged.
Jessica's voice was firm. "I don't know."
"Good, good." The man laughed, drew a knife, and walked toward me.
"Don't hurt him," Jessica's voice trembled. "You're looking for my father. This has nothing to do with him!"
The masked man didn't hesitate. He drove the knife straight into my shoulder. I grunted but immediately held back my reaction. Jessica started crying.
I'd steeled myself for the worst, and the sharp pain quickly cleared my head. I began analyzing the situation.
The knife wound was at least two inches deep—he clearly hadn't held back. The way I was bound with rope was extremely professional, immobilizing every joint. Escaping in a short time was impossible.
These were professional criminals.
This must be why Jessica died.
"Where is Victor Zhou!" the man demanded again.
Jessica bit her lip, only her whimpers escaping. After a long pause, she shook her head.
Then another stab.
Left leg, about three inches deep. He twisted the blade before pulling it out. Even with training, I couldn't stop myself from trembling.
Jessica's lips were bloody from biting.
But she shook her head again.
Almost simultaneously, the man stabbed a third time.
Just below the left rib, avoiding the lung.
Each wound escalated. The next one would hit a vital point.
"Bastard..."
Jessica sobbed, but her voice was fierce.
"Bastard!"
She suddenly lunged at the masked man with the knife.
But the two bruisers beside her were faster. One grabbed her by the hair, while the other kicked her square in the stomach. She rolled backward twice, curled up clutching her belly, trembling, unable to even scream.
"Ready to talk?" The masked man's voice turned terrifyingly cold.
A final ultimatum.
Jessica spat out a thread of blood, then slowly, shook her head again.
My heart sank.
Criminals, kidnappings, knives—I'd seen plenty during my years as a detective.
But an eighteen-year-old girl, facing all this, could still keep a secret?
So who exactly was Jessica's father, Victor Zhou? What had he done that made Jessica willing to die rather than talk?
"Fine," the man sighed. "Then don't blame me."
His knife swung directly at my throat.
---
Blood. Searing pain.
The man froze.
Because I'd grabbed his blade with my bare hand.
With my skin tearing apart, I freed both hands in the shortest possible time, but my entire body and feet were still bound.
I twisted the masked man's wrist, snatched the knife in one motion, and pressed it against his throat.
Of the three, he was the leader. Using him as a hostage was our only chance of survival.
"Let her go."
The masked man chuckled. With a wave, one of the bruisers immediately had Jessica by the throat, lifting her off the ground.
Her feet dangled in the air, kicking weakly as small sounds escaped her lips.
"If you kill me, she dies."
The masked man stared at me, his eyes showing no fear—only a terrifying fanaticism.
Only the worst kind of criminals had eyes like that. The eyes of a beast.
In that moment, I was afraid.
Before I could recover, one bruiser had already charged in, landing a punch to my temple.
"Kid, you can't save her."
In my daze, I saw the masked man wave dismissively.
And Jessica—struggling, screaming, crying—was dragged step by step into the bedroom.
Then, from that room, came a scream.
A scream that cut through the heart like a blade.