I lay there for a long moment in disbelief, staring at the translucent panel-like thing floating above me.
It wasn't part of the ceiling. It wasn't a trick of the light. It was there.
Blue light. Words. Hanging in the air like they'd been copied and pasted from a manhwa I'd read last week.
[Welcome, User]
[Core Modules Unlocked: Star Sense, Script Master, Performance Boost]
[Revive. Survive. Thrive.]
But it didn't make sense. This was the real world. How could this be possible?
Just like how the MC (Main Character) in a typical "leveling system"-based manhwa (Korean comic) would react, I waved my hand through it.
Expectedly or unexpectedly, the panel didn't budge.
I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and tried again. Swiping like it was a touchscreen on a 24" monitor.
Still nothing.
"Okay, here goes nothing."
"Status," I murmured with an uncertain and shaky voice.
The panel remains unyielding, as though staring back at me like I was an idiot.
"Hah," a short uncontrollable laugh slipped out — lined with self-pity, a little sharp around the edges, bordering on unhinged.
Ok. This is it. I've finally lost it. I've finally gone insane.
After everything — the years of pressure, the fall from grace, the constant humiliation — maybe this was inevitable. People don't live on autopilot forever without something snapping.
I'd read enough progression fantasy-themed novels to know this setup — the miraculous game-like interface, the overpowered "system" that is supposed to change your life.
It was thrilling when it happened to fictional characters. A trope that I didn't mind reading over and over again given the satisfying 'weak-to-strong' narrative (growth of a protagonist who starts with limited power or abilities and gradually increases their strength and skill through training, experience, or other means).
In real life? It was... unsettling. It felt… wrong.
Like the rules of the world had been quietly rewritten while I slept. Like seeing an anime character step into your room.
At least it wasn't a Shinigami (grim reaper in Japanese) that appeared. Alright, enough with the dry humor.
As a digital nomad, I reached for my phone under my pillow out of habit. I usually keep it in arm's reach for easy access to snooze my alarm.
It wasn't there. Odd. I didn't even know what day it was… or how long I'd been asleep. If today was simply the morning after yesterday, then there was a fair chance it was the weekend.
Still, my missing phone barely registered as a concern. The faint blue panel lingered in the air before me, steady and unreal, as if it had been waiting all along.
"Ok," I muttered as I tried to recollect myself. Maybe I am still in a dream. Or maybe the car accident was the dream and I'd just snapped waking up and started seeing floating text in my apartment. Either of these made more sense than the alternative.
Sitting up on my bed, I took a quick glance around my room. Same pale ceiling and walls, same slight water stain in the corner from that leak upstairs. Same refrigerator hum from the kitchen and same clock tick. Though now that I thought about it, the clock's second hand moved with perfect, unnatural precision without a slight stutter like before.
Turning to my desk, it was definitely more cluttered than before. Books and stationery were strewn messily instead of lying neatly in the bookcase or drawers. That was strange, I hadn't done much serious reading or writing the past decade. Just the daily grind and working overtime every day already took all my energy — I didn't even had much time to myself. Whatever free time I had was used to read a chapter of a light novel here or a web comic there.
As though sensing my thoughts on the discrepancy observed, the panel pulsed.
Then new words formed, neat and unhurried:
[User: Lydia Han]
[Status: Deceased]
[Registered Age: 20 Years]
I froze. My chest tightened and my breath caught.
Deceased? No… I was still in my apartment. I pressed a hand to my chest, then touched my face — solid, warm, alive. At least, I thought so. No injuries. Breathing steady. But the certainty felt fragile, as if my body might prove me wrong at any second.
The rain, the street, the car — it all had to be a dream.
But the age… twenty? No. I was thirty-three. Or… I had been.
That was more than a decade younger than I was supposed to be. That was thirteen years gone. Gone where?
[Reference: Previous Chronological Age – 33 Years]
[Adjustment: 13 Years Reversed]
My pulse skittered. I swung my legs over the bed and stumbled to my feet as I stood abruptly, unsteadily heading straight for the bathroom.
The mirror caught me before I was ready.
When I'd last seen myself — the thirty-three-year-old me had worn exhaustion like a second skin.
I'd had skin dulled by years of late-night takeout meals and convenience store dinners, dark crescents carved deep beneath my eyes from nights spent staring at a glowing screen, posture slackened by years of giving up.
My skin had been sallow, uneven. My jawline had blurred. I'd stopped wearing makeup, stopped fixing my hair, and wore the flat, lifeless look of someone who'd stopped caring. Because… why bother? No one really looked.
Now…
The face in the mirror wasn't stunning— not the kind you'd stop in the street for.
But she was… healthier. Her skin was clearer, the kind of face that looked well-kept without trying. The fatigue lines were gone, the dark eye bags erased.
Her — my — frame looked leaner, posture straighter, and the features had a quiet sharpness I hadn't seen in over a decade.
And then there were the eyes — bright, sharper than they had any right to be. But not yet alive. Not when my head was still full of the street, the rain, the sound of metal. And not to forget the faint blue system panel in my peripheral.
But I remembered those eyes. They'd been my best feature.
Back then, they had meant confidence. Certainty. Now, they were just the last remnants of the person I used to be — sitting in the face of someone who looked too young to have already lost everything.
I touched the mirror, half expecting the reflection to fade. It didn't. So did the panel in the mirror's corner.
Behind me, the blue panel pulsed once, as if it had been waiting for me to finish looking.
[Initialization Complete]
[Tutorial Begins Now]
"Confirmed," a voice said.
I jerked back from the mirror. The voice was inside my head — a synthetic female voice, flat and mechanical, just like the one I thought I heard before the car accident. Maybe I really did hear it then.
I stood there in my bathroom, trying to process everything that is happening. My clammy hands gripping the sink, watching my reflection breathe. A reflection that is still too unfamiliar for the thirty-three year old me inside.
"User is stable. Initialization complete. Tutorial commencing."
It was ridiculous. Completely, utterly ridiculous. I should have been scared. Instead, there was this… quiet part of me that wanted to see where this went. Because if this was a dream, I might as well make use of it before waking up.
"Tutorial commencing," the voice repeated.
It was crisp. But there was something about it — the edges were too clean, the pauses too precise, like a voice actress reading off a perfect script with no slips, no breaths out of place. It is as if someone had taught an AI to mimic human speech but hadn't quite mastered the imperfections.
The blue panel pulsed in the corner of the mirror. Then the text shifted.
[User: Lydia Han]
[Core Modules Online: Star Sense / Script Master / Performance Boost]
[Module Access Level: 1]
"What… exactly are you?" I said slowly. I wasn't expecting an answer.
"System Interface. Internal cognitive integration complete. Operates as guidance, data relay, and adaptive enhancement support."
"That sounds like it came straight out of—" I stopped myself. A light novel. I wasn't about to say it out loud.
The panel changed again, icons appearing like they'd been there all along.
One was a stylized star. The second, an open script. And the last, a rising arrow.
"Modules represent active capabilities," the System continued.
"Further detail available upon request."
I didn't answer right away. Instead, I stepped out of the bathroom into my bedroom. I let my gaze travel around the room. On a closer glance, I noticed that the furniture was certainly no longer as worn out as I was used to. Details I didn't pay attention to amidst the chaos occurring earlier as I woke up surfaced.
A sudden bittersweet realization came to my mind — how indeed nothing has changed even though more than a decade has passed. I still used the same basic furniture that my parents bought back when I first started university. Even the faint water stain in the ceiling corner was still there — the one I'd been meaning to have painted over for years.
It wasn't that I couldn't afford to update them, I just stuck with what I had. Was it reflective of my sense of resignation across the years? I quickly brushed the negative thought away.
"Would you like to begin module orientation?" the System's voice broke the silence.
Without waiting for an answer, the panel pulsed in my vision.
[User: Lydia Han]
[Core Modules Online: Star Sense / Script Master / Performance Boost]
[Module Access Level: 1]
I sat back on the bed, legs crossed. Waiting for something more to happen.
Silence.
"Hello?"
Nothing.
"Menu," I tried.
Still nothing.
"Status?" I tried again, secretly praying that I won't look like a fool once more.
[Status: Stable]
[No adverse conditions detected]
A small thrill ran through me. Yay. It answered.
If this was real, I'd read enough light novels to know the danger of rushing in without knowing the rules. Half the time, the characters who did that got themselves stuck in tutorial hell. So I wasn't about to waste this opportunity.
"Ok, details for Star Sense please" I said.
The star-shaped icon expanded, glowing faintly.
[Star Sense – Detect latent potential in surrounding individuals. Identify aptitude levels and compatibility.]
[Range: 10 meters at Level 1.]
[Cooldown: None.]
I hummed. "Not bad. Similar to an appraisal function"
"Details for Script Master."
[Script Master – Predict narrative event chains based on environmental data.]
[Target Required: Select a specific person, object, or location.]
[Outcome: One predicted event involving the target.]
[Accuracy: 38% at Level 1.]
[Cooldown: 12 hours.]
[Note: Predictions limited to 12 hours ahead.]
"Details for Performance Boost."
[Performance Boost – Temporarily enhance a chosen skill to peak performance.]
[Duration: 30 minutes at Level 1.]
[Cooldown: 48 hours.]
I swallowed. Part of me still hopes that this is not a result of me going crazy, given the unconventional naming sense of the system and dubbing these skills as modules. And yet, despite the absurdity of the situation, reading these descriptions gave me a strange, restless feeling in my chest.
Like… maybe I could actually do something with them.
So. Detection, foresight, and a temporary buff. A tidy little starter pack.
I leaned back against the headboard, my mind already whirring.
If this was real — really real — I'd be stupid not to figure out how far I could push it. But if it wasn't, if this was just the most vivid dream or hallucination of my life… well, I might as well enjoy it while it lasted.
"Alright," I let out a shaky breath, looking at the glowing icons, "let's see how you play."
What was it again?
Ah — to Revive, Survive and Thrive.
This could be my second chance and I should make it worth.