Christmas lights flickered in the shop windows, filling the night streets with festive cheer.
In a dark alley nearby, three burly men cornered a young man. They grinned, flashing white teeth in the glow of the lamps."Hand over the money, kid!"
The young man sighed, setting down a paper shopping bag with his discounted Christmas clothes."Seriously? Look at me. I have to shop second-hand, and even then only on Christmas sales. Do I look like someone with money?"
He pulled a few crumpled bills from his pocket."Thirty-something dollars. If you need it so badly, take it. But why the knives and guns?"
Seeing the men patting their chests as if armed, he raised his hands in mock surrender. Los Angeles was already infamous for its gangs and violence especially here, so close to the city center.
The leader chuckled and spread his hands wide. No weapons. His friends followed suit, smirking."See? I told you he'd fall for it. Now, what's this thirty-six dollars? You sure you're not hiding the rest?" He snatched the bills, shoved the young man against the wall, and crouched to check the bag.
But the moment the youth realized they were bluffing, his demeanor changed. His eyes sharpened.
"Robbery… the lowest form of crime."
Before the crouching man could react, a sharp kick slammed into his chest. Another to the head sent him sprawling with a scream. The other two lunged, only to be dropped in quick succession—an elbow strike, a brutal knee, then a chokehold that left the last one gasping on the ground.
In under two minutes, all three were down.
The young man calmly picked up his money."Tsk. Complaining about thirty bucks when you don't even have ten yourselves?"
He grabbed his bag, turned, and walked away."Merry Christmas," he said with a smirk, leaving them writhing in the alley.
The old three-story apartment on Sixth Street was dark when he returned. His unit was on the third floor. The wall calendar read December 25, 1988.
The young man was Aaron Anderson, born in 1970. By calendar years, he was eighteen, tomorrow he would be ninteen. But inside, the soul was not Aaron's. It belonged to Wang Juyi, a man in his thirties from across the Pacific, who had died in 2025… and awoken here.
He stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror: sharp features, golden hair, green-brown eyes, 185 cm tall nearly ten more than his old life. A handsome youth with a stranger's face, yet one he was slowly getting used to.
Aaron's past wasn't a happy one. His father, once a small-time investor, had lost everything in the stock market crash, and in despair had leapt from the Golden Gate Bridge. Aaron had given up college to take a job as a mailroom assistant at CAA, dreaming of one day becoming an agent.
But a week ago, after a night in a Koreatown nightclub, Wang Juyi's soul had taken over.
In his former life, Wang Juyi had run an entertainment company. His family started with arcades, then cinemas, eventually building a chain and investing in film and television. Ruthless but talented, he knew the business inside out until a powerful figure tried to scapegoat him in a money-laundering scandal. Drunk and furious, he refused to go down alone, dragging his enemies with him in one final, fiery act.
And yet, here he was. Reborn as Aaron Anderson.
He clenched his fists, feeling the strength in this new body. Whatever the reason for his rebirth, he was faster, stronger ,capable of dropping three thugs in an alley without breaking a sweat.
"Hollywood…" He smiled. With his knowledge of film history, he already knew the hits and trends of the coming years. This was his cheat, his advantage.
The noise of Christmas outside faded as he lay on the bed. Even if Santa showed up, Aaron thought, he'd pin him down until he begged for mercy.
The next morning, he dressed carefully in his second-hand Italian suit. The cut was sharp, though a little worn, and with his styled hair he looked every bit the young professional.
Today was important his first official day as an assistant agent. He called a cab to Beverly Hills, CAA Headquarters.
The driver glanced at him in the mirror."Wow, what a handsome young man! New face in Hollywood? Did CAA sign you as talent?"
Aaron chuckled. "Seems like CAA's reputation has been spreading fast these last few years."
"Of course! These days, becoming a CAA agent is a badge of honor. The economy might be rough, but Hollywood's only getting stronger."
Aaron leaned back, smiling faintly. He wasn't just entering Hollywood—he was about to shape it.