Pres looked up at clouds that felt somehow familiar, like a photograph he'd seen a thousand times. The glowing screen dissolved into the air and disappeared completely. The noise and laughter of students around him made this moment feel like an experience he'd already lived through, because he had.
This was Mayvel College of the Wits. The most prestigious university in the world. And he was a student everyone looked down on.
He heard someone approach. A hand reached down toward him. Female. Delicate fingers. It was Riya, but with that young college face he'd fallen in love with years ago. Blue eyes that seemed impossibly kind. Beautiful in that effortless way rich girls always were. Hair pulled back in a casual ponytail.
She struggled slightly as she helped lift him up from where Richard Bergvel had left him sprawled on the concrete. He knew this moment intimately. The very first time he'd been this close to Riya at college. The moment that had started everything. But he still couldn't wrap his mind around what was actually happening. How he was here. How this was real.
He looked at her with the same respect and confusion he'd felt the first time this happened. There was something new though, something that hadn't been there before. A bar hovering above her head like a health meter in a video game. Seventy percent green, thirty percent red. He had no idea what it meant.
She pulled out a white handkerchief, monogrammed and expensive, and gently rubbed the blood from his split lip. Then she pressed the handkerchief into his hand without saying a single word and walked away, back toward her group of wealthy friends who waited at a respectful distance.
Back then he'd thought she was kind. Generous. An angel who'd seen him as human when no one else did. Now he doubted everything about her.
The students standing around were still watching, some laughing, most recording with their phones. Pres Delhurs had just taken a beating from Richard Bergvel and no one had been willing to help until Riya stood up. That's how it always worked here. Money protected money. Power protected power. Everyone else was entertainment.
Pres stared at the white handkerchief in his hand, at the fresh blood stains spreading across the expensive fabric. A familiar moment frozen in time. This was something he'd kept his entire life, tucked away in a drawer like a precious stone. Right up until the day he'd died.
Wait a minute. I'm supposed to be dead. He grabbed at his chest, patting himself down frantically. No bullet wounds. No blood. Confusion spread across his face as he failed to understand what to believe anymore.
Was the future just a vivid dream after Richard beat him unconscious? Or was this what people saw when they died? Some kind of afterlife replay?
He didn't have time to figure it out. A voice spoke inside his head, calm and authoritative, confirming that this was real. That this was a rewind.
"Welcome to the Future Alignment System, Pres."
What the hell is happening? He grabbed at his ears instinctively, but the voice was coming from inside his head, not from outside. The students kept watching, recording, laughing. They probably thought the nerd was losing his mind right in front of them. That wouldn't be new. Pres Delhurs losing it was practically a campus tradition.
"You've been chosen because you're the perfect candidate for this mission. The system has given you a chance at a new life, but it comes with conditions."
Pres heard it clearly despite the noise around him. He pulled himself together, straightening his cheap jacket, trying to understand what was happening. He didn't speak back out loud. Just listened carefully, aware that talking to voices in his head would make things worse.
"The Future Alignment System activates whenever the universe faces an extinction-level threat. The world has suffered countless catastrophes throughout history. We've chosen players who've gone back in time to align the future several times before you, but something critical has been missing. After the Janace Fraud incident, the world economy collapsed completely. It was the beginning of what we call the 3005 Terrors."
The system spoke as though these events had already happened. Something Pres hadn't witnessed in his timeline.
"You can't possibly imagine how it affected the entire universe. Mayvel as an institution and the people of this city contributed fifty percent of the catastrophic events that led to the end of the world. That's precisely why you're the perfect candidate."
"Wait, hold on. Why me specifically?" Pres asked as he walked toward the school exit, needing to get away from the staring students.
He knew this city intimately, knew this school like the back of his hand. He remembered exactly where he used to rent his tiny apartment. He understood precisely what time period he was in, down to the day. He needed to get somewhere private, rest, and actually think about all of this.
"Because you've seen firsthand what the future has in store for you," the system's voice remained steady and patient. "And you're not doing this for free. You'll be paid for each task you complete successfully. That way, even if some future alignments fail, you'll have accumulated enough money to survive what's coming."
"Are you seriously telling me there's a possibility this could all fail? That I could do everything right and still lose?" Pres asked out loud, not caring anymore how people perceived him. He remembered everything now with painful clarity. There was nothing he could do at this exact moment to change how the people of Mayvel viewed him anyway. The damage to his reputation was already done. He kept walking steadily toward his cheap apartment across town.
Pres was an orphan who'd joined the greatest schools in the world purely through academic scholarships. He'd performed brilliantly on every standardized test, well enough to get enrolled at Mayvel College of the Wits on a full ride. But he was still the most broke person in the entire city. No family. No friends. No safety net of any kind.
And now he had a taste of the future and this mysterious system offering him a second chance.
"The future exists in various possibilities and probable outcomes. It's a complex game of patterns and choices. If we successfully change certain key patterns, we ensure a better future for everyone. Or at least prevent total extinction." The system paused, considering. "And you need to understand something fundamental: every person is capable of both good and evil. It's not binary."
"But there are genuinely bad people," Pres thought about George and Riya, his jaw clenching. "People with no redeeming qualities. There is nothing good in them at all."
As he walked, he heard someone running after him, footsteps quick and light. He didn't need to turn around to know exactly who it was. He'd already lived this moment once before. Hamione Giuleńj, a nineteen-year-old girl with an honest face and too much kindness. She was the only person who regularly spoke to him regardless of his lowly status at Mayvel. They weren't exactly friends, but there was a special way she cared about him. Though he'd never liked it. Never appreciated it the way he should have.
"Pres, wait up!" she called out, slightly breathless from running.
He turned to face her reluctantly. A green bar, completely full and glowing, appeared above her head.
[THREAT LEVEL: 0%]
[ASSESSMENT: No threat to future timeline. No possibility of turning heel.]
Now he understood exactly what the bars meant. Green meant no threat to the future. Red meant danger, corruption, someone who would contribute to the collapse. The percentage showed how much of a threat they posed.
"I came as soon as I heard that Bergvel beat you up," her voice was full of genuine concern, her brown eyes searching his face for serious injuries. "Are you okay? Do you need to go to the medical center?"
Back then, for the first time it happened, this moment had meant everything to him. Someone actually cared about him. Someone saw him as a person worth worrying about.
But right now it meant nothing, weighted down by the knowledge he carried. Hamione Giuleńj would jump off the second floor of the Main Hall exactly one hour and three minutes after they had this conversation.
He didn't want to associate with her right now. Didn't want to live through that pain again, even knowing it was coming.
"Thank you for caring, Hamione," the words came out flat, emotionless. Then he turned away without another word and kept walking.
She stood there for a moment, clearly wanting to run after him, to push harder, to make sure he was really okay. But she thought better of it and turned back toward the school instead, her shoulders slightly slumped with disappointment.
Pres had always remembered her brown eyes. Kind and honest eyes. For years after her death, he'd wished he'd thanked her more, appreciated her more, been a real friend when she'd clearly needed one.
And now he was in that exact moment again, with a second chance, and he still couldn't bring himself to engage with her properly. That was the terrible, cruel thing about knowledge. Sometimes knowing the future made it harder to live in the present.
"Some things are just meant to be," he said the words quietly to himself as he reached the gate of his apartment building. Cheap construction. Peeling paint. The kind of place students with money would never step foot in.
He entered the building, and everything felt like yesterday. Like he'd never left. He was living his young life again, reset to zero, with all his mistakes still ahead of him.
He reached into his pocket for his key card, fingers closing around the familiar plastic. But before he could swipe it and open the door to his tiny room, a message flashed across his vision interface with urgent red borders.
[TASK ONE: ACTIVE]
[OBJECTIVE: Prevent Hamione Giuleńj's death]
[REWARD: $200,000]
[TIME LIMIT: 00:57:30]