"You silly boy, it was just a dream, that's all,"
she said softly, gently brushing the boy's hair.
"But Mom…" the boy started to say,
but she interrupted him with a warm smile.
"No more 'buts'. Go to the bathroom and freshen up. Breakfast is ready—and your dad is waiting for us."
After saying that, she walked toward the dining room.
Sam, the boy, remained seated on the bed, his gaze distant.
He whispered to himself in a low, thoughtful voice,
"But it didn't feel like a dream, Mom…
I could feel everything—that person's emotions…
I don't even know his name, but I know exactly how he felt in his last moments."
Suddenly, a sharp pain pierced through Sam's head like a needle driven straight into his mind.
He tried to scream—but no sound came out.
Grabbing his head with both hands, he twisted in agony, desperate to stop the pain, but it was all in vain.
The pain dragged on, longer than five endless minutes.
Then—"Ding."
A mechanical voice echoed inside his skull:
"System online."
A soft, light-blue screen appeared in front of his eyes, floating in mid-air.
Sam froze. He didn't understand what was happening.
But somehow… from the memory of his dream, he understood the concept of a system.
Still, he had no clue what kind of system this was, or what it was supposed to do.
The screen displayed nothing but a single glowing circle.
He stared at it again and again, waiting for something to happen—
but nothing changed.
Finally, a thought crossed his mind:
"System, close."
And just like that, the screen vanished.
But one thing unsettled him more than anything else—
Not when the system appeared. Not even during the pain.
What truly disturbed him…
was his calmness.
Sam could clearly sense it—
a difference between who he was before the dream, and who he was now.
His thoughts felt… deeper.
Clearer.
Sharper.
It wasn't just the strange system or the pain.
It was him.
He could feel the change in his mind—
in the way he saw things, in the way he thought.
"These… aren't the thoughts of a five-year-old," he whispered to himself, confused yet calm.
Something about that dream—
something hidden in its emotions, its intensity,
had left more than just a memory.
It had altered something inside him.
He wasn't sure how.
He wasn't sure why.
But he knew one thing for certain:
That dream was not just a dream
He sat on his bed, legs crossed, and whispered softly,
"System… are you still there?"
Silence.
Then—
"Ding."
The light blue screen reappeared in front of him, hovering quietly in the air.
The same glowing circle pulsed gently in the center.
But this time…
there were words underneath it.
[Awaiting Activation Command]
Sam's eyes widened.
This wasn't just a memory from a dream.
This was real.
Sam took a deep breath.
His small hands trembled slightly, but his voice was steady.
"Activate," he said.
The circle on the blue screen pulsed once… then again… and then—
Whoooosh.
The screen rippled like water, expanding and forming new text, icons, and lines across its surface. It looked futuristic—yet strangely familiar.
Then the voice returned. Calm. Mechanical. Yet oddly warm.
"Welcome, User: Sam."
"System Type: Memory Integration and Skill Evolution."
"Initial Sync: 12% complete."
Sam blinked.
"Memory… integration?"
He didn't understand it all—but deep inside, it felt right. Like this was meant for him.
New options appeared on the screen:
Status
Memories (Locked)
Skills (Locked)
Scan
Settings
His heart pounded in his chest.
Was this a game? A gift? A curse?
He reached out slowly, his finger hovering over the first option:
[Status]
Just as he was about to press it, something flashed in his mind—
an image.
A man's face.
Tired eyes.
Tears.
Pain.
Then darkness.
Sam pulled his hand back instinctively.
"Who… are you?" he whispered—not to the system, but to the memory burning inside him.
And somewhere deep inside, something whispered back:
"You already know."
Sam sat frozen, that image still flickering in the back of his mind.
The man's face... so vivid. So full of sorrow.
He didn't know his name—
but he could feel everything he felt.
Suddenly, the light-blue screen dimmed, and a new message appeared in bold letters:
[Fragmented Memory Detected]
Would you like to initiate a memory recall?
Sam hesitated only for a second.
Then—"Yes."
The screen shimmered—and in an instant, the world around him dissolved.
His room faded.
The light vanished.
He was no longer sitting on his bed.
---
He stood now in a dark, cold corridor.
Flickering lights above. Distant echo of medical beeps.
It was a hospital.
At the end of the hallway, a room.
He felt his legs moving—not by choice, but as if something was guiding him.
He stepped inside.
On the bed lay the man. Pale. Breathing slow.
A photo frame gripped tightly in his hand.
Tears streamed down the man's face as he whispered—
"I'm sorry… I really tried…"
"Forgive me."
Sam felt his own chest tighten. His knees are weak. His heart aching—as if it were his pain.
Then the man turned his head—
and looked straight at Sam.
Not through him.
At him.
"You're… me." he said, voice trembling.
"A second chance… you're the one…"
Sam gasped—and just like that—
FLASH.
He was back in his room. Panting. Shaking.
The screen was gone. But the memory was not.
And the truth echoed in his mind like thunder:
That man… was him.
An older version of himself.
From another life.
A life cut short.
Sam sat frozen, that image still flickering in the back of his mind.
The man's face... so vivid. So full of sorrow.
He didn't know his name—
but he could feel everything he felt.
Suddenly, the light-blue screen dimmed, and a new message appeared in bold letters:
[Fragmented Memory Detected]
Would you like to initiate a memory recall?
Sam hesitated only for a second.
Then—"Yes."
The screen shimmered—and in an instant, the world around him dissolved.
His room faded.
The light vanished.
He was no longer sitting on his bed.
---
He stood now in a dark, cold corridor.
Flickering lights above. Distant echo of medical beeps.
It was a hospital.
At the end of the hallway, a room.
He felt his legs moving—not by choice, but as if something was guiding him.
He stepped inside.
On the bed lay the man. Pale. Breathing slow.
A photo frame gripped tightly in his hand.
Tears streamed down the man's face as he whispered—
"I'm sorry… I really tried…"
"Forgive me."
Sam felt his own chest tighten. His knees weak. His heart aching—as if it were his pain.
Then the man turned his head—
and looked straight at Sam.
Not through him.
At him.
"You're… me." he said, voice trembling.
"A second chance… you're the one…"
Sam gasped—and just like that—
FLASH.
He was back in his room. Panting. Shaking.
The screen was gone. But the memory was not.
And the truth echoed in his mind like thunder:
That man… was him.
An older version of himself.
From another life.
A life cut short.
Sam sat motionless on his bed, eyes wide but unfocused.
The echo of that man's voice—his own voice from another life—still haunted the corners of his mind.
"A second chance…"
But what did that even mean?
A second chance to do what?
To fix what?
To live… for who?
He glanced toward the door—toward the warmth of his mother's humming, the softness of her voice, the smile of the father who waited at the breakfast table.
This family loved him.
But a cold doubt crept in like a shadow:
Was he even supposed to be here?
What if he wasn't meant to stay?
What if he broke them—like he broke the ones in his past life?
He clutched his blanket, his little fingers curling into fists.
"I don't know what to do…" he whispered.
"Should I stay and love them, become their real son?"
"Or should I stay away, distant… safe… so I don't hurt them again?"
His young heart felt like it was splitting in two—
one side filled with longing, the other with guilt he didn't understand, but carried anyway.
Because even if his body was that of a five-year-old…
his soul remembered loss.
It remembered failure.
And it feared breaking something that didn't deserve to be broken.
Just then, a loud voice echoed from the dining room—
"Sam!"
The sudden shout sent a jolt through him.
Every hair on his body stood up as if struck by lightning.
Snapping out of his thoughts, he quickly called back,
"Coming, Mom! Just two minutes!"
But his voice trembled slightly—not from fear of his mother's voice,
but from the lingering weight of everything that had just happened.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside him.
Two minutes…
Just two minutes to collect himself—
before pretending everything was normal again.