I crossed the room and flipped open my perfectly serviceable — yet to me, ancient-looking — laptop. From this timeline's perspective, it was fine. From mine, it was a relic. The fan roared to life as the screen flickered on, the sound oddly loud to ears accustomed to quieter machines.
My fingers flew over the keys, chasing the numbers before they faded from memory:
Phil Kang (neighbor)
Age: 52
Health: 83
Appearance: 71
Charisma: 76
Intelligence: 81
Adaptability: 78
Luck: 61
Star Potential: 3/5 (Established Professional)
Profession: ?
It wasn't perfect, but it was better than relying on memory alone.
By the time I finished, the clock was edging toward noon. Hunger stirred, so I cooked a pot of white rice and took out a few containers of homemade side dishes I'd found in the fridge. It had been so long since I'd tasted anything made by Mum. Back in my early university days, she would show up without warning, her hands full of freshly packed containers, smiling as she told me to keep going. Those visits made the small apartment feel less empty.
But as my failures stacked up, her smile faded. The visits stopped. And the gap between us only widened.
With tears blurring my vision, I cleared the dishes in minutes. I wondered if, this time, the distance could close… or if we'd only drift further apart.
Patting my full belly, I decide to probe the System once more. There hasn't been any new notification since.
'Alright, System,' I said, leaning back. 'What exactly is this for? What's your endgame? Systems usually have a clear focus. Yours seems a little… unclear.'
There was a pause. A seemingly calculated one.
[Objective: Support user in achieving optimal trajectory]
'That's vague.'
[Further clarification unavailable at current access level]
'So… no missions? No quests to clear?'
[No assigned objectives at current level]
[User may select own direction of progress]
I frowned. That was unusual. Most light novel systems pushed their user toward something. This one was basically saying, "Do whatever you want." Is this a choose your own journey kind of System?
That was almost more unnerving than having orders.
Seeing that the System offered no further details, I returned to my laptop to jot down what I'd learned so far—and to think through how the skills—no, the modules—I'd gained might help me keep history from repeating itself.
After adding a few notes to the document where I'd recorded Mr. Kang's profile, I returned to the desktop. A file name pulled my attention: Pretty Ugly – Draft. I remembered writing it on a whim—just a handful of pages, nothing serious. Or so I'd claimed to myself back then.
The details were gone from my memory, leaving only a vague, restless curiosity.
I hesitated for a beat, then double-clicked.
The prose was raw but carried a voice I recognized: observant, biting, and far too knowing for someone in her early twenties.
It depicted a girl named Nara, who had been caught in a fire as a child. The scars she bore then made people look away, treat her as less. Years later, surgery, healing, and time had left her beautiful — breathtaking, even. But Nara still spoke and acted as if she looked the way she used to.
I didn't read further. The story would unfold later, but even this glimpse was enough to remind me of something I'd almost forgotten.
When I was younger, I'd had the space to create things like this. Light in my eyes, ideas in my head, and time to chase them without being chained to my own expectations — or crushed beneath everyone else's.
The style was rough, but the spark was there — the same voice I used to have when I still enjoyed creating things, before everything became about surviving deadlines.
Maybe…
Maybe in this life, I didn't have to keep walking the same path.
Maybe I could use this second chance differently.
Ding.
[Notice: Mental Trajectory Change Detected.]
[Optional Pathways Available – Request Display?]
For a moment, I almost laughed.
I'd read enough to know that when a system offered "pathways," it meant things were about to get… complicated.
I pressed Yes.
The blue panel expanded, lines of text unfurling like a digital scroll:
[AvailablePathways – Based on Current Variables]
1. Academic Ascendancy – Pursue excellence in your existing major, Applied Cognitive Mechanics. High risk, high reward. Timeline mirrors original trajectory.
2. Creative Divergence – Shift focus to narrative arts, with potential for public recognition. Skillset growth in storytelling, composition, and performance.
3. Social Catalyst – Build and leverage connections to influence key figures. Focus on adaptability, charisma, and negotiation.
Under each option were small, faint icons — some locked, some glowing faintly.
I stared at them, my heart thudding.
It was surreal, seeing my life reduced to a game tree.
"System," I said, this time aloud, "what happens if I don't choose?"
[Default trajectory maintained. Variables may still shift based on actions.]
So it wasn't forcing me. But it was dangling choices in front of me like bait.
I leaned back in my chair.
Thirteen years.
Three paths.
And me — stuck between the safety of what I knew and the temptation of pursuing something different.
Knock. Knock.
The sound cut clean through my thoughts, sharp and deliberate. No one was supposed to come by. At least no one I remembered.
For a moment, I stayed still, weighing whether to even get up — the kind of pause that lets you hope the knocking might stop on its own.
It came again, slower this time, as if the visitor knew I was here, waiting.
I rose, reluctant, and crossed to the door. My hand hovered over the handle before I finally turned it.
When I opened the door, Mr. Kang stood there, a small bag dangling from one hand. His posture was calm, measured, yet there was a weight in his presence that drew my attention.
He held the bag out between us — the faint scent of sweet red bean drifting up as the steam slipped from its folded top.
Bungeo-ppang (Korean fish-shaped pastry stuffed with sweetened red bean paste).
"I bought them along the way," he said, almost offhand, as if it wasn't worth making a fuss over.
"Thought you might like some."
The gesture was simple, almost old-fashioned in its courtesy — the kind that didn't demand gratitude but made you feel it anyway. For a moment, it tugged at something in me I couldn't name. It felt… displaced somehow, like an apology from a future that hadn't happened yet, wrapped in paper and warmth.
There had been a time — or maybe a future — where our exchanges had dwindled into empty pleasantries. Right now, though, he was here.
Polite. Steady. His expression layered in a way I couldn't quite read. I'd never known him well; most of what I knew was stitched together from shadows and secondhand accounts.
And maybe that was why, when the door closed behind him, the bag of bungeo-ppang still warm in my hands, I found myself glancing at the clock.
Twelve hours. The Script Master cooldown had just expired.
I wanted to understand what this system could truly do — and if some part of me needed to see what might change if I pushed the first domino — there was only one way forward.
"Script Master," I said, voice low. "Target: Mr. Kang."
[Processing environmental and subject data…]
[Prediction – Within the next 6 hours, Mr. Kang will receive a phone call about a relative moving in temporarily.]
[Probability: 42%.]
[Cooldown: 11 Hours 59 Minutes.]
Relative. No name, no details. The system's vagueness left room for speculation, but I decided to file it away for now. Some things were better left to unfold naturally.
Forty-two percent. Barely more than a coin toss. The number landed with a dull weight in my chest — not enough to snuff out my curiosity, but enough to tell me the answer wouldn't come quickly. If this was the system's best guess, then whatever story Mr. Kang carried might take its time finding me.
I closed the Script Master interface, letting the prediction settle into the quiet.
In the back of my mind, the 'Available Pathways' panel from earlier lingered like an unanswered question.
The system's interface then reappeared, blinking patiently, almost expectant.
Available Pathways:Academic Ascendancy | Creative Divergence | Social Catalyst
Mr. Kang's visit had interrupted me, but not erased what I'd been meaning to decide.
My gaze drifted back to the folder on my desktop — the unfinished draft of "Pretty Ugly".
Creative Divergence.
Was that what it was hinting at? A step toward the stories I'd left half-told — or maybe toward the stories I hadn't even thought to write yet. Stories that lived in the quiet spaces between people, in gestures like bringing bungeo-ppang to a neighbor. These were exactly the kind of moments my younger self — the self who wrote "Pretty Ugly" — would have wanted to use.
To twist into something interesting, to pull into a larger arc.
And if I ignored it — again — would I regret it just as much the second time?
I turned my attention back to the panel.
My finger hovered over the second option.
Maybe this was my sign.
I clicked.
[Creative Divergence pathway initiated.]