From the Blurb:

WHEN THE WORLDS COLLIDE, THEIR LOVE WILL REWRITE THE FABRIC OF REALITY

In the shocking third installment of the Time Corrector series, super-genius Dr. Vincent Abajian finds himself in an even grander drama, and this time, the fate of his beloved daughter is on the line. The Reset is a culmination of worlds colliding, timelines interweaving, and relationships that seemed indestructible, reaching dire breaking points.

Vincent gets in the midst of an international political crisis forged by his adversary, Philip Nardin. As he tirelessly works to offset the impact, Philip kidnaps Nozomi, Vincent’s daughter. In an endgame decision, Vincent relinquishes his time-correcting powers to Philip while the world leaders launch a devastating arms race to weaponize Intreton—the purest energy source that can alter reality if mishandled. The two opponents, Vincent and Philip, unite against political and military forces to save reality from crumbling. Their plan reveals a mind-bending past and the identity of a time-twisted villain Philip calls the Lunatic. Such revelation leads to a dramatic conclusion and opens the possibility of a Reset. As someone close to Vincent shows their true self, Vincent discovers that Nozomi’s complex ties to Emika and Akane may hold the key to the Reset in this time-hopping clash of love, egos, and desires.

A story of love that transcends time and reality, and the sacrifices masquerading as selfish acts, the final book of the award-winning Time Corrector series is a whirlwind of unexpected events—many questions will finally be answered. And yet, new possibilities lay beyond this head-spinning conclusion.

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1

POST-RESET

EMIKA’S SONG (MOV. 1)

Hey stranger, will my keying find you tonight?

—Emika

(August 3, 2015—Emika’s apartment in Tokyo)

Emika

Harukusan.”1 She stops and looks up at me while tapping her chin. Then she crumples her brows and looks back at the door where she entered. She turns to me and mutters, “Mum?” The moment she notices you, her eyes brighten, and she springs to you, shouting, “Papha, Papha, Papha.”

The room changes. I am sitting by the Steinway overlooking a backyard with numerous cherry trees shedding gorgeous pink blossoms. There are blurry faces in the room, all staring at me. I rub my hands together, loop my red scarf around my neck, and smile at the same Shih Tzu pup and three blurry faces—you, that little girl, and a woman. I mumble, “So perfect.” I reach for the piano keys to play Chopin’s Ballade no. 1, op. 23.

(Emika’s apartment, Tokyo)

I jolt my head at the sound of the alarm—Debussy’s “Clair de Lune.” I yawn and stretch my arms. Every other time, my dream was monochrome. Every other time, he looped that scarf around my neck. And we played the piano together. Removing the blanket, I get up and rub my eyes. What’s so special about today that the dream changed? I press my temples to fol- low the oblique lines of the morning sun hitting the f loor, peppered with moving boxes. I deeply sigh and puff while rubbing my heavy eyes. It will be a laborious move to the US.

Markus tugs on my tank top and yawns. “Half an hour more, please . . .” Wrapping my arms around his neck, I smile. “Okay.”

(Dressing room at Constantin Hall, Tokyo)

I had known the notes by heart even before I took a single lesson or saw them in print. After today’s performance, I will become an official musi- cian with Egami Grammophon. I’ll start with Chopin’s Ballade no. 1, op. 23, followed by the Andante Spianato, op. 22, which I played in one of the rounds in the Chopin Competition. I was a little shy of nineteen when I won it in 2010. I followed in Chichi’s2 footsteps, but my keying sounds nothing like his. It is like someone else’s.

And that’s why my encore will be something I’ve never played in pub- lic. It’s a song that mixes Chopin’s Raindrop Prelude, Ballade no. 4, and Nocturne op. 9, no. 2. I dreamed of this piece when I was just nine. And I woke up and reproduced the same sound without training or notes. Since then, I’ve been chasing that sound. I have collected every single record. But nothing sounds like what I dreamed. Nothing sounds like how I play it. If I play it in public . . . just maybe . . . I join my left-hand fingers and grab them with my right hand. Hey, stranger, will my keying find you tonight? Breathing hard, I cup my hands and blow into my cold, sweaty palms. Stretching my hand, I collect tissues from the table and wipe my forehead. My shaky hands reach for the unsolved Rubik’s Cube on the makeup table. Panting, I solve it. Next stop, a red origami paper. Shutting my eyes, I fold the paper. I open my eyes—a beautiful robin. I touch the robin and ask, “Hey, will you f ly and find this stranger for me?” I squint at a knock on the door. “Come in,” I say, quickly wiping my eyes.

Markus comes in, jerking his head to f lick his blond hair out of his eyes. Sitting on the table, he picks up my hand and kisses my ring finger and the engagement ring. His eyes glinting, he asks, “Ready?”

“No.” My voice quavers.

Jumping from the table, he looks into my eyes. “Really? Is there anyone even close to being your equal?” Crouching down, he kisses my forehead. I stand up and lower my eyes. “There’s this, but . . .” My voice trills.

A clearing of a throat grabs our attention. Looking at the door, we see a woman in a f loral dress, holding a makeup set, peeping into the room.

Bowing, she says, “Sumimasen. Yuki desu.”3 Pointing at her box, she hesitates. “May I apply makeup?”

I sit on the reclining chair. “Mochiron.”4 I shrug.

As Yuki lays out her brushes on the desk, we hear announcements from the main stage. “Do we want him here . . .” The audience cheers, even thumping their feet. All I can hear is they are cheering, “Insento, …Insento . . .” There’s something before “Insento” that I cannot make out. As the audience quiets down, Markus turns to Yuki, pointing his thumb at the door, “Wow! What’s going on?”

Lifting her brows, Yuki first mumbles in Japanese then looks up and translates. “Egami-san family is here.”

THE RESET ~ 3

I know. Akane-san is here to hand me the customary framed gold disk stamped with Emika Amari—A proud member of the Egami Galaxy. Chichi has one. But that doesn’t explain the cheering. A man’s voice f loats through the door. Squinting, I make out the f loating words. “….Let’s warm this bad boy.” A thunderous laughter and applause follow, almost shaking the furniture in the dressing room. As the crowd quiets down, piano notes gently f loat through the air. I shut my eyes. Someone is warming up the piano with Étude op. 10, no. 12, before I take over. A mere piano warmer will not attempt the Revolutionary Etude.5 My heart thumps out of my rib cage. I stretch my eyes wide and cover my mouth. Those strikes and pauses, I’ve known them since I was nine—they are mine. They are unique no matter what one plays. You are here? Was the audience cheering for you? My hands shake. Helplessly, I turn to Markus. My lips quiver as I point at the door to the dressing room. “It’s that sound.”

“What?” He squints

I lift my head and punch my left palm with my right knuckle. “The one that made me who I am.” Grabbing Yuki’s hand, I stand up. “I must find out who it is.”

Yuki bows. “Sumimansen. You mustn’t appear before your time.”

I stare into my sweaty, cold hands. My throat feels dry. “I know, but . . .” Markus helps me back to the chair. He gently holds my trembling hands. “Relax. I will find out who the piano warmer is.” He leaves after

blowing me a kiss. Yuki fans my face.

I’ve been searching for you all my life with nothing but the sound of deep, melodi- ous, time-bending, forceful notes. Why have I missed you all along, even though we never met? Why do I have flashes of an unlived life with you?6 While you remained an elusive dream, Markus came along. I stare at my engagement ring. Markus is real. I fold my fingers into a fist. I could bury that elusive dream in Markus’s deep-blue eyes. But when I shut my eyes, I see a little girl, a puppy, and you in a house with glass walls, with a backdrop of a breathtaking sakura bloom from fifteen cherry trees. Even in monochrome, the beauty is unmatched.

But your face is always hazy. After all these years, today, you are here. Is that why I saw colors in my dream today? Why did I dream of the little girl and the puppy rushing through Constantin Hall’s rear entrance today? Please don’t go. I promise I will play the best piano of my life tonight. I will delight everyone, but I will play only for you. Because that’s what I have always done. I blink, and tears leave my eyes and reach my chin. I look up at Yuki. “Gomennasai. Kore wa Hazukashī.”7

Wiping my eyes with facial tissue, Yuki lifts her brows, worried. Tapping the powder brush on the foundation, she assures. “Mondai janai.”8 Squinting, she stares at me and observes,

I bite my trembling lower lip and smile.

2

PRE-RESET

LEGACY (ACT

“I love you, Mom.” I don’t know if I can ever say those three words to Emika.

—Nozomi

(April 15, 2073—office of the CEO of Egami–Quantum Conglomerate)

Nozomi

I ENTER MY OFFICE AND THROW my briefcase on the sofa. Unclasping my Louboutins, I lounge on my Eames chair, barefooted, by the fire- place. Sighing in exhaustion, I look up. “Ludwig,11 switch on the TV. Today’s recording.” Ludwig emerges from my phone, transforming into the interactive 3D hologram I enhanced from Papha’s invention. He picks up the remote and turns on the TV.

The newscaster reads, “Today, Quantum World announced intreton-powered, 3D-printed human eyes, ears, or any body parts match- ing the exact genetic composition of a client’s DNA. The White House and the Senate have appointed a panel of experts to examine the claims and associated risks. Dr. Nozomi Abajian, CEO and the chief inventor at Quantum World, called the committee ‘villainous circus clowns with a singular intent—to weaponize the tech.’” The camera zooms out to include my headshot in the frame. The newscaster turns to my face on the camera and says, “People say you’ve inherited your late father’s arrogance.”

So, they did not edit anything. “Shut it down, Ludwig.” I exhale, scrunch- ing my face.

“Ah! What’s your opinion?” asks Ludwig.

I breathe in my tears. “Papha was arrogant? Have they forgotten why?” I grunt. “Anna was right about politicians. There’d be no panel if I donated three billion to the POTUS’s super PAC.”

“I meant your claim on weaponizing,” Ludwig clarifies.

I turn my head to Ludwig. “Isn’t that always their objective?” I walk into the mini closet and switch the Louboutins for my sneakers. My voice chokes as I admit, “Isn’t that why Papha . . .” My lips tremble, and I can’t forge words. I grind my jaw. “They want to reverse engineer the tech and use the genetic code to create microbots for DNA-specific assassination.” I chuckle. “But with Mum’s work on nanometer filaments of solid intreton ceramic oxide electrolytes, they will get nothing.” I lean back in my Eames chair and curl my fingers into a fist. We must always be one step ahead, predicting how our tech can be weaponized. And take precautions.

Ludwig stares into his hands, inert intreton crystals trailing as he moves his hands. He smiles. “I love these upgrades.” Then he wags his fingers. “You are truly the best inventor of this generation.”

Grinning, I wink. “Well, good to inherit that from Papha, besides arrogance.”

Ludwig looks up and hesitates by tapping his chin. Finally, he speaks. “Your mum is a great inventor, too.” I glare at him. My heart races, and I fold my trembling hands. Ludwig coughs and bends his head. “I’m sorry. I

THE RESET ~ 7

should leave you to your thoughts.” He transforms into inert crystal intreton dust and enters my phone.

Standing up, I pick up a photo frame from the mantel. It has a picture of what was once a family—Papha, Mum, Hulky, and me. I run my fin- ger over Papha’s face. My throat feels dry, and I gulp. It’s so unfair, Papha. Everyone else has a longer memory of you than I do. I hold back my tears. I touch Mum’s face in the picture. I don’t get you. You hurt Papha so deeply that you couldn’t get even . . . I breathe in deeply. Yet under you . . . I sigh. Then I circle my finger around Hulk’s face. “Konnichiwa, oniichan.12” I take the picture, bring it to my chest, and shut my eyes. Then I lift my cuff to see the time on Okaasan13’s Philippe Dufour. Five more minutes before the documentary director shows up. Letting the cuff fall, I again touch my mum’s face in the picture. “Even though I forgave you, I can never unhear those words.” Scoffing, I stare at her face. “I was just a child.” I shut my eyes and ears, and the image of Mum screeching at Papha while pointing at me f loats to the surface. That spawn ended my life. I never wanted her . . . I should’ve aborted . . .

Opening my eyes, I put the picture back on the mantel and lift my cuff again. Over the wristwatch is an intreton-powered platinum brace- let—a gift from Papha. It monitors my health. I know why I wear it. I walk toward the cabinet under my espresso setup. Opening the cabinet, I take out the baby dragon stuffed animal, which Papha gifted me today, forty-six years back. Digging my face in, I squeeze it hard. “I love you, Papha. The last time we met, you said, ‘I’m with you even when I am not.’” I breathe hard. “You said you’d be here when I make a decision.” It’s time. Collecting two sheets of tissue from the box on the table, I shut my eyes to a thirty-one-year-old memory. Slowly, the liquid intreton inside my bracelet turns from blue-green to orangish. A red robin lands on the windowsill.

(April 14, 2042—Hiiragiya Ryokan, Kyoto)

Sitting with her knees folded, Akane-san instructed the hostess, “Arigatō, demo ocha o iremasu.”14

The hostess, dressed in her lilac yukata, bowed while sitting down, and after standing up, she bowed again. Stating, “Mondai janai,”15 she left.

Akane-san meticulously took two servings of Uji matcha with the chashaku scoop and transferred them into the cups through a sieve. Pouring the water from a tetsubin, she stirred the tea with the chasen whisk. Holding the first cup, she stretched her arms toward me, saying, “Douzo.”16 Her voice croaked.

Holding her trembling hands and the cup, I asked, worried. “Nani?17” Holding in her tears, she smiled. “Can’t believe you’ll be gone . . .” She touched my chin. “When did you grow up so fast? My little Nozo, going to MIT.” Her voice rose in joy. “Vince would have been so proud. But I

will be all—”

“It’s just college.” Inching close, I touched her hand.

She looked away at the setting sun piercing through the tsubo-niwa. Her warm brown eyes f lickered with tears. Her lower lip trembled as she said, “Everyone says that—”

“I’m not everyone,” I assured her, touching her shoulder. I couldn’t see her sad, so I changed the topic. Squinting my eyes, I asked, “Why are we going to Kiyomizu-dera again tomorrow?”

She sniff led. “You’re almost eighteen—old enough to get Vincent’s journals. Time for you to know what Vincent was to me. And what a reset is.” Pointing at my intreton bracelet, she said, “And why your papha made that.” She paused and looked into my eyes. “Why you look like me despite Emika giving birth to you.”

THE RESET ~ 9

I tugged her by her shoulders. “But you are more than a birth mother . . .” I gulped. “You raised me self lessly.” My voice quavered as I admitted, “Sacrificing your—”

Stretching her arms, she placed her finger on my lips. “Don’t ever say that . . . you’re my . . .” She locked her f lickering eyes with mine and bit her trembling lower lip. “I’m sorry that I am just your Akane-san.”

At that moment, it became all too clear. It was simple, and I should have done it way back. You were never just Akane-san to me. I was just too timid to voice it. Not anymore. Holding in my tears, I tugged her shoulder and said, “Okaasan?”18

Her tears streamed. Covering her mouth in disbelief, she asked, “Nani?

That took so long.”

“Gomennasai. I should have called you this a long time back.” My voice quavered as I repeated, “Okaasan.”

“I never thought I’d hear it.” Wiping her tears and tilting her head, she tugged my kimono. “Say it again,” she insisted like a child.

I had never seen her so vulnerable. The wealthiest person on the planet fell to bits with just one word. She was my strength. I took a deep breath and pulled her closer, declaring, “Okaasan, Okaasan . . .” My lips trembled as I announced a third time, “Okaasan.” I paused and hugged her tight. My tears wet her shoulder and her precious kimono as I stressed, “Mom.”

(Back to April 15, 2073)

I open my eyes and wipe them with the tissues. From that day, Akane-san was “Mom” and “Okaasan.” I called Emika “Mum,” but only in private. “Can you hear me, Papha? The next day, on April 15, 2042, Mom showed me the torii-shaped ema. She told me the significance of that date. I could not believe what I saw and heard. She sacrificed her love so that I could be raised by you and Emika. Her reality was fragmented, and she wasn’t ready to have me. But wasn’t Okaasan’s fragmented even more? Not once did I see regret in her eyes while she raised me. Emika chose to leave you and me.

Yes, she atoned, and I forgave her, but she could never be Akane Egami.” Before joining MIT, I legally changed my name from Nozomi Amari Abajian to Nozomi Egami Abajian. My breathing gets rapid. Opening the fridge, I drink an entire bottle of water.

“I’m deciding, Papha. I’m not making this decision out of haste or hate. For me, there is only one mother. And that’s not the one who gave birth to me.” Putting the plush toy down, I pick up another photo frame with a picture of Okaasan and me. I shut my eyes and place the photo against my chest. “I love you, Mom.” I don’t know if I can ever say those three words to Emika.

My eyes fall on the other photo I had picked up a few minutes earlier. “Papha, I know you will stay away from Mum after the reset.” Breathing hard, I join my hands and implore, “But can you make this one exception after the reset? I want to experience you, Hulk, and Mum for a bit. All of us, in one picture. Can you do this for your little girl? Just a small memory of this reality to the post-reset one. Because Mum loved you, Papha. She atoned and did so much for your legacy. Quantum World wouldn’t be what it is without her. She did it all for you.” I turn my head at a pecking sound on the glass wall. It’s a red robin. I nod and smile as it f lies away.

Knocking on the door, my assistant peeps in. “The documentary mak- ers are here.”

Tugging my sneakers on, I smile at her. “Thanks.”

After putting the picture back, I touch both frames. “Time to tell our story.” I walk to my desk and take out Papha’s journals. I f lip over the pages and skim through Papha’s impeccable cursive writing. Shutting them, I kiss the journals and hold them close to my chest. I swallow my tears. “I will do my best, Papha, Mom, and Mum.”

(Executive conference room)

A man with a neatly cropped beard and tortoise eyeglass frames extends his arm. “I am Mike Tachibana. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” As we shake hands, he blinks. “Thank you so much for your time.” Letting go of my hand, he then points at his crew. “That’s Rachel behind the camera.”

THE RESET ~ 11

I wave at Rachel and sit on what was once Papha’s chair and then Mum’s. A young guy with a tight shirt comes forward. “I am Joe.” Hesitatingly, he points at his makeup kit.

I wave my hand in denial. “I’m sorry. I don’t do makeup.”

Mike nods at Joe, and he retreats, smiling. Rachel puts a wireless speaker and microphone on my blouse and under my suit jacket. From his Ghurka Examiner No. 5, Mike takes a copy of the book Fractured Realities—The Life of Vincent Abajian by Nozomi Egami Abajian and puts it on the table. The book is peppered with f luorescent yellow, green, and pink sticky notes. He then takes out a yellow ruled Rhodia notebook from his bag. Mike crosses his legs and sits beside the window, f lipping to an empty page in his note- book. Biting on his Zebra rollerball pen, he asks, “Are you ready, ma’am?”

Leaning forward, I wiggle my brows. “Are you?”

***