"Marcus..."
---
I froze.
"I time-traveled here already prepared to face you, Marcus."
I stood there, my body taut. My mind was still running through combat scenarios, but the fighting spirit inside me evaporated in an instant.
"I want to save your teacher's wife, Marcus."
We'd just seen each other thirty minutes ago, and he'd been in the prime of his life.
But now, his appearance hadn't changed, yet inside he'd aged a decade. He was the Captain Reeves I knew—the one who'd lost his wife, covered in old scars and bone-deep fatigue.
My teacher's wife had died in a targeted killing.
Because he was a relentless cop who'd made many enemies. He'd stepped back from the front lines and become bureau chief, but the old enemies still came for him. When they tried to assassinate him, they missed—and hit his wife instead.
But...
He'd joined the Rebirth Society for this?
He walked toward me slowly. All the believers parted to make way.
No one panicked. No one stopped him. No one helped.
I realized then that when I'd disabled the earlier fighters, the believers had just watched in silence.
Like spectators in an arena, treating my struggle as the thrashing of a trapped animal.
I looked at Victor Zhou.
Of course—he still showed no distress. Only composure and amusement.
He even made a gesture of invitation.
And Jessica was being held down on the ground by two burly time-travelers.
"Marcus, come."
My teacher was calling me.
"Come."
In 2008 at the police academy, I'd collapsed on my ninth lap of the thousand-meter run, and he'd shouted the same way.
I nodded.
"Teacher..."
Was there any other way?
Even if everything was within Victor Zhou's calculations, even if someone like my teacher now stood against me, even if my hands were covered in blood and my body full of sin.
Was there any other way?
"I won't hold back, Teacher."
He nodded, smiled.
"I know."
"I'll fight you like a criminal."
"Yeah..." He tilted his head, sighing. "I am one now."
"Don't do evil—you're the one who taught me that! You said don't do evil!"
"Marcus, your teacher's wife is gone." He walked toward me slowly. "I want her alive. You understand that, don't you?"
I want her alive.
Such a familiar phrase.
So he'd submitted to Victor Zhou to save his wife, just like I wanted to save Jessica.
"Is that wrong?" Victor Zhou said from the side. "I have new technology, I want to create a new world—is that wrong?"
Yeah, was that wrong?
Suddenly I heard a muffled groan.
It was Jessica, pinned down by the two men.
Her arms were twisted behind her back, her face pressed into the dirt. A sudden spike of pain from one of her joints had made her cry out involuntarily.
Was this... not wrong?
I remembered Jessica falling from the building again.
She was only eighteen, but her father's mad plan was going to make her jump.
Was that not wrong?
Damian time-traveled 1,043 times and literally worked himself to death.
Was that not wrong?
And my teacher...
Even he had fallen under Victor Zhou's control.
Was that not wrong!?
I stopped hesitating.
"Of course it's wrong!"
"You're creating a new world,"
"but making other people die for it!"
"I can't fucking stand it!"
---
From where I stood, it was three steps to my teacher, five steps to Victor Zhou, and nine steps to Jessica. No matter what, I couldn't reach Victor Zhou or save Jessica before my teacher closed the distance. This positioning had obviously been calculated in advance.
In our previous confrontation at the hotel, I'd won purely through deception.
But the man in front of me was Captain Reeves time-traveled back from ten years in the future.
He had a body in its prime, combined with the experience and cunning of a veteran. In terms of combat ability, he was no less than Damian, and he knew every technique I used.
This was another fight with no chance of winning.
But there was no time to think. He was already charging at me.
I dodged on instinct, but couldn't evade his sudden assault—his fist caught me square in the liver.
Then he unleashed a barrage of punches and kicks, each one cutting the air. I defended frantically, occasionally caught by his openings, bleeding from the hits.
But in my retreat, I drew closer to the "10 o'clock" position.
The woman I'd downed earlier had a knife.
A kick caught me hard in the face—but it missed my temple and jaw, so no matter how hard, it couldn't knock me out.
I used the momentum to spin, scooping up the knife from the ground.
Twist, extend, thrust—straight at my teacher's chest.
But it was a feint.
He knew my techniques too well—he'd probably already figured out how to disarm me before I even moved.
So I didn't commit to the strike. I pushed and pulled back, making him feel the threat without giving him a chance to grab the blade.
But the knife went in anyway.
---
When the blade sank completely into his chest, he grabbed my shoulders and pushed me back against the car door.
I froze, but quickly read "no fear" in his eyes.
What was wrong with my teacher?
I pressed forward on the knife, making as if to pull it out.
"Teacher, don't force me."
If I pulled the blade now, he'd hemorrhage and die within minutes.
"Kid, you'll understand soon." My teacher spoke through the pain, but his voice was unnaturally calm.
Then I realized the knife was gone from my hand.
I stared at my empty right hand, and a spike of pain shot through my head. Chaotic images flooded my memory.
Soon, I was lost in a strange confusion.
Had I really picked up the knife?
Not just that—the people I'd downed at 7, 10, 12, and 3 o'clock were all standing nearby with their arms crossed, watching me.
But had I actually defeated them?
Before I could sort out what had happened, my teacher landed another heavy punch—directly into my central nervous system.
It didn't hurt, but my entire body stopped responding.
I fell to my knees, staring at the blood-soaked ground, and my memory stopped fracturing. Only one thread remained.
All other distortions vanished in an instant.
One very strange memory.
Just now, I'd faced my teacher in combat.
I'd kicked dust to hide my hand, gone for a throat lock—he'd dodged by tilting his head.
I'd thrown a knee strike—he'd kicked my back foot out.
I'd tried a shoulder throw—he'd pressed down on my lower back and drained all my strength.
I'd gone for a kidney strike—he'd smoothly blocked my forearm.
My teacher was stronger than he'd ever been.
In the past, he'd known my moves, but he'd never displayed this kind of perfect prediction—not to mention countering each one with the most efficient counter in the shortest possible time.
It was like... precognition.
He'd predicted my every move.
Every wound on my body started throbbing with savage intensity.
Right—when he'd beaten me just now, every single punch had targeted my existing injuries. Now, those wounds had all burst open, bleeding steadily.
How did he know where every wound was?
But it wasn't strange—he could predict every technique I used.
We'd only fought once, but he moved like he'd rehearsed it.
Like he'd rehearsed it hundreds of times.
I understood.
I was caught in Victor Zhou's time trap.
If Damian could time-travel 1,043 times, so could others. In timelines I knew nothing about, my teacher and I might have fought countless times already.
So this fight was my first, but for him, it was just completing a standard sequence.
In this trap, he—and any member of the Rebirth Society—could infinitely reset the timeline, keeping themselves forever, eternally, invincible.
I couldn't stand.
I'd lost all combat ability.
I'd lost.
Jessica's and my plan had been too naive. Against people who could manipulate time at will, we were like ants.
Victor Zhou walked up and patted my shoulder.
He said, "Marcus, you can't defeat a god."
---
"I lost..."
The words came unbidden. To buy time—both to lower my opponent's guard and to give myself space to think.
But even ants had chances, didn't they?
Even ants had the right to fight back!
For whatever reason, Victor Zhou didn't seem to want me dead right now. As long as I was alive, as long as I still had the will to destroy the Gate, I could still succeed.
I needed to submit first. Endure humiliation. Be more loyal and obsequious than anyone, until Victor Zhou trusted me completely.
But then Victor Zhou chuckled. "I know what you're thinking. You're thinking you can still win."
"And you actually tried." He walked to my side and patted my shoulder. "Within a year, you'll rebel... three more times."
It sounded absurd, but I had a feeling he was telling the truth.
"In about an hour, we'll return to 2017 together, and you'll join us. But during your first tour of the Gate facility, you'll strap yourself with Semtex and try to blow up the entire lab."
"After that fails, you'll go quiet for months, then plan an elaborate assassination—trying to kill me without alerting anyone in the Rebirth Society."
"But you failed again. You started falling apart. Half a year later, you developed severe bipolar disorder, and one night you took stimulants and killed twelve core members..."
"Marcus, I want you to know—you can assassinate me, you can take Jessica hostage, you can kill everyone here, or... sacrifice yourself."
"Whatever you do, I don't care."
"Whatever you do, the Rebirth Society will continue."
---
My name is Marcus. I'm a detective.
In 2017, an artificial wormhole was invented, enabling time travel. I was given a mission—to go back ten years and assassinate Victor Zhou, the Creator of the Gate.
But I failed.
And I became a member of the Rebirth Society, the organization Victor Zhou founded.
In the last half hour of the mission, I was taken to a hospital and treated for all my wounds.
Victor Zhou told me that when the eight-hour mission time ran out, I'd return to the 2017 lab—but the Gate would still be there, and everything else would have changed.
In 2017, Victor Zhou had calculated more parameters, built more Gates, and used the Rebirth Society to decentralize time-travel.
Every member of the organization could modify the timeline. So now, even if Victor Zhou died, the organization could resurrect him through timeline changes.
This was the true meaning of "Rebirth."
Just as Damian had predicted—the Rebirth Society could do anything.