Yuiga Nariyuki wakes from a nightmare he can't shake—because it wasn't a nightmare. It was a memory. Five years from now, he died. And before he did, he watched every person he cared about slip away, one by one, into darkness he couldn't reach.
But when he opens his eyes, it's April of his third year of high school. He's been given a second chance.
Armed with a battered notebook recording the future he's desperate to prevent, Nariyuki accepts the role of education supervisor for three brillian
We Cannot Change Fate - The Clockwork Thumbelina — Grandmother's Board and the Shadow of Divorce
An empty classroom after school.
Spring sunlight poured through the window, bleaching the worksheets on the desk white.
Yuiga Nariyuki stole a glance at the girl seated across from him.
Apricot-colored short hair. Behind her glasses, deep blue eyes. She stood barely four-foot-eight, but her chest was large, pushing the blazer of her uniform out at an almost unnatural angle.
Ogata Rizu.
Third-year, Class F at Ichinose Academy. A genius who ranked in the top one percent nationwide in math and physics.
Known as the "Clockwork Thumbelina," she had the most famous brain in the school.
But in humanities subjects, she was at the very bottom of the grade.
That was why he'd been assigned as her tutor.
"...Let's get started, then."
Nariyuki spoke as gently as he could manage.
Rizu nodded once, expressionless.
"Math first. Try this applied problem."
He slid the worksheet toward her.
She took it and glanced at the problem for exactly one second.
Then her mechanical pencil started moving.
No hesitation.
She didn't even bother writing out the intermediate steps — just answer after answer, filling the page.
Nariyuki winced internally.
(Yeah. She's unreal.)
In under three minutes, Rizu flipped the worksheet over.
"Done."
Her voice was quiet, impossible to read.
Nariyuki took the paper and looked it over.
Every answer correct.
And these were university entrance exam–level applied problems.
"...Amazing, as always. I can't find a single thing to criticize."
"Of course. Math is my strong suit."
Rizu answered flatly.
But the corner of her mouth lifted — just barely — with something like pride.
Nariyuki didn't miss it.
(She's bad at showing emotion, but she does feel happy.)
"All right, next is modern Japanese."
He handed her a new worksheet.
Rizu's hand stopped dead.
"..."
She stared at the paper without moving.
No — more accurately, she wasn't staring. She was glaring.
"Read the following passage and summarize the author's argument in one hundred characters or fewer."
She looked down at that problem like she was trying to kill it with her eyes.
"...Ogata?"
"I can't solve it."
Instant answer.
"You haven't even read the problem yet."
"No need to read it. I don't need humanities subjects."
Rizu declared it flatly.
Her face held a stubborn, absolute refusal.
Nariyuki let out a small breath.
(Even with my memories of the future, this was the first wall.)
Rizu was a genius at sciences, but she rejected the humanities completely.
"Don't need them," she said.
But she was wrong.
"Your goal is psychology, isn't it."
Nariyuki said it quietly.
Rizu's shoulders twitched.
"Psychology is a humanities field. University entrance exams require both modern and classical Japanese. And if you're going to study psychology, you absolutely need the ability to understand people's hearts through words."
"...That's—"
Rizu faltered.
Behind her glasses, her eyes wavered.
"How do you know I want to study psychology?"
Nariyuki's heart jumped.
(Damn. I let too much slip — things I only know from the future.)
"Ah, no... The principal told me the career plans of the students I'd be advising. As your tutor, that's only natural."
A pathetic excuse.
Rizu stared at him.
Cold sweat prickled down Nariyuki's back under that gaze.
"...I see."
She finally looked away and murmured.
"It's true that psychology is classified as humanities. But what I want to study is statistical psychology. A field centered on mathematical analysis. Humanities subjects are unnecessary."
"As long as humanities subjects appear on the entrance exam, they're necessary. And even in statistical psychology, you need reading comprehension to get through papers. Even if you quantify people's hearts, you can't do research without the ability to think in words about what those numbers mean."
Rizu went silent.
She bit her lip and glared at the worksheet.
(She understands logically. She just doesn't want to admit it.)
Nariyuki knew Rizu's fiercely competitive nature.
Even in his memories of the future, Rizu hated admitting she "couldn't" do something more than anything.
So he had no choice but to say it.
"Well, I won't force you. If you can't do humanities, you can't. I'll figure something out."
He said it deliberately lightly.
Rizu's eyebrow twitched.
"...Did you just decide that I can't do humanities?"
"Huh? No, I mean, you said you couldn't solve it."
"I said I couldn't solve it. I did not say I was incapable. I simply said there was no need to solve it."
Her voice rose slightly.
"If I put my mind to it, problems of this level are trivial. The humanities are just memorization and pattern recognition. Compared to mathematics, they're far simpler."
"Oh yeah? Then solve it. Go ahead — if you can."
Nariyuki tapped the worksheet with his fingertip.
Rizu's deep blue eyes flashed.
"...Fine. I'll show you."
She gripped her pencil hard.
And dove into the modern Japanese problem.
(Yes. She took the bait.)
Nariyuki pumped his fist internally.
Rizu's personality, from his memories of the future.
Tell her she "can't," and she'll absolutely want to prove she "can."
His own teaching method — exploiting that competitive streak.
Rizu began reading the passage with intense focus.
Nariyuki watched her profile quietly.
Outside the window, he could hear students heading to club activities.
A spring breeze stirred the curtains.
(It's fine. This is different from the future. I'll teach her properly.)
Nariyuki clenched his fist, as if convincing himself.
It took Rizu twenty minutes to finish the modern Japanese problem.
"...Done."
She held out the worksheet.
Her expression was just slightly smug.
Nariyuki looked over her answers.
"...About fifty percent. For a first attempt, that's impressive. No — honestly, that's plenty amazing."
"Of course. I can do it when I try."
Rizu puffed out her chest.
The gesture looked so childishly endearing that Nariyuki almost laughed.
(At this rate, her humanities will improve too. She can walk a different path from the future Rizu.)
"Let's stop here for today. Good work."
When he said that, Rizu tilted her head slightly.
"Is it already over? We still have time."
"If you go too hard on day one, you won't keep it up. With studying, a little every day is what matters."
"...Is that how it works?"
Rizu nodded vaguely, neither convinced nor unconvinced.
Then she picked up her bag.
"I'll be going home, then."
"Yeah. I'll walk you. Whereabouts is your house?"
At his words, Rizu froze for just a moment.
"...There's no need to walk me."
"Don't be like that. As your tutor, your safety is my responsibility too."
"I'm fine on safety. There's no danger at this hour."
"But still..."
Nariyuki was remembering the future.
Rizu's house was in a residential neighborhood ten minutes on foot from Hoshimi Slope Shopping Street.
Her relationship with her parents was ice-cold, and deep down, Rizu hated going home.
(I don't want to let her go back alone. At least to the edge of her neighborhood.)
"I want to walk you. Is that not okay?"
When Nariyuki looked at her directly, Rizu's gaze wandered, flustered.
"...If you insist that much, Yuiga, I suppose it's fine."
"Good. Let's go."
The two of them left the classroom side by side.
The hallway was dyed in the setting sun.
Club activity shouts echoed from far away.
"By the way, Ogata — your house is near the shopping street, right?"
Nariyuki brought it up casually.
"Yes. About ten minutes on foot from Hoshimi Slope Shopping Street."
"Do you go to the shopping street often?"
"...Sometimes. To the board game café."
Nariyuki's heart thumped hard.
(There it is. This topic.)
In his memories of the future, the board game Rizu's grandmother Mizuho left behind — "The Star-Crossing Board."
It would drastically alter Rizu's fate.
"A board game café. Don't tell me — board games are a hobby in your family?"
Nariyuki asked as naturally and offhandedly as he could.
Rizu's feet stopped dead.
"...Why do you ask that?"
Her voice hardened slightly.
She was on guard.
"Oh, no reason. My little sister loves games. Whenever I mention a board game café, she gets really into it. I was thinking of taking her sometime."
Nariyuki piled on the lie, picturing his little sister Hazuki from his future memories.
(Hazuki isn't really that into games, though...)
He apologized in his head.
Rizu stared at him.
Her gaze was serious, probing the truth of his words.
"...I see."
At last, Rizu started walking again.
"Board games aren't exactly a hobby in my family. It's just that my grandmother used to design them, and I picked up a fondness for them because of her."
"Oh, your grandmother designed board games? That's amazing. Was she a professional designer?"
"Not a professional. She made them as a hobby. But she was an incredible person. As far as I know, she loved games more than anyone."
Rizu's voice softened slightly.
"There's a game my grandmother was working on before she passed away. It's called 'The Star-Crossing Board' — a game about collecting fragments of stars. The rulebook was left incomplete. Only the board and pieces are finished."
"The Star-Crossing Board..."
Nariyuki rolled the name around in his mouth.
(It was in the future notebook. Ogata Mizuho's — Rizu's grandmother's — legacy. It hides a secret that became the trigger for her parents' divorce.)
"I want to complete that game. I want to know what kind of game my grandmother was trying to make. So I've been trying to figure out the missing parts of the rulebook myself and fill them in."
Rizu spoke quietly as she walked the sunlit road.
"But it's difficult. I can only guess at what my grandmother was thinking from the board layout and how the pieces move. I've tried mathematical analysis too, but nothing's been decisive."
"...I see."
Nariyuki felt a tightness deep in his chest.
(This game becomes the key that locks Rizu's heart in the future.)
Rizu's dream.
To complete the game her grandmother left behind.
But that dream was the kindling for her parents' divorce.
"Yuiga?"
Rizu peered at his face, puzzled.
"Ah, no. I was just thinking how amazing that is. You really have a dream of your own."
"It's not really a dream. Just selfishness."
Rizu smiled, a little lonely.
"I just don't want to forget the time I spent with my grandmother. If I complete the game, it feels like she's still by my side."
Nariyuki couldn't say anything to that.
Rizu's feelings for her grandmother.
In his memories of the future, those feelings were trampled, and Rizu closed her heart.
"...I'm sure you'll complete it."
That was all he could finally say.
"I hope so."
Rizu started walking toward the setting sun.
Nariyuki followed silently behind her.
After walking Rizu to the edge of her neighborhood, Nariyuki headed for Hoshimi Slope Shopping Street.
The street was bustling with evening shoppers.
The smell of fried food from the butcher. The lively shouts of the greengrocer. Children's laughter.
Nariyuki walked through the crowd and stopped in front of the cram school, "Minami Juku."
Second floor of an old building.
He climbed the stairs and opened the door.
"Hey, Nariyuki. Good work."
A graying, middle-aged man called out from behind the counter.
Minami.
The head of Minami Juku, a former teacher. Kind and caring — Nariyuki had worked part-time for him since his first year of high school.
"You had school tutoring today, right? How'd it go?"
"Pretty so-so."
Nariyuki set down his bag and approached the counter.
"So-so, huh."
Minami gave him a sharp look.
His eyes had the piercing quality unique to someone who'd spent years as a teacher — like he could see right through you.
"You've been way too impatient lately."
"...Huh?"
Nariyuki's heart jumped.
"What do you mean?"
"Don't play dumb. I saw your tutoring notes. The way you look at students' answers — you're look
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