You spend the first half watching a girl waste time travel on trivial high school nonsense, and it's so achingly ordinary that you forget what she's actually doing. Then the movie stops letting her get away with it, and every small thing she changed starts coming back as something she can't fix. The whole point is that time travel doesn't matter, what matters is learning to live with your choices instead of erasing them.
Makoto's ordinary high school life shatters the moment she discovers she can leap backward through time. At first, the ability feels like a gift. She rewrites awkward conversations, aces failed tests, and fixes small embarrassments with casual jumps to yesterday. But each trip backward ripples forward in ways she never anticipated. As Makoto chases increasingly desperate corrections, she watches her relationships fracture in real time. Friends drift apart. Romantic possibilities dissolve. The people around her suffer consequences she never meant to cause, and she realizes too late that erasing her mistakes comes at a cost to everyone else. What started as a power to control her own story becomes a burden that isolates her completely. The film balances genuinely funny moments against growing dread as Makoto confronts an impossible truth: some mistakes can't be undone, and some choices matter precisely because they can't be reversed. It's a story about accepting imperfection and the strange wisdom that comes from living with regret.