"You have the entire roster at your disposal," Dr. Kapoor said as she looked at the haptic interface. "The system's unlocked all the notable figures in the database. From the main heroes to even the bystanders. The choice is yours."
Alex stood before the wall of screens, arms crossed, studying the profiles rotating in the air. It was a buffet of destinies, yet most of them looked unappetizing.
He tapped on the image of the bald monk with the arrow tattoos. "The Avatar," he mused. "Full elemental mastery, and the spiritual bridge between worlds."
"A popular choice," Kapoor noted.
"And a boring one," Alex countered, swiping the image away. "Aang's just a pacifist shackled by a moral code that doesn't fit the story's war. Plus, playing as the 'chosen one' is way too easy?"
He swiped past a blind earthbender and a water tribe girl. They were interesting, sure, but they lacked leverage. To be fair, he didn't want to play a female lead.
His eyes soon landed on a profile bathed in crimson. Sharp angles, golden eyes, and a legacy of conquest. "Him..."
Dr. Kapoor leaned in, adjusting her glasses. "Prince Zuko? Can't say I'm too surprised. Actually, his background does mirror yours a little."
"Mirrors it?" Alex scoffed, though he didn't look away from the screen. "Hardly. The dude's a tragedy and squandered things because he was too soft. What he should have done was take control of things like his sister. " Alex then turned to the doctor. "I want him because I can do it better."
Kapoor murmured, typing the command into the console. "Very well. You can enter at the start of the series and—"
"No," he interrupted. "Starting at sixteen's too late. The damage was already done. I wanna start young. Like when he's eight or something."
Kapoor paused. "Eight years old? You realize that means you'll have to live through nearly a decade of childhood before the canonical events of the series even begin?"
"I have time," he shrugged. "Speaking of which, if I'm gonna spend a lifetime in there, I don't want to come out needing a cane."
"The Enclave operates at the speed of thought, not the speed of biology," Kapoor explained. "The neural bridge accelerates your perception. Ten minutes in the real world would be roughly ten hours in the simulation. You'll likely be in the pod for one week here."
Alex did the mental math. One week in the chair. Years inside the machine. "That's a lot of living..."
"We'll monitor your vitals constantly," Kapoor assured him. "If the stress becomes too great, or if the system detects genuine physiological danger to your real body, we'll attempt an emergency extraction. But as we discussed… dying inside usually means dying here. So your brain won't distinguish between your virtual heart attack and your real one."
"Understood," Alex said, stepping up to the pod again. "I'm not planning on dying anyway; I'm here to win." He then climbed into the interior. The padding was comfortable, conforming to his spine. "Forgot to ask: will I remember who I am?"
"Yes. You'll be the passenger in the driver's seat."
That implied that he'll still be Alex inside, just with Zuko's body and instincts.
The seal soon hissed shut. After a few buttons were pressed by Dr. Kapoor, total darkness enveloped his vision, and he seemingly fell asleep.
✟
There was no transition, nor a loading screen. Just a sensation of falling very fast, followed by a jarring stop that didn't hurt.
The first thing Alex noticed was the smell. It was a rich, smoky scent—burning coal, polished cedar, and the faint, sulfurous tang of a volcano. The second thing was the heat. The air was warm, like a blanket fresh out of the dryer, wrapping around his skin.
When he fully opened his eyes, he found himself lying in a bed that was buried under layers of red silk and gold-threaded embroidery. The ceiling above him was also high and supported by dark wooden beams carved with dragon motifs.
He sat up, and the movement felt slightly uncoordinated. Then he looked at his hands. They were small and unblemished.
So he flexed his fingers, feeling an unfamiliar, latent energy that was like a caffeine rush focused entirely in his veins. This had to be the firebending chi Dr. Kapoor had lectured him about.
And it felt intoxicating.
Alex soon threw the covers off and slid out of bed. His feet hit a polished wooden floor before he walked over to a tall, bronze mirror standing in the corner of the room.
A young boy stared back. He had pale skin, shaggy dark hair, and golden eyes. The face was flawless. No twisted, melted flesh around the left eye.
"Hey, Zuko," he whispered to himself.
The voice was higher and lighter, but the cadence was still his.
He turned his head, admiring the profile. According to his request, he was eight years old.
At this age, Zuko was already considered a disappointment by his father, Ozai. But he wasn't hated yet. Not truly. He was just lackluster at best. That was because Zuko struggled with the basics of bending while his younger sister, Azula, was already showing signs of being a prodigy.
In the original story, Azula dominated Zuko through fear and superior skill. She also manipulated him because he was emotional and slow to learn.
But Zuko wasn't slow anymore.
Alex looked around the opulent room. This was indeed the Royal Palace in the Fire Nation capital. His grandfather, Azulon, was likely still the fire lord. While his mother, Ursa, was still present, probably worrying about her sensitive son.
Alex walked to the window and pushed the shutters open. The view was breathtaking. A sprawling city of red pagodas and black iron built into the caldera of a dormant volcano, the sun rising over the crater rim to bathe the world in amber light.
It was a game, yes. But the wind on his face and the heat of the volcanic rock beneath the city felt real.
"Six years," he calculated aloud.
He had roughly five or six years before the fateful war meeting—the meeting where Zuko would speak out of turn, get challenged to an Agni Kai, and lose half his face to his father.
In the original timeline, Zuko spent those years trying to be a nice person in a bad family, failing to meet the ruthless standards of the fire lord. Alex himself had no intention of being a 'good person.' He was here to be effective.
At those thoughts, he looked down at his small hands again, willing the energy to the surface. It was difficult; Zuko's body wasn't naturally gifted. The channels felt tight and resistant. It was like trying to push water through a clogged pipe.
"Crazy," Alex noted. "No wonder Ozai wanted to toss you out."
But talent was just a starting multiplier. Alex knew how to grind. He knew how to exploit systems. And he knew exactly what techniques would make firebending powerful—the breath control, the drive from the legs, and the redirection of energy. He also knew the secrets of the Sun Warriors and the True Fire that Zuko wouldn't learn for another decade.
Of course, all these things would come in their time. All that needed to be known was that the old Zuko was dead.