Mario stood perfectly still.
The crowd flowed around him as though he were just another pedestrian waiting to cross the street.
Students laughed as they walked past.
A tricycle rattled by, its engine coughing loudly before disappearing around the corner.
None of it registered.
His eyes remained locked on the young man across the road.
On himself.
Or rather…
The version of himself from twenty years ago.
The young Mario threw an arm around one of his friends, laughing at something that had clearly been funnier than it deserved.
The smile was effortless.
Unburdened.
Mario remembered that smile.
He hadn’t seen it in years.
“…Impossible.”
His voice was barely louder than a whisper.
The traffic light changed.
The group crossed the street without noticing him.
Instinctively, Mario took half a step backward.
His pulse remained steady, but his thoughts raced.
The R.O.B.
hadn’t lied.
Not once.
He had simply…
Chosen his words very carefully.
“You’ll be sent somewhere appropriate.”
Mario almost laughed.
“I walked right into that one.”
He should have expected it.
The R.O.B.
never answered the question he thought he’d asked.
He answered the exact words.
A subtle difference.
An important one.
The younger Mario and his friends continued down the sidewalk, passing within fifteen meters of him.
Close enough to recognize every feature.
The cheap backpack he’d used for years.
The worn sneakers he’d insisted still had “a few more months” left in them.
Even the slightly uneven haircut he’d gotten because the neighborhood barber charged less than everyone else.
Every detail was exactly as he remembered.
Memory didn’t flatter the past.
Reality rarely did.
Mario watched in silence until the three disappeared around the next corner.
Only then did he slowly exhale.
“…So.”
“I’m really here.”
He looked around again.
This time, with purpose.
The city felt familiar, yet strangely distant.
Store signs looked older.
Several buildings that should have existed were missing.
Others had fresh paint instead of faded walls.
Even the advertisements plastered across the nearby convenience store belonged to another era.
A teenager walked past carrying a flip phone clipped to his belt.
Mario blinked.
“…Right.”
That alone was enough to confirm it.
He wasn’t dreaming.
He wasn’t hallucinating.
He had genuinely gone back.
Twenty years.
The realization settled in surprisingly quickly.
Years ago, he probably would’ve panicked.
Today…
He simply accepted it.
Panic solved nothing.
Information did.
He slipped his hands into his jacket pockets.
Or tried to.
His hands stopped halfway.
“…Huh?”
The fabric felt different.
Thicker.
Rougher.
He looked down.
The jacket wasn’t his.
Neither were the jeans.
Or the shoes.
Mario frowned.
“I should’ve checked this sooner.”
He stepped toward the dark window of a closed pawnshop.
He froze.
The face staring back wasn’t thirty-eight.
It wasn’t eighteen either.
He looked…
Twenty-five.
Maybe twenty-six.
Young enough that the stress lines around his eyes had disappeared.
Old enough to be taken seriously.
He slowly touched his own cheek.
The reflection copied the movement.
“…Interesting.”
His hair was shorter than he’d worn it in years.
His shoulders looked broader.
His posture straighter.
He looked like himself.
Just…
Edited.
A passing delivery truck shattered the moment with a blast of its horn.
Mario stepped away from the window.
One mystery at a time.
He needed answers.
And standing in the middle of the sidewalk wasn’t going to provide them.
The first priority was obvious.
Money.
He reached into his pockets.
Left pocket.
Empty.
Right pocket.
Something.
Mario pulled out a worn leather wallet.
His eyebrows rose.
“…Well.”
“At least I have one.”
Inside was a modest amount of cash.
Enough to survive for a few days.
A driver’s license.
Several receipts.
Nothing unusual.
Until he looked at the license.
His name.
Mario Mortiz.
The photo matched his current appearance.
His birthday…
Was the same.
His eyes narrowed.
“…So I have an identity.”
That answered one important question.
The R.O.B.
hadn’t dropped him into the world as a ghost or an undocumented stranger.
He existed.
Officially.
Legally.
At least on paper.
Then he noticed the address.
It wasn’t the apartment he’d rented before his death.
It wasn’t his childhood home either.
Somewhere else.
Mario quietly memorized it before slipping the license back into the wallet.
He resisted the urge to head there immediately.
Instead…
He looked around once more.
Observe first.
Act second.
That habit had served him well throughout life.
There was no reason to abandon it now.
He found a small café less than five minutes away.
The place looked almost empty.
Perfect.
A small bell chimed as he stepped inside.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee and warm bread greeted him.
A waitress looked up from behind the counter.
“Good morning, sir.”
Mario smiled politely.
“Morning.”
“Table for one?”
“Please.”
She led him toward a corner near the window.
He thanked her and sat down.
The wooden chair creaked softly beneath him.
Somehow…
The waitress handed him a laminated menu.
“I’ll have a brewed coffee.”
“And?”
“That’s all for now.”
She smiled.
“I’ll be right back.”
Mario nodded.
As soon as she walked away, he reached for the newspaper resting on the neighboring table.
His fingers hesitated for only a second before unfolding it.
There it was.
The date.
No tricks.
No mistakes.
Twenty years earlier.
He read it again.
Then a third time.
Each confirmation made it more real.
He leaned back in his chair.
“…So this is my life now.”
Not another world.
Not another planet.
His own Earth.
His own country.
His own history.
Except…
History had just gained an extra Mario.
The waitress returned with his coffee.
“Here you go.”
“Thank you.”
She lingered for a moment.
“First time in the area?”
Mario looked up.
“…Why do you ask?”
“You’ve been looking around since you came in.”
She laughed softly.
“Most locals don’t stare at the newspaper that intensely.”
Mario almost smiled.
Good observation.
“I’ve been away for a while.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie.
She nodded.
“Welcome back, then.”
“Thanks.”
She returned to the counter.
Mario wrapped both hands around the warm ceramic mug.
The heat seeped into his fingers.
Real.
Everything felt real.
He took a slow sip.
Still too hot.
He set the cup down and glanced out the window.
People came and went.
Completely unaware that their world had quietly changed.
Only one person knew.
Him.
Then…
Movement across the street caught his eye.
Three familiar figures.
His younger self and his friends had returned.
One of them pointed toward the café.
The younger Mario looked over.
Their eyes met.
For the briefest moment…
Eighteen-year-old Mario frowned.
Not in recognition.
In curiosity.
As if there was something strangely familiar about the man sitting alone by the window.
Older Mario didn’t move.
Neither did his younger self.
The moment lasted only a heartbeat.
Then one of the friends called his name.
The younger Mario looked away.
The three continued walking.
Older Mario watched until they disappeared once more.
He slowly reached for his coffee.
“…Too close.”
He wasn’t sure why.
But every instinct he had told him the same thing.
For now…
The two Mario Mortizs should never meet.
End of Chapter 6