The school bell rang, its shrill chime cutting through the afternoon haze.
Ryan Keller stepped out of calculus class, blending in with the tide of students funneling toward the cafeteria. Lockers slammed shut like shotgun blasts, and the hallway buzzed with petty gossip and adolescent energy. To them, this was just another Friday.
To Ryan, it was the second Friday of a second life.
Every sight, every sound felt both achingly familiar and distant—like he was walking through a museum of his past, only this time with all the answers written beneath the glass.
He wasn't here for nostalgia. He was here to build something new. And to do that, he had to confront three names that still haunted him.
---
The cafeteria hadn't changed. Same linoleum floors, same rust-orange trays, same awful spaghetti pretending to be lunch.
Ryan entered, scanning the room—not for a seat, but for specific faces.
Dylan Cho sat alone, as always, hunched over his tray with a sketchbook and a half-eaten peanut butter sandwich. His brown hoodie was two sizes too big, sleeves stained with ink and mechanical pencil lead. His shaggy hair nearly covered his eyes, but Ryan didn't need to see them to know what was behind them.
Genius.
Dylan had been Ryan's best friend in high school. In the original timeline, they lost touch during college when Ryan moved across the country to chase his startup dreams. But a few years later, when things were falling apart, Dylan had shown up again—this time with technical brilliance and unwavering loyalty. He became Ryan's first real partner, the co-founder of his second company, the one that almost worked… until everything went up in flames.
Ryan approached the table slowly, fighting the lump rising in his throat. He remembered Dylan's funeral. 2023. Brain aneurysm. No warning.
This was a chance to do it right.
He sat down across from him.
Dylan glanced up. "Ryan Keller? The silent wanderer returns."
Ryan gave a small smile. "Been thinking about stuff. Getting my head straight."
"Judging by the look on your face, you either found religion or a cheat code."
"Maybe a little of both."
Dylan pushed his sketchbook aside. It was full of rough wireframes—early UI designs, characters, even branding ideas for apps that wouldn't exist for another decade.
"I've got an idea," Ryan said, lowering his voice. "What if we used eBay—right now, while no one's paying attention—to flip undervalued stuff for a profit? Comics, old toys, niche electronics. You and I, we find the undervalued, optimize the listings, resell."
Dylan's eyebrows rose. "You're talking arbitrage. Market flipping."
Ryan nodded. "Exactly. You're organized. Detail-focused. I've got the vision."
Dylan leaned back, eyes narrowing. "Why now?"
"Because we've got time. And trust me… it's going to get a lot harder to stand out in a few years."
A beat passed.
Then Dylan grinned.
"Alright. But if I'm doing customer service, I'm charging overtime in Skittles."
---
Ryan felt lighter. That was one piece in place.
But then the cafeteria door opened behind him.
And the air shifted.
Laughter followed a tall, lean figure into the room. Teeth too white. Hair too perfect. Every step calculated to draw attention without seeming like it.
Jordan Vance.
Ryan's stomach twisted.
In his old life, Jordan had been a classmate-turned-competitor. They both started in the same college incubator program. Both pitched early-stage ideas to the same investors. And for a while, Ryan was ahead.
But Jordan was a shark.
He didn't build things—he acquired them. Or, when that didn't work, destroyed them. Jordan had sabotaged Ryan's funding round in 2012 by leaking confidential prototype specs to a rival VC-backed firm. Ryan's credibility never recovered.
Jordan built his empire from Ryan's bones.
And now here he was, seventeen again, tossing a football to a friend as he sauntered through the cafeteria, bathing in shallow admiration.
He stopped when he saw Ryan.
"Well, well. Keller. Didn't expect to see you socializing."
Ryan didn't rise to it. He met Jordan's smirk with a calm expression.
"Didn't expect to see you this week, Vance. Figured you'd be prepping to short Enron."
Jordan blinked—then laughed, brushing off the comment. "You've always had a weird sense of humor."
He didn't walk off right away. That was new.
Jordan's smile faded slightly as he studied Ryan. "You're not playing by the old rules, are you?"
Ryan just gave him a look.
Jordan chuckled and moved on.
Ryan turned back to his tray but felt Dylan's eyes on him.
"What the hell was that about?"
"Just an old score," Ryan muttered. "From the future."
---
The final confrontation of the day waited outside.
Ryan didn't want to see her.
But he knew it was coming.
The breeze caught the ends of her honey-blonde hair before her voice did.
"Ryan!"
He turned slowly.
Tiffany Lang.
She hadn't changed a bit. Eyes that could melt ice. A smile that made boys forget their names. In high school, Ryan had been smitten. In the original timeline, he spent thousands trying to impress her—car rides, fancy dinners, helping pay for her first "acting workshop" in L.A. She dropped him the moment a better prospect came along.
He had chased a dream that wasn't his.
And now she stood before him, playing the same game.
"I heard you were looking for help in econ," she said, smiling.
Ryan gave her a long look. Not cruel, not bitter—just… tired.
"No thanks."
She tilted her head. "Come on, we could—"
"I'm not buying what you're selling this time, Tiffany."
That cracked her composure. "Excuse me?"
Ryan stepped past her, calm.
"You're beautiful. Talented. But you're not an investment. Not for me. Have a good day."
He left her behind like a ghost in a fading dream.
---
That night, Ryan opened a notebook and wrote three names:
Dylan Cho – Loyal. Gifted. Undervalued. Business Partner.
Jordan Vance – Threat. Ambitious. Dangerous. Rival.
Tiffany Lang – Distraction. Illusion. Closed chapter.
Then he wrote two more words, underlined and bold:
No Regrets.
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