The cicadas’ song never seemed to pause. The frogs had quieted down, but the morning birds had begun to chirp, harmonizing with the cicadas to form a symphony unique to summer.

The room had no air conditioning. Even at dawn, it wasn’t particularly cool.

I gently wiped the fine beads of sweat from my forehead and turned to look at the anime girl poster on the wall.

Memories from long, long ago surged to the surface—this familiar home, this familiar poster…

Everything felt both intimately familiar and strangely alien. They belonged to ‘me,’ yet not to me.

I stared blankly, struck by a wave of confusion. When I tried to trace my memories, I found gaps. The recollections before my time travel were especially hazy.

I am Yue Feather—that much was certain. Then who was the boy sitting before me now, pinching his own thigh?

When had I traveled to? My memories only stretched to 2014; everything after that was a blur.

The calendar on the desk clearly showed the current year: 2004.

So… had I traveled back from ten years in the future?

But would technology really be that advanced ten years later? Could humans truly traverse time?

My head throbbed. It seemed unlikely.

Besides, I had faint, fragmented memories of events beyond 2014. Perhaps I came from even further ahead… maybe 2024?

I vaguely recalled being a researcher before the jump. What project I’d worked on, though, was lost to me.

Memory loss must be part of the price for reversing time.

I likely *had* traveled back at thirty. My mental state and emotional maturity felt fitting for that age.

Or… could I have come from a century ahead?

I almost laughed at the thought. Impossible. Would an old man leaping through time still carry such a youthful heart?

I watched the other me—my past self—whose expression shifted from blankness to a frown, then deep thought, sudden joy, and finally suspicion. My mind raced.

My memories confirmed I’d been an adult male before the jump. The few fleeting romantic encounters I recalled also pointed to that.

Yet somehow, after traveling back, I’d become female. Perhaps the energy of reversing time had quantum-dispersed me, and upon reassembly in this destined era, a slight error occurred—leaving me in a girl’s form.

It was unexpected. Surprising. Yet strangely, I remained calm. Not the calm of a thirty-year-old, but of someone weathered by life’s storms.

Just who *was* my future self? Why did I possess maturity beyond my years?

The missing memories refused to surface, only worsening my headache. The cicadas’ relentless drone outside sharpened the ache, forcing me to abandon the search.

Becoming a girl wasn’t a critical deviation. It wouldn’t hinder my purpose for returning to the past.

Instead of acting myself, I’d simply guide my younger self.

My goal remained: alter my past self’s life path. Spare him the road I’d walked. At the very least, he should marry and start a family before thirty.

In my memories, I’d reached thirty still alone.

Solitude deepens with age. It becomes a quiet, aching loneliness.

“Is this… not a dream? Why does it hurt so much… yet I don’t wake up?” My past self muttered to himself, still unable to accept reality.

Understandable. Even I would’ve doubted such a thing.

I’d been a time-machine researcher—and even *I* had questioned its true feasibility.

I sat up. Jet-black hair spilled over my shoulders. My bangs blurred my vision; I had to brush them aside to see clearly.

*Bitter amusement flickered inside me.* A girl’s body… troublesome in every sense.

Why hadn’t I been remade male? Guiding my past self as a brother would’ve been far simpler than this.

And the biggest puzzle: why did two versions of me exist in the same timeline? That defied temporal theory.

I sank into thought again.

…

Yue Feather gritted his teeth and pinched the soft flesh of his thigh harder than before. He didn’t let go. The pain intensified.

“Ugh!” A muffled groan escaped him. This was likely the sharpest pain he could inflict without tools.

Yet the girl lying on the bamboo mat remained. He didn’t wake. Instead, he grew clearer-headed.

“Is this… not a dream? Why does it hurt so much… yet I don’t wake up?” Yue Feather murmured, lost between reality and illusion.

Then the girl sat up slowly, reappearing in his deliberately averted gaze.

Her eyes held no focus. Her attention wasn’t on him.

But her bare form—smooth as polished jade, like a sculpture carved by heaven itself—hit him with visceral force. Her skin was utterly hairless except for her lashes, brows, and hair…

Dream or reality forgotten, his first instinct after a second of stunned silence was to yank the thin summer quilt over her.

It did little to hide her slender form.

Her body seemed newly blossoming—still tender, unripe—yet radiating an innocent allure.

Especially for Yue Feather, a virgin who’d never even held a girl’s hand.

“This isn’t a dream.” The girl placed her small, cool hand over his. “Feel my warmth? This is real. And… I’m real too.”

Her palm held a human chill, yet undeniably alive.

*Real…*

Yue Feather’s heart hammered. Not just from confirmation, but from her hand resting on his.

*A girl’s hand. Her warmth…*

He trembled. His pulse roared in his ears. His face burned crimson. Words died in his throat.

Forcing down reluctant longing, he slowly withdrew his hand. His mind cleared slightly.

“Y-your… name? What’s… your name?”

“Name…?” She tilted her head, lips pressed into a soft, pink pout—a gesture so cute he swallowed hard.

“Forgotten?”

“Mm.” Her eyes flickered sideways, hiding something. “I’ve lost my memories.”

“L-lost them? So… you don’t remember how you got here?”

“No.” She nodded lightly, seemingly unconcerned about her amnesia. Her focus lingered on her name. “What should I be called?”

“Eh? A n-name?” Yue Feather stammered, scanning the room. He took her idle question as a plea. His brain raced, straining to find the perfect name.

*He’d move mountains for whatever she desired.*

Was this… love at first sight?

Or simply because she was too beautiful to deny?

His gaze locked onto the small bell hanging from the doorknob. A morning breeze stirred it, filling the room with a crisp, sweet chime.

He’d bought it to break the silence of his lonely home. Its sound was a small comfort to his solitude.

“H-how about… Silver Bell?” he asked tentatively, palms slick with sweat, bracing for rejection.

“Silver Bell…” She nodded, satisfied. Yet for a fleeting moment, her voice carried an older man’s warmth—a gentle, paternal tone.

*Probably my imagination,* he thought, shaking it off. The feeling vanished when he refocused.

“Wait… how did you know… my name is Yue Feather?”

“I don’t remember.” Silver Bell smiled. “But before I recover my memories… shouldn’t you find me some clothes?”

“Ah! Right! I’ll get them!” Yue Feather scrambled up, tripping toward the wardrobe. “S-sorry… I don’t have any girls’ clothes…”

“That’s fine. Boys’ clothes would be even better.” Silver Bell’s reply struck him as the thoughtful kindness of a gentle soul.

*What a kind, considerate girl.*

The thought slipped out before he could stop it: “I wish she were my girlfriend…”

He instantly shook his head, banishing the idea.

*Impossible. A girl like her… I could never deserve her.*