I'm a hero after all (Alltake)
3
Takemichi woke up in the morning, his hands shaking.
The first thing he registered was the sunlight — pale and golden, filtering through his cheap curtains and painting familiar patterns on his bedroom floor. The second thing was the ache in his body, the phantom pain of bruises that were healing but not yet gone. The third thing was the trembling.
His hands wouldn't stop shaking.
He held them up in front of his face, watching the fine tremors run through his fingers like tiny earthquakes. Proof that he was alive. Proof that this was real.
"...."
He stared at his palms for a long moment. Then, without warning, tears began to pour down his cheeks — hot and silent and unstoppable.
"I really am back," he whispered to the empty room. His voice cracked on the last word, dissolving into a sob he quickly smothered with his pillow.
He was back.
Not in a dream. Not in some cruel illusion his dying mind had created in the moments before death. Really back. Twelve years in the past, with a second chance to save everyone he had failed.
The relief was so overwhelming it hurt.
He cried for a long time — not the desperate, agonized sobs of the future, but something softer. Something healing. Tears for the friends he had lost. Tears for the future that would never happen now. Tears for himself, for the burden he carried, for the lonely road ahead.
When the tears finally slowed, his phone buzzed.
Ting!
He reached for it with still-shaking hands, wiping his eyes on his sleeve so he could read the screen.
Hina: Takemichi-kun, I heard from the others that you got into a fight. Are you alright?
His heart stopped.
Hina.
Tachibana Hinata.
The girl he loved. The girl he had left at the altar. The girl who had waited twelve years for a wedding that never came, all because he had been selfish enough to chase after Mikey instead of staying by her side.
Takemichi stared at the message for a long time, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. He could picture her typing it — those large coral pink eyes crinkled with worry, that cute mole below her chin bobbing as she chewed her lip nervously. Light brown hair falling over her shoulders. That smile. That beautiful, heartbreaking smile.
He typed with trembling fingers:
Takemichi: I'm fine
Short. Dismissive. Exactly what he didn't want to send, but all he could manage.
He deserved her worry? After what he had done to her?
Tachibana Hinata was everything he could ever want in a person. Kind when she had every right to be cruel. Patient when he gave her every reason to leave. Loyal when he had proven himself completely unworthy of loyalty.
In the timeline where Bonten existed — where he had become a nameless nobody working a dead-end job while Mikey ruled the underworld — Hinata should have had the happiest wedding. The wedding she had waited twelve years to have. A white dress. Flowers. Family and friends. A future.
But he had ruined it.
If only he hadn't insisted on saving Mikey. If only he had been content with the happy ending everyone else had fought so hard to give him. If only he had chosen her.
Hina would have lived a happy life. They would have married. Had children. Grown old together, holding hands on park benches and bickering about whose turn it was to do the dishes. They would have died of old age, surrounded by love and warmth and everything good in the world.
But Takemichi had thrown that away.
He had stood at the altar — his own wedding altar — and walked away. Walked away from the woman who had loved him unconditionally for nearly twenty years. Walked away from the future everyone had died to protect. Walked away from happiness itself, all because he couldn't let go of one person.
"I'm such a jerk, aren't I?" he whispered to himself, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks.
His phone buzzed again. And again. And again.
Hina: Just fine? The others said you looked really beat up!
Hina: Takuya said you protected him! That's so like you, Takemichi-kun ♡
Hina: But please be careful! I don't want you getting hurt!
Hina: Takemichi-kun?
Hina: Are you ignoring me? :(
Hina: If you're ignoring me I'll come to your house and make you talk to me!
Hina: I will! You know I will!
Takemichi stared at the messages, each one a small knife twisting in his chest.
She was so good. So pure. So completely unaware that the person she was worrying over didn't deserve a single second of her concern.
He ignored the rest of her messages.
He couldn't face her. Not yet. Not like this.
But he owed her an apology. The biggest apology of his life. And he was done running from what he owed.
Takemichi dragged himself out of bed and began to get ready.
Before he could leave, his phone erupted again — this time with the distinctive buzz of the group chat.
Makoto: TAKEMICHI ARE YOU OKAY???
Makoto: We heard you were crying this morning???
Yamagishi: Akkun said you looked really messed up when you left yesterday!
Makoto: AKUNN????
Makoto: When did you see Takemichi yesterday???
Yamagishi: Yeah Akkun spill!
Akkun: ...It was nothing. He just walked me home.
Makoto: "Just walked me home" he says
Makoto: ALONE???
Yamagishi: ALONE AT NIGHT???
Makoto: AKKUN ARE YOU SECRETLY DATING TAKEMICHI???
Akkun: WHAT NO
Akkun: WE'RE NOT DATING
Yamagishi: That's exactly what someone who IS dating would say!
Makoto: CONSPIRACY
Takuya: Can you guys focus? Takemichi got the crap beaten out of him yesterday. Is he okay?
Takuya: @Takemichi
Takuya: Hey
Takuya: You alive?
Makoto: @Takemichi
Yamagishi: @Takemichi
Akkun: @Takemichi
Makoto: WE'RE WORRIED OKAY
Makoto: PLEASE RESPOND
Takemichi looked at the flood of messages. His friends. His idiots. The people who had been with him through everything, in every timeline, in every version of this story.
He typed a single response:
Takemichi: I'm fine. Going to Hina's. Talk later.
Then he turned off his phone and walked out the door.
The walk to Hina's house was both too short and too long.
Every step felt heavy, like his shoes were filled with concrete. The streets of his neighborhood passed by in a blur — the convenience store where they used to buy ice pops as kids, the park where he had first held Hina's hand, the cherry blossom trees that would bloom in spring.
He remembered walking this same path in the future. In the future that would never happen now. He had walked it alone, then too — but with the weight of failure pressing down on his shoulders, crushing him with every step.
Now he walked it with hope.
And guilt.
So much guilt.
Takemichi stopped outside Tachibana Hinata's house.
It was a modest home — two stories, a small garden in front, a bicycle leaning against the wall. So normal. So ordinary. So precious.
He raised his hand to knock, but his fist froze inches from the door.
Will I ever be worthy of her love?
The question echoed in his mind, unanswered.
He remembered Hina's father. That stern, protective man who had looked at Takemichi — a scruffy delinquent with dyed hair and a bad attitude — and seen exactly what he was: trouble. Mr. Tachibana had every right to hate him. Every right to forbid his daughter from associating with someone who would only bring chaos into her life.
And yet Hina had chosen him anyway.
Why?
Why?
Takemichi slowly pressed the doorbell.
Ding dong.
One minute passed.
She's not home, he thought. Maybe she's at school already. Maybe she's out with friends. Maybe she finally realized she's too good for me and decided to—
Five minutes passed.
Takemichi's heart sank. Of course. Of course she wasn't home. Why would she be? She had a life — a good life, a normal life — that didn't revolve around waiting for her pathetic boyfriend to show up and cry on her shoulder.
He bowed his head, about to leave, when suddenly —
"Takemichi-kun?"
Hina's head popped out from behind the door, her coral pink eyes wide with surprise. She must have been in the back of the house, or maybe she had been getting ready for school and hadn't heard the doorbell right away. But there she was — alive, real, smiling at him like he was the best thing she had seen all morning.
Oh.
Takemichi's breath caught in his throat.
She was wearing her high school uniform, the skirt swishing around her knees, her light brown hair falling perfectly over her shoulders. That smile — that beautiful, carefree, heartbreaking smile — was exactly the same smile she had given him every time she died.
Every. Single. Time.
Even in death, she had smiled at him.
Takemichi's hands trembled uncontrollably. The feeling washed over him like a wave — the same overwhelming relief he had felt when he first went back to the past, when he realized he had been given another chance.
Relief.
Pure, undiluted relief.
Hina was alive. Hina was happy. Hina was here.
He smiled.
It was a shaky, teary, pathetic smile — but it was real.
Hina tilted her head, studying him with those big pink eyes. She looked him up and down, taking in the bandages on his face, the bruises peeking out from under his sleeves, the exhausted slump of his shoulders. And despite all of that, despite everything, her smile only grew warmer.
"Did you miss me that much?" she teased gently. "You came all the way here just to see me?"
Takemichi couldn't answer.
He couldn't speak.
He could only stand there, trembling, tears already forming in his eyes, because seeing her — really seeing her, alive and whole and his — was too much. It was too much happiness after so much pain.
Takemichi's eyes were red and swollen as he slowly walked toward Hina. His movements were unsteady, hesitant, like he was approaching something sacred. Something he didn't deserve to touch.
And then he embraced her.
He wrapped his arms around her like she was the most precious, fragile thing in the universe — like if he held too tight she might break, but if he held too loose she might disappear. His face pressed into her shoulder, and he breathed in the familiar scent of her shampoo — something floral, something soft, something so utterly Hina that it made his heart ache.
He was so selfish.
He knew it.
He had left her on the day that was supposed to be the happiest of her life. He had abandoned her at the altar, walked away from twenty years of love and loyalty, all because he couldn't let go of one person.
She had waited so long for that day. Twelve years. Twelve years of loving him, supporting him, believing in him when no one else did. And he had thrown it away like it meant nothing.
How could he possibly be worthy of such a wonderful girl?
"Ah..." The sound escaped him like a wounded animal. Then the tears came.
"I-I'm so sorry," he choked out. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry —"
He repeated the word over and over, a broken mantra pressed into the fabric of her uniform. His body shook with the force of his sobs, ugly and raw and completely unrestrained.
Hina's arms wrapped around him, holding him steady.
"Are you worried I might get mad at you for getting into another fight, Takemichi-kun?" she asked softly. Then she laughed — a light, gentle sound that somehow made the tears flow faster. "Silly. I could never be mad at you for protecting your friends."
How could she laugh at a time like this?
How could she be so kind?
Hina pulled back just enough to look at his face. Her heart clenched at the sight — bandages covering half his features, bruises discoloring his skin, and those blue eyes. Those beautiful, tear-filled blue eyes that made him look like a lost puppy.
God, he was cute.
She had definitely hit the jackpot when she decided to court him back in middle school. Everyone had told her she was crazy — chasing after a delinquent with a bad reputation and worse fashion sense. But look at him now. Look at those eyes. Look at that face, all messy with tears and snot and —
Actually, that part was less cute.
But still! He was hers.
"Did someone beat you up?" Hina asked, her voice taking on a slightly dangerous edge. "Give me their name. I'll help you deal with it."
She reached up, cupping his face in her hands, and gently wiped at the tears tracking down his cheeks. Her thumbs moved in soft, soothing circles, completely unbothered by the mess.
Takemichi burst into even more tears.
Hina blinked, stunned.
Gosh, her boyfriend was such a crybaby!
"Hey, hey, stop crying!" she said, patting his cheeks lightly. "Did they beat you up that badly? If only I were a man and you were a girl, I swear I would protect you, Takemichi-kun." She sighed dramatically at the unfairness of reality. "The world is so cruel..."
No.
No.
Hina was too kind. Too pure. Too good.
Even though her boyfriend was a troublemaker who constantly got into fights and showed up at her door looking like a wreck, she still cared for him. Still loved him. Still looked at him like he was something precious.
Takemichi wished she would hate him.
He wished she would yell at him, nag him, tell him what a worthless piece of garbage he was. He wished she would list every way he had failed her, every reason she deserved better. He wished she would push him away and tell him to never come back.
Then this pain would stop.
Then he wouldn't have to feel like he was destroying her just by existing in her life.
But she didn't.
She consistently loved him. Consistently comforted him. Consistently treated him with a gentleness that made him hate himself even more.
Mr. Tachibana had been right all along. Takemichi was too pathetic to give Hina the perfect future she deserved. He was too broken, too selfish, too wrong for someone as radiant as her.
She should find someone else.
Someone stable. Someone normal. Someone who wouldn't leave her at the altar to chase ghosts from the past. Someone who could give her the happy, peaceful life she had always dreamed of.
Even if that someone wasn't him.
Even if the thought made him want to die.
But Tachibana Hinata deserved the happiest life in the world. She deserved to wear the most beautiful wedding dress, smile the most radiant smile, and hold the hand of the man she loved until the very end of her days.
Even if that man wasn't Takemichi.
Even if he had to watch from afar.
Hina reached out and gently patted the boy who was silently weeping in her arms. His sobs had quieted to small, broken sounds — little hitches of breath that echoed in the quiet hallway. Her instincts told her this wasn't the usual Takemichi she knew. This was something deeper. Something older. Something that carried a weight she couldn't see.
Yet for some reason, watching him break down like this made her feel a suffocating pain. Like she had witnessed his collapse before. Like some part of her remembered what hadn't yet happened.
Besides...
If her boyfriend became more dependent on her...
Wasn't that a good thing?
She didn't mind him clinging to her. Hell, she would love it if Takemichi needed her for everything. If he came to her with every problem, every fear, every moment of weakness. She would hold him through all of it. Every single time.
That's what love was, wasn't it?
About five minutes after the crying session ended, Takemichi took a deep, shuddering breath and whispered:
"Thanks, Hina..."
He wiped his tears with his sleeve, but the motion only smeared the moisture across his already disastrous face. Snot. Tears. Bruises. Bandages. He was a complete mess.
Hina chuckled softly at her boyfriend's cute habit. She pulled out her own towel — the one she had used to dry her face after washing it just minutes ago — and gently began to wipe him clean.
Takemichi froze, his eyes going wide.
"If you don't want me to help you fight," Hina said slowly, her voice soft but firm, "at least let me be your comfort zone, alright? Come to me every time you need support. I'm always ready."
She looked at him as she spoke — really looked at him — and felt her heart swell.
She was so glad he didn't use hair gel anymore. His blond hair was fluffy and soft, catching the morning light and making him look almost ethereal. It fluttered in the gentle breeze, all puffy and perfect, and Hina had to physically restrain herself from—
She failed.
Her hand shot out and ruffled his hair vigorously.
Wow.
It's so soft...
While Hina was busy playing with Takemichi's hair like he was a particularly adorable pet, Takemichi was...
Well.
Takemichi was stunned.
Then he blushed.
"U-umm... Hina, stop playing with my hair..." He reached up, gently prying her hands away. His face was bright red, matching the tips of his ears.
Hina pouted. "Fine. But you have to promise me not to get hurt anymore, okay?"
Takemichi nodded, giving a soft "Hmm."
They stood in the hallway for a long moment, just looking at each other. The silence wasn't uncomfortable — it was warm, filled with everything they couldn't say.
Finally, Takemichi spoke.
"I will become stronger," he said quietly. "And someday... someday I might finally be worthy of your love."
Hina wanted to laugh.
Worthy?
Did he really think he wasn't worthy now? Did he have any idea how lucky she felt to have him by her side? This idiot who jumped in front of bullies for his friends. This crybaby who wore his heart on his sleeve. This beautiful, broken boy who looked at her like she was the sun.
If anyone was unworthy in this relationship, it certainly wasn't Takemichi.
But before she could say any of that, he continued:
"Until then... please live happily."
Hina stopped.
She looked into his eyes — really looked — and felt something cold settle in her stomach.
Why did his eyes hold so much pain?
When he looked at her, it was like he was carrying a burden too heavy for any person to bear. Like he had already lost her a thousand times and was bracing to lose her again. Like some part of him believed he didn't deserve to be in her life at all.
What had happened to him?
What had changed?
But Hina smiled anyway — the same warm, radiant smile she had always given him.
"Yes," she said softly. "You must live happily too, Takemichi-kun."
Takemichi smiled faintly, as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He hugged her one last time — quick, gentle, reverent — and said goodbye.
Only after Hina closed the door did he allow himself to leave.
Returning to his familiar home, Takemichi stepped into the darkness.
The interior was white — minimalist, clean, almost sterile. His parents were working, as always, leaving the apartment empty and quiet. Takemichi didn't bother turning on any lights. He navigated through the darkness by memory alone, not stumbling once, as if he had walked this path a thousand times before.
He opened the door to his room and collapsed onto the bed.
Just the start of the day, and he already felt like shit.
Oh well.
If he could, Takemichi would really want to fall asleep right away. His body ached. His head pounded. His eyes were raw from crying. Sleep would be a mercy.
But he was terrified.
Terrified that if he closed his eyes, this world would vanish like a dream. Terrified that when he opened them again, he would still be alone in that dark, painful future — no friends, no Hina, no second chance. Terrified that he might ruin everything if he let his guard down for even a moment.
Every warm hug today had made him greedy. He had clung to every last drop of affection, hoarding it like a starving man hoards bread. If today was his last time seeing Hina before God took his life, he would die at peace.
But he didn't want to die.
He wanted to live.
Takemichi's fingers trembled as he forced himself to sit up. He stumbled to the bathroom, took a quick shower to wash away the tears and the pain, then returned to his room and turned on the light.
His notebook sat on the desk — the same one he had used to write about his meeting with Mikey. He picked up his mechanical pencil and began to write.
July 7, 2005
Woke up this morning. Cried for a long time. It's real. I'm really back.
Hina messaged me. I was short with her. I didn't deserve her worry.
Went to her house. She was so kind. So warm. So GOOD. I cried again. I always cry around her, don't I?
I told her I would become stronger. Worthy of her love. She said I should live happily too.
How can I live happily when I know what she sacrificed for me?
How can I live happily when I know what's coming?
Takemichi paused, his pencil hovering over the page. Then, with renewed determination, he continued.
I need to write everything down. Everything I remember. Every date. Every event. Every person. I can't afford to forget anything.
This is my last time leap. My last chance.
I won't fail.
He wrote for hours.
Dates and events spilled across the pages in messy, hurried script. Names. Faces. Hair colors. Clothing. Words spoken. Actions taken. Every detail he could remember from both timelines — the original future and the future he had already changed once. He wrote until his hand cramped, until his vision blurred, until the words started running together.
The more he wrote, the worse his headache became.
It started as a dull throb behind his eyes, then escalated into a pounding, splitting pain that made him want to scream. His vision swam. His nose began to drip — not tears, but blood.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Red spots appeared on the white pages, dotting his careful handwriting like punctuation marks of pain. Takemichi stuffed tissues into both nostrils, gritting his teeth against the agony, and kept writing.
He couldn't stop.
If he stopped, he might forget something important. If he forgot something important, people would die. Again.
So he wrote.
And wrote.
And wrote.
The pristine white notebook quickly filled with jumbled words — some legible, some barely more than scratches. His handwriting deteriorated as the headache worsened, but he didn't care. He just needed to get it all down. All of it. Every single detail.
Finally, after what felt like hours, he set down his pencil.
"It's done," he whispered to the empty room. "This time... this time I will surely succeed."
Those were his last words before the headache consumed him completely.
His vision went white, then black.
And everything went still.
Meanwhile, across town...
Akkun stared at his phone for the hundredth time that day.
Takemichi: I'm fine. Going to Hina's. Talk later.
That was it. That was all he had sent. No emojis. No exclamation points. No follow-up messages explaining what was wrong.
Just... nothing.
Akkun had tried messaging him again. Twice. Three times. Ten times. Nothing but silence.
Is he okay?
Why did he look so messed up this morning?
Why did he hug me like that last night?
Why can't I stop thinking about it?
Akkun groaned and buried his face in his hands.
Focus, he told himself. Takemichi is your friend. He's obviously going through something. You should be worried about him, not... whatever this is.
But every time he closed his eyes, he saw Takemichi's face. Those blue eyes. That gentle smile. The way his thumb had traced Akkun's cheekbone like he was handling something precious.
Stop it.
STOP IT.
His phone buzzed.
Makoto: Any word from Takemichi???
Yamagishi: He's not responding to me either :(
Takuya: I'm sure he's fine. He's with Hina.
Makoto: BUT WHAT IF HE'S NOT FINE???
Makoto: WHAT IF KIYOMASA'S GOONS JUMPED HIM ON THE WAY???
Yamagishi: That's... actually possible...
Takuya: It's broad daylight. They wouldn't.
Makoto: KIYOMASA DOESN'T CARE ABOUT DAYLIGHT
Makoto: HE'S A MONSTER
Akkun: He's fine. Takemichi can handle himself.
Makoto: HOW DO YOU KNOW???
Akkun: ...I just do.
Makoto: SUSPICIOUS
Yamagishi: VERY SUSPICIOUS
Takuya: Akkun knows something.
Makoto: SPILL
Akkun: There's nothing to spill.
Makoto: LIAR
Yamagishi: LIAR
Takuya: Liar.
Akkun: I hate all of you.
Makoto: Love you too ♡
Yamagishi: Group hug when Takemichi responds!
Takuya: Group hug.
Akkun: ...
Akkun: Fine. Group hug.
He smiled despite himself. These idiots. These beautiful, annoying, wonderful idiots.
Takemichi had better be okay.
Because if something happened to him, Akkun didn't know what he would do.
Unknown hours later...
Takemichi woke to darkness.
For one terrifying moment, he thought he was back in the future — alone, broken, everything lost. But then his hand touched the notebook on his desk, and he remembered.
July 7, 2005.
I'm still here.
He sat up slowly, wincing at the stiffness in his neck. The tissues had fallen out of his nose at some point, leaving dried blood crusted on his upper lip. His notebook lay open on the desk, pages covered in his messy handwriting and dotted with red.
He had done it.
Everything he remembered, everything he could salvage from two timelines of pain and loss, was written down. A roadmap. A guide. A weapon.
Takemichi closed the notebook gently and pressed it to his chest.
"This time," he whispered into the darkness, "I'll save everyone."
He didn't know how long it would take. He didn't know what challenges awaited him. He didn't know if he was strong enough, smart enough, good enough to succeed.
But he knew one thing for certain:
He would never give up.
Never again.
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