A female swordsman once told me that life’s cruelest trick isn’t the repetition of our failures but the fleeting hope that this time we’ll finally succeed.

Just like yesterday, I made my way to the alley near the Chosen One bar. Well, what used to be the Chosen One bar. I knew it had mysteriously vanished, as if it had never existed in the first place. But in this strange, repeating cycle, I was confident that one thing wouldn’t change.

Jitters would be there, waiting for me.

Sure enough, when I turned the corner, there he was. Perched on top of a dented trash can, his tail flicking lazily, his green eyes locked onto mine with that familiar, unreadable expression. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was expecting me, like he already knew I’d be coming.

“Jitters!” I called out, a strange relief washing over me at the sight of him. There was something reassuring about having him here, in the middle of all this insanity.

You ever have that one thing in your life that keeps you grounded? That one constant that makes you feel like maybe everything isn’t falling apart? Yeah, for me, it’s this cat.

But something felt off.

Jitters didn’t react the way he usually did. No flick of the ear, no lazy stretch, no half-hearted meow. He just sat there, staring at me, completely still.

I paused. That weird sense of wrongness started to creep in. Normally, when I called his name, he gave me something. A blink. A twitch. A sound. This time? Nothing. Just that still, eerie stare.

“Hmm.” I narrowed my eyes, rubbing my chin while we stared each other down like we were locked in the world’s most intense standoff. He tilted his head a little, his gaze locked on mine, like he was studying me just as hard as I was studying him.

Then it came rushing back to me.

Oh. Right.

I hadn’t named him yet. Not in this version of today. As far as he knew, I was just some random guy staring at him for no reason. No history. No connection. Just two strangers caught in an awkward moment.

“Okay,” I said, nodding like I’d just cracked some huge mystery. “From now on, your name is Jitters. Understand?”

Jitters finally let out a small meow, snapping the tension like it was no big deal.

I chuckled. “Good, now we’re getting somewhere.”

Naming the same cat for the second time wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I pictured using my second chance at life. But hey, life’s weird. And apparently, so is time.

Now, back to business.

I needed a place to think. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere I could sit down, sort through my options, and figure out how the hell I was supposed to stop everything from falling apart by nightfall. I’d picked the café last time, but maybe this loop needed a new setting.

The Drunken Stag.

Brutus wouldn’t mind me hanging around. The place was far from perfect, but it was something. And honestly, a drink or two might help. People always said alcohol boosted creativity. Maybe it’d work for me, too.

Before long, I was making my way through town, Jitters padding alongside me like a tiny, four-legged bodyguard. I figured, might as well lean into the weirdness. So naturally, I started talking to him.

“You see, pal, I’m stuck in this weird repeat of yesterday. Sounds nuts, right?”

Jitters, ever the reliable conversation partner, meowed back. Whether he actually understood or was just humoring my descent into madness, I didn’t know. But it felt nice to pretend we were in this together.

A few people glanced over as we passed. Their expressions drifted from curious to downright concerned.

Yeah, yeah, I know. Just some guy rambling to a cat like we’re deep in a business negotiation. Nothing to see here, folks.

We turned onto a quieter street where an old building was mid-renovation. Wooden scaffolding climbed five stories into the air, with workers hammering, lifting, and shouting instructions. Loose planks lay across beams, and piles of bricks teetered near the edge. The whole setup looked like one strong breeze would bring the whole thing crashing down.

As we walked closer, someone yelled from above.

“Look out!”

That was it. No details, no context. Just the kind of vague warning that makes your brain go blank because it doesn’t know what the hell to look out for.

So, of course, I did the dumbest thing I could’ve done.

I stopped and looked up.

That’s when I saw them. Bricks. A cluster of them, tumbling from above, headed straight for my skull like gravity had a personal grudge against me.

Time slowed. My body didn’t.

I stood frozen, watching my incoming doom with perfect, excruciating clarity.

“Oh, crap.”

Then came the impact.

A brick slammed into my forehead, followed by another, and another. Each one struck like a drumbeat of pain, sharp and unremitting. My vision blurred. The world twisted and spun around me.

And then—

Darkness.

Seriously? I get a second shot at life and end up taken out by flying bricks? Of all the ways to go, I didn’t expect bad construction to do me in.

As the blackness swallowed me whole, one last thought echoed in my brain.

If I wake up from this, I’m getting an iron helmet. And I’m never walking near scaffolding again.

A female voice whispered in my ear, faint but unmistakable. My eyelids fluttered open, and the first thing I noticed was the golden sunlight spilling through the window. I blinked a few times, adjusting to the brightness. Something felt off. I sat up abruptly, scanning my surroundings, my pulse quickening with confusion.

My bedroom?

I ran a hand through my hair, then instinctively touched my head where, logically speaking, there should’ve been a massive, throbbing lump from, you know, getting bricked in the skull.

But no pain. No injury. Nothing. It was like the whole thing never happened. My stomach dropped as the understanding sank in.

My day got reset. Again.

I fell back against my bed, staring at the ceiling, half-laughing, half-groaning.

“Great,” I muttered. “Another round.”

The whole dying-and-starting-over thing was already getting old, and I wasn’t even sure how many times I’d have to go through it. At least now I’d figured out the pattern. If I failed, if I died, the day slammed me straight back to square one. I had to repeat today again and again until I got it right.

The problem?

I still had no clue what “right” was even supposed to look like.

I sat cross-legged on my bed, rubbing my temples as I tried to piece together a plan. If I wanted to make it out of this loop alive, and, you know, actually keep living beyond today, I needed to be smarter. More careful. More prepared. And maybe just a little luckier.

This time, I wasn’t going to waste any chances.

I swung my legs off the bed and stood up, already running through a mental checklist of the changes I needed to make.

First thing’s first.

I wasn’t going anywhere without my sword. No more walking into danger unarmed like an idiot. I clipped the blade to my belt before heading downstairs, anticipating what I’d see next.

As expected, Alfred and Mathilda were at the dining table, mid-conversation. I didn’t bother with pleasantries. Instead, I cut them off before they could even greet me.

“Just bring me breakfast,” I said, waving a hand as I sat down. They exchanged puzzled glances but didn’t argue. I dug into my meal, realizing how weird it was to feel hungry again even though I had literally just eaten a few hours ago. Resetting time didn’t reset my appetite, apparently.

Once I’d cleaned my plate, I got up, stretched, and made my way to the front door. I stopped just short of touching the handle, took a deep breath, and waited.

Three… two… one…

BANG.

Like clockwork, the door flew open, and Alistair stormed inside, his face twisted in frustration. “Alex, you numbskull!” he barked. “You didn’t wait for me yesterday!”

Yesterday. Heh. If only he knew.

I lifted a hand, cutting him off before he could get into another rant. “Out of the way, Alistair,” I said coolly. “Can’t you see I’m carrying my sword?”

Alistair’s eyes flicked to my waist, and his entire demeanor shifted. His mouth opened, then closed, his righteous fury deflating like a popped balloon. “A—All right, Alex,” he stuttered, stepping aside.

I smirked. Not bad. Maybe carrying a weapon wasn’t just smart. It was also an excellent way to shut people up.

Once outside, I made a beeline for the estate gate, retracing my steps from the last loop. Sure enough, Aiden was there, lurking like before. He must’ve used some skill to mask his presence, but it didn’t matter. I already knew he was coming.

I repeated our previous conversation, word for word, just to see how he’d react. His expression flickered with something.

Confusion? Suspicion? But he didn’t call me out on it.

That was fine. I wasn’t here to make things harder on myself. After I wrapped up my interaction with him, I moved on.

I didn’t even bother with the market scenes this time. I already knew how they played out. The old man and his mule? Check. The merchant with the crates? Check. The dog and the egg-carrying lady? Check. Everything was happening exactly as it did before, proving once again that this was more than just a coincidence.

And then, of course, there was Jitters.

I reached the alley where the Chosen One bar used to be. The bar still wasn’t there; it was never there, but the alley was exactly as I remembered. More importantly, so was Jitters.

There he was, loafing on top of the same trash can, giving me that look that seemed to say, “Didn’t we just meet an hour ago?”

I named him, and the two of us made our way to the Drunken Stag.

Jitters trotted beside me as I made my way through the streets, casually filling him in on my whole stuck-in-a-time-loop situation. People again gave me uncanny looks, probably wondering why I was talking to a cat like he was my personal therapist, but I ignored them.

As we turned onto a quieter street, I spotted the building undergoing renovations again. Scaffolding. Unstable bricks. Workers moving around up top. The whole setup was painfully familiar.

Then came the shout. “Look out!”

I didn’t even flinch this time, since I stopped a good couple of yards away, watching as the bricks tumbled down and smashed into the ground exactly where I would have been standing if I hadn’t learned my lesson.

Jitters looked up at me and meowed, almost like he was saying, “How do you know where the bricks will land?” I stroked his head, feeling a bit more confident. Maybe I could figure out how to break this loop and save everyone if I know what is coming for me and how the events are going to play out.

Wait a second!

What I’m thinking sounds familiar, as if I’ve said something similar to myself before. But where… and when did I say it?

I tried to dig deeper into my memory, but it was like chasing a shadow in the fog. The more I pursued it, the more it danced away. I shook my head, deciding to focus on the task at hand. Perhaps the answer would come to me later.

“Come on, Jitters,” I said, setting my shoulders. “We have a job to do.”

We continued on our way to the Drunken Stag.

The streets seemed unusually silent, but I didn’t let it bother me. I needed to figure out how to stop Catherine and her goons. I couldn’t rely on Uncle Dane’s help or anything that required more than a day to prepare. There had to be something more pressing I could do. Maybe I could find out more about Catherine’s plot, like how the attack was going to take place tonight and then counter it.

Jitters meowed in agreement, or at least that’s how I chose to understand it.

We arrived at the tavern. The place looked the same as the last time I was here. I pushed open the door, hoping the place had been tidied up and that Brutus would let me hang around.

Inside, the atmosphere was not like the usual morning I was used to. There were only a handful of patrons, probably because of the brawl. I found a corner table and sat down, with Jitters hopping up onto the chair beside me.

“All right, pal.” I pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill to jot down all the things I needed to do. “Let’s get to work.”