Chapter 31 - Again, Again
I woke up to the old ceiling.
For several seconds—
I did not move.
No hospital.
No road.
No broken glass.
No shouting.
Just ceiling.
Fan.
My old room.
Twenty-three.
Again.
I closed my eyes.
"No."
Opened them.
Same ceiling.
"Fuck."
My body felt—
fine.
Young.
Too young.
I sat up too fast.
No pain.
No stiffness.
No fifty-six-year-old knees complaining about stairs.
My hands looked wrong.
Smooth.
Young.
Twenty-three-year-old hands.
I stared at them.
Then around the room.
Old desk.
Old shelves.
Old printer.
The same fucking printer.
I pointed at it.
"You."
It remained silent.
Probably waiting for the worst possible moment to jam.
Consistent.
My phone was beside the bed.
Old phone.
Old case.
I grabbed it.
Date.
I stared.
No.
Checked again.
Same date.
Age twenty-three.
Reset point.
Again.
Thirty-three years—
gone.
For a moment, the joke disappeared.
Mama.
Papa.
Ate Bianca.
Kuya Nathan.
Ate Vivian.
Sofia.
Jane.
Chloe.
Camille.
Celeste.
Abigail.
Bea.
Claire.
Ella.
Evelyn.
Isabella.
Julia.
Grace.
All of them—
not dead.
Worse.
Erased.
Or not erased exactly.
Versions of them still existed somewhere.
Younger.
Different.
Not yet the people I had known.
Camille might not even know Jane.
Abigail had never worked for me.
Celeste had no tutorial center.
Grace had never joined it.
Sofia had not built her beauty business.
The businesses—
gone.
The trips—
gone.
The birthdays—
gone.
My fifty-sixth birthday—
gone.
Thirty-three years of memories existing only inside one twenty-three-year-old skull.
I pressed both hands over my face.
"Fuck."
This reset hurt differently.
The first time, I'd lost a life I regretted.
This time—
I'd lost one I actually wanted to keep.
I sat there for a while.
No dramatic screaming.
No punching walls.
Just—
grief.
Quiet.
Ugly.
Unfair.
I had done it right.
Maybe not perfectly.
But right enough.
I had gone home.
I had slept.
I had traveled.
I had known my family.
I had been there.
I had lived past forty-five.
I had survived the age that killed me once.
Then some random car hit us at fifty-six anyway.
What the fuck was the lesson there?
Wear a helmet inside a car?
Then—
because my brain had apparently decided I had suffered enough serious emotion—
one extremely important realization arrived.
I froze.
Slowly lowered my hands.
"Oh, shuta."
Thirty-three years.
Single.
Fine.
Happy.
Healthy.
Complete.
Wonderful.
Still—
single.
I stared at the ceiling.
"Wala na naman akong jowa."
Silence.
The universe offered no apology.
"Putangina."
I had literally said—
Next life na lang ako magjo-jowa.
More than once.
Repeatedly.
To Jane.
To Chloe.
Possibly within hearing range of the universe.
I sat up straighter.
"This is my fault."
No.
Absolutely not.
I refused to accept cosmic liability.
But still.
Dangerous wording.
I grabbed a notebook.
Not the same one.
That notebook had accumulated thirty-three years of rules before disappearing with everything else.
Fine.
New life.
New notebook.
I wrote:
RESET 2
Then underneath:
FIRST OBSERVATION: APPARENTLY THE UNIVERSE TAKES JOKES LITERALLY.
I paused.
Then added:
DO NOT SAY "NEXT LIFE NA LANG" ABOUT ANYTHING IMPORTANT.
Excellent.
Risk control.
Then I stared at the page.
Business.
That part—
I knew.
More than ever.
I knew how the first business had grown.
What had worked.
What had been unnecessary.
Which equipment became useful.
Which systems mattered.
How to hire.
How to delegate.
How to price.
How to scale.
How to say no.
How to leave.
I could rebuild Reset 1 much faster.
Much, much faster.
Dangerous thought.
Because Reset 1 had taught me something else.
Faster wasn't automatically better.
If I rebuilt too aggressively—
I could accidentally create Original Life all over again with better spreadsheets.
No.
This time, no speedrun.
I wrote:
BUSINESS RULE #1: FASTER IS NOT THE GOAL. BETTER IS.
Then:
BUSINESS RULE #2: DO NOT BUILD THINGS EARLY JUST BECAUSE I KNOW THEY WILL EVENTUALLY WORK.
Then:
BUSINESS RULE #3: CURRENT DATA. CURRENT PEOPLE. CURRENT LIFE.
Good.
Memory was still not prophecy.
I knew that now without needing to learn it through printer suffering.
Although printer suffering would probably still occur.
Then—
romance.
I stared at the blank part of the page.
Thirty-three years of—
maybe.
Eventually.
Would be nice.
Next life.
No.
Not again.
I wrote:
ROMANCE RULE #1: ACTUALLY DATE.
Underlined.
Twice.
Then:
ROMANCE RULE #2: IF SOMEONE FLIRTS, VERIFY INTENT.
Then:
ROMANCE RULE #3: DO NOT ASSUME "CHAROT" MEANS CHAROT IF THERE IS AN "UNLESS."
I stopped.
Celeste.
Fuck.
That woman had spent decades issuing compliance updates without ever resolving the underlying case.
Not happening again.
Probably.
Maybe.
No.
Strong policy.
I added:
ROMANCE RULE #4: DON'T FLIRT WITH ME UNLESS YOU ACTUALLY LIKE ME.
Then under it:
AND IF YOU DO LIKE ME, SAY IT PROPERLY. I AM TIRED.
Perfect.
My phone buzzed.
I jumped.
Message.
Mama.
gising ka na?
My chest tightened.
Mama.
Young again.
Alive.
Not the older Mama whose groceries we stopped letting her carry.
Not the Mama with maintenance medicines.
Twenty-three-year-old-me's Mama.
I stood immediately.
She was downstairs.
Same house.
Same kitchen.
Same morning.
When she saw me—
"Ba't parang tulala ka?"
I looked at her.
Then hugged her.
She froze.
"Anong nangyari?"
"Nothing."
"May sakit ka?"
"No."
"Bad dream?"
Something like that.
I held on for another second.
Then let go before she got genuinely worried.
"Miss lang kita."
She stared.
"Magkasama tayo kagabi."
I laughed.
Of course.
"Okay."
She narrowed her eyes.
"Anong kailangan mo?"
"Nothing."
"Pera?"
"No."
That apparently worried her more.
Papa wasn't home yet.
Work.
Of course.
Sofia was around.
Twenty-one again.
She walked in looking at her phone.
Then saw me.
"Ate."
I looked at her.
Young.
Still college.
Beauty business not yet built.
No employees.
No manufacturing discussions.
Just Sofia.
"Hm?"
"Ba't ka nakatingin?"
"Nothing."
She narrowed her eyes.
"Creepy."
Good.
Same.
Ate Bianca.
Kuya Nathan.
Ate Vivian.
All younger again.
Their businesses smaller.
Their mistakes ahead of them.
Their successes not guaranteed.
I knew what Reset 1 versions had become.
But these people—
weren't obligated to repeat those lives.
I remembered my own rule.
People are not business assets.
Also—
people were not reruns.
After breakfast, I went back upstairs.
Phone.
Contacts.
There.
Jane.
Chloe.
Celeste.
My thumb hovered over Jane's name.
Old feeling.
Very old.
Older than this body.
In Reset 1, Jane had gone on to Camille.
A long relationship.
A good one.
That did not mean it would happen again.
Maybe Camille would meet someone else.
Maybe Jane would.
Maybe not.
Not prophecy.
I would not interfere.
I would not use thirty-three years of knowing one version of Jane to manipulate this one.
Friends.
That was enough.
Chloe—
same.
Still dangerous eyes.
Still not yet carrying decades of evidence against me.
Wonderful.
Then Celeste.
I stared at the name.
College almost-girlfriend.
Former flower supplier.
Tutorial-center owner in a life that no longer existed.
Occasional menace.
not flirting
probably
unless
I narrowed my eyes at the screen.
Reset 2 policy activated.
If this woman tried that shit again—
we were clarifying immediately.
No twenty-one-year compliance review.
I laughed.
Then caught myself.
God.
I missed them.
All of them.
Versions that no longer existed.
That grief wasn't going anywhere.
But—
these versions were here.
Current.
Alive.
Unwritten.
Maybe that was the only thing I could work with.
The printer made a noise behind me.
I slowly turned.
"No."
It flashed an error.
Of course.
I walked over.
Opened it.
Paper jam.
I stared.
"Thirty-three years and you're still my enemy."
Technically this printer had experienced none of those years.
Unfair accusation.
Still deserved.
By noon, I had recovered enough to check the business.
Tiny printing/customization operation.
Same beginning.
Same limitations.
Same mistakes waiting to happen if I let them.
But I didn't need to repeat every Reset 1 step.
I already knew what the first life had taught me.
I could skip unnecessary suffering.
Not skip time.
Different.
I corrected pricing.
Checked current suppliers.
Reviewed actual orders.
No major purchases.
No hiring five people on Day One.
No future workspace lease.
No pretending I had an empire because I remembered owning one.
One day.
One business.
Current capacity.
Good.
Then—
my phone buzzed.
Jane.
Uy buhay ka?
I stared.
Then laughed.
Bad wording.
She had no idea.
unfortunately
Immediate reply:
arte
There.
Jane.
Current Jane.
Not forty-something Jane.
Not fifty-something Jane.
Twenty-three.
No Camille.
No decades of premium-package harassment.
Yet.
She messaged again.
kita minsan?
I smiled.
game
Then—
because apparently I had learned one thing from Reset 1—
I did not check my calendar first.
Chloe messaged later too.
Different conversation.
Normal.
Then Celeste liked something I posted.
That was it.
No message.
No flirting.
No unless.
Peace.
For now.
That evening, Papa came home.
I heard the gate.
Went downstairs.
He walked in.
Younger.
Tired from work.
Normal.
I took his hand.
"Pa."
He smiled.
"Kamusta?"
"Good."
And suddenly my throat tightened again.
I looked away.
"Pagod?"
"Konti."
Same answer.
Years apart.
Different life.
I smiled.
"Dinner?"
"Yeah."
That night—
Mama.
Papa.
Sofia.
Me.
Dinner.
No Ate Bianca.
No Kuya Nathan and Ate Vivian because they had their own lives.
Same structure.
Different year.
I ate slowly.
Listened.
Remembered.
Grieved.
Stayed.
Before bed, I opened the notebook again.
One final rule.
Maybe the most important one.
RESET 2 RULE #1: THIS IS NOT RESET 1 AGAIN.
I underlined it.
Because I knew myself.
I knew how tempting it would be to rebuild the same people.
Same friendships.
Same clients.
Same employees.
Same life.
Maybe I could find Abigail earlier.
Maybe hire Bea earlier.
Maybe help Celeste sooner.
Maybe—
No.
That life was gone.
This one deserved the chance to become something else.
Including me.
I looked at the romance rules again.
ACTUALLY DATE.
I smiled.
Okay.
I could do that.
Probably.
How hard could it be?
I had built companies.
Negotiated contracts.
Managed hundreds of people.
Survived two deaths.
Surely dating couldn't be more complicated than operations.
I stared at the sentence.
Then added one more line.
DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE WOMEN.
There.
Better.
I closed the notebook.
Twenty-three.
Again.
No empire.
No tutorial center.
No decades of history anyone else remembered.
And—
shuta.
No girlfriend.
Again.
Fine.
This time—
I was fixing that too.