His search takes him to the imposing building of the Daidouji Toy Company.
It rises before him in sleek lines and polished glass, a reflection of the world Tomoyo was born into—one of quiet wealth and measured expectations. The soft glow of the setting sun catches on its mirrored surface, staining the sky with hues of violet and gold.
Eriol lingers at the entrance, hands in his pockets, gazing up at the towering structure.
What could she be doing here?
He had expected to find her in the places he remembers—the music room, the music room, where her voice once drifted in quiet melody. The library, where she sat composed, a book open and a soft smile. The arts and crafts club, where her hands wove delicate creations with effortless patience.
But she is in none of those places.
Instead, when he reaches out for her—sensing the quiet thread of her presence—his search leads him here.
To a world of boardrooms and contracts. To the cold gleam of glass and steel. To the company that bears her name.
Eriol slips inside, the doors closing softly behind him. The air is cool, sterile—too polished, too still. He moves without hesitation, light against the marble floors, past employees who don't so much as glance his way.
A flicker of magic distorts perception, making him easy to overlook. He is used to this—existing unseen, slipping through spaces where he does not belong.
Finding Tomoyo is easy.
Her presence is quiet but familiar in a way that settles deep in his chest. He follows it through corridors and staircases until he reaches the top floor. The executive wing.
The door to the office is open just enough for him to see inside.
Sonomi Daidouji sits at her desk, sharp eyes scanning the papers before her. The years have not softened her—if anything, they have carved her into something fiercer, something unyielding. But she looks different now. The vibrant, unstoppable woman he remembers is seated with a heavy stillness, her usual perfect posture slightly slumped. A silk turban wraps around her head, a quiet testament to a battle fought behind closed doors.
And then there is Tomoyo.
She is seated at a smaller desk by the window, textbooks open, a pen poised between her fingers. She is not looking at her work. Not really.
Every so often, she lifts her eyes—furtive glances toward her mother, quick and searching.
"Mom, we need to leave for the hospital soon."
Sonomi doesn't look up. She flips to the next page of the document in her hands, scanning it with practiced efficiency. "I know."
Tomoyo exhales softly, almost inaudible, before turning back to her textbook. But Eriol catches the way her shoulders tense—the quiet frustration of someone waiting, wanting to speak, yet knowing it won't change a thing.
Sonomi sighs, brief and clipped. "Just a little longer."
The silence stretches between them. Heavy. Measured.
Eriol watches from the shadows, unmoving. He does not know what he is meant to do with this. He had come expecting something he could fix, something he could bend or break and rearrange into something better. But this?
This is the slow, aching weight of reality.
Eriol's thoughts turn over themselves, restless and searching.
What did she mean when she asked him to save her?
Did she mean to save her from this? From the quiet, steady unraveling of time? From the moment when the world would continue turning without Sonomi Daidouji in it?
Eriol has spent lifetimes bending fate, shaping it to his will. But time itself? The weight of love, of grief, of loss?
That is something even he cannot stop.
.
.
.
The next day, Eriol sits in class, watching.
Tomoyo is seated neatly at her desk, her posture straight, her hands folded over her notebook. From the outside, nothing seems amiss—she takes notes when the teacher speaks, nods at the right moments, moves with the same quiet grace as always.
But there's something different.
She doesn't interact with her classmates as she once did. She doesn't smile at the passing jokes or glance around at the conversation around her.
She makes no effort to speak to him.
She doesn't even look his way.
Eriol is too impatient to leave things to fate.
A subtle nudge of magic—barely noticeable—changes things just enough. When the teacher assigns pairs, Tomoyo's name is paired with his.
She doesn't react—no surprise, no hesitation. Just a quiet nod, her hands smoothing her notebook, accepting it without a word.
When they sit together, she meets his gaze, her expression calm and unreadable. "I hope we can work well together, Hiiragizawa-kun."
Her voice is soft, perfectly composed. Polite, but distant.
And beneath the calm, beneath the grace, Eriol senses it clearly.
A wall.
Eriol forces a smile, tilting his head as if unaffected. "You don't have to be so formal, Daidouji-san. We're old friends, after all."
For a split second, something flickers in her expression—too quick to catch. "That was a long time ago."
The words land softly, but they sting all the same.
Eriol folds his hands together, masking his irritation beneath an easy exterior. She asked him to save her. But how can he save someone who refuses to be saved? And from what, exactly?
With a quiet exhale, he says, "Sakura-chan misses you."
It's the truth.
Tomoyo blinks—just a small shift, but it's there.
"She worries, you know," he continues, his tone light. "Li-kun does too, though he's less graceful about it. Even Yamazaki-kun—though I shouldn't count him, since he tried to convince everyone you were secretly recruited by an underground spy organization."
No response. Not even the faintest hint of a smile.
Feeling a little bolder, he leans forward, meeting her gaze. "Is everything all right?"
Her placid expression splinters, just for a moment, before it smooths back into place.
She offers a smile, polite and composed. "Of course," she says, her voice smooth, effortless. "Why wouldn't it be?"
Eriol doesn't respond immediately. Instead, he studies her—the way she holds herself, the measured ease in her tone. Too perfect. Too practiced.
Tomoyo has always carried herself with grace, but this... this is something else. Control. Distance.
What unsettles him more—how seamlessly she's built this wall, or that he doesn't know how to break through it?
Without a word, she picks up her pen, tapping it lightly against her notebook. "We should begin our assignment. It wouldn't do to fall behind."
With a practiced smile, he leans back, letting the conversation slip away as easily as sand through his fingers. "Of course," he says smoothly, as if he never meant to pry.
Tomoyo nods, her gaze dropping to the page before her.
And just like that, the moment is gone.
.
.
.
Eriol stands at the rooftop during lunch, leaning against the cool metal railing, his gaze drifting aimlessly over the school grounds below. His thoughts are tangled, restless, unwilling to quiet. How can he summon the future Tomoyo? How does it work?
Ever since his arrival in Tomoeda, she has been silent. He has questions—questions that burn with a desperate need for answers. What did she mean by needing to be saved? And why had she said she would die if he didn't come?
As he ponders, that familiar pull surges within him—subtle yet undeniable. The air thickens, a shift in time that he can feel but not explain.
The rooftop fades, the present slipping like water through his fingers, and he sees—
Her.
She stands in a field of wildflowers, her white dress rippling in the wind, dark hair tousled and free.
She looks happy. Serene.
Is she happy he's here? That he's followed her call, bound by forces beyond his control?
"You have that look on your face—the same one Spinel-san gets when Nakuru's annoying him," she observes, clasping her hands behind her back.
Her presence is more vivid here, sharper. She speaks more freely now, more tangible than ever.
Is it because he's in Tomoeda? Not in England, where the distance between them—between timelines—felt wider, more uncertain?
"What did you mean when you asked me to save you?" he asks, impatience edging his voice.
Tomoyo meets his gaze, her expression calm but guarded. The wind plays with her hair, strands lifting and falling in the breeze.
"I meant what I said," she responds lightly.
Eriol's patience snaps. "That's not an answer."
She tilts her head slightly, her gaze unwavering. "It is. You're just not listening the way you should."
He clenches his jaw. "Then explain it to me. Is it your mother? Are you in danger? Why did you say you would die if I didn't come?"
Tomoyo doesn't look away. "Because it's the truth."
Her voice—soft but steady—sends a chill through him. He searches her face for any sign of hesitation, but she offers none.
"Then tell me why," he demands, frustration bubbling to the surface. "What am I supposed to do?"
Her smile is faint, knowing. "You'll understand when it's time."
Eriol exhales sharply. Isn't it ironic? He used to be the one handing out cryptic messages, and now he's the one stuck receiving them. "You dragged me across the world, pulled me into all of this, and now you won't even tell me what I'm supposed to do?"
She steps closer, and for a moment, she's impossibly vivid—more real than the field, more real than the wind that tugs at her dress.
"You came," she says softly. "That was the first step."
Somewhere in his consciousness, a jarring sound cuts through the stillness—a metallic door slamming shut.
The world wavers, flickering at the edges, pulling him back.
Eriol fights to hold on, to anchor himself in the vision of Tomoyo in the white dress, but reality tugs harder. The present reclaims him, dragging him from the haze of dreams.
Suddenly, he's back on the rooftop, sprawled against the cold concrete.
His breath catches and then he blinks.
Tomoyo—the one from this time—kneels before him, fingers tightening around the lunchbox. She doesn't speak, but she lingers, her gaze flickering over him, then away, as if caught between staying and retreating.
Still shaken, Eriol exhales sharply, impatience creeping into his voice. "What are you doing here?"
Tomoyo straightens. "I… I eat lunch here," she says, not meeting his eyes.
He studies her, noting the quiet edge in her tone. She's likely avoiding the cafeteria—avoiding her friends, even Sakura. The question presses at the edges of his mind: Why? But he doesn't ask. Instead, he only nods, accepting her answer without challenge.
She turns, heading toward a table at the far side of the rooftop, but before she can move too far, his voice stops her.
"Are you in trouble?" he asks, his tone more cautious now.
Tomoyo whirls around, her hair snapping behind her, a spark of life igniting in her eyes—sharp, searching. Suspicion hardens her features.
"Why are you in Japan?" she demands, her voice sharp and cutting. As if only just realizing—this is Eriol Hiiragizawa, a sorcerer, not someone bound by the usual constraints of school or work. "Why are you here ? Why are you in my class?"
Because of you! He wants to shout, the words clawing at his mind. Because you begged me to save you from god knows what!
But the words burn on his tongue, seething and unsaid.
Eriol exhales sharply, then settles on something close to the truth.
"Sakura's worried about you," he says, watching her reaction. "You go to the same school, yet you barely talk to her. She hasn't really heard from you in months. You've been distant—like you're hiding something. She doesn't know how to help you because you're not letting anyone in."
Tomoyo's gaze sharpens. She folds her arms across her chest, a shield between them.
"And you came all the way back to Tomoeda for that ?" she says, incredulous. "For me ? Why should anything you say matter to me?"
Eriol's fists clench, nails digging into his palms. Frustration coils tight in his chest. He wants to blame her—the one who begged for his help, who pulled him into this mess and left him to figure it out alone.
And yet, standing before him is this Tomoyo—the one who refuses to be saved. He wants to shake her, force her to see how impossible she's making this. How can he help her if she won't even admit she needs it?
"Why should it matter?" he echoes, voice low and bitter. "Maybe it doesn't. Maybe I shouldn't be here."
Eriol stands abruptly, as if the conversation itself is too much weight for him to bear. Anger simmers beneath his skin, but so does the urge to step away—to distance himself from the unrelenting confusion that surrounds her, from the puzzle she's become in his life.
He turns and walks away, never once looking back.
And he doesn't see the way she flinches, how something in her gaze wavers before she locks it all away.
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A/N: Hello all! Thanks for reading this story. I would really appreciate it if you leave a review for me each chapter. It keeps me going, you know? See you on the next one~