It was quiet. Like that split second moment before an alarm yanks you from sleep.
Before I dared open my eyes, I willed the day I had probably died and everything since to be nothing more than a bad dream, hoping to wake up in my cramped apartment inside that gated city complex on a normal Friday morning, my routine untouched: shower, black coffee, the walk to work.
Or, at the very least, I'd find myself in a hospital bed, groggy from a coma.
I was lying on my back, my head resting against a pillow, facing up at the ceiling. A warm white blanket covered my entire body, its weight comforting.
I finally opened my eyes, half-expected the world to glitch, to stutter and snap back into something familiar. It didn't.
Above me, rough-hewn wooden beams crossed an ancient ceiling, still rendered with that uncanny, illustrated clarity. Definitely not the ceiling I was hoping for. Definitely not my world.
I turned my head to the right. Two narrow windows at the foot of the bed let in golden morning light, their curtains stirring gently in the breeze. The amber glow washed over the room, making everything look like a hand-painted scene from an animated film, too warm, too soft, too perfect to be real.
A wooden chair a few paces off held my folded hoodie, trousers, and sneakers, but I wasn't wearing them.
"Great. Just great."
I'd been repeating that same hollow ritual for thirty minutes since waking before sunrise, but the reality never shifted.
Then I remembered something. The interface, the one constant in this strange new existence, had gone missing. But the moment I focused on it, it flickered back to life, hovering patiently as if it had just been waiting for me to look.
A translucent interface floating in the air, crisp and jarring against the organic scenery, as if a HUD from a video game had been projected onto my retinas.
Beneath it, clean typography read:
\[Combat Mode: Base mode]
[ ] [ ] [ ] [ ]
«HUD» SP: 500
I barely understood any of it. A HUD? And what was SP and the combat mode and boxes for anyway?
Now felt like as good a moment as any to explore it.
I sat up and reached toward the floating blue bar. My fingers passed right through the holographic light as if it were smoke; it wavered softly, pulsing in response to my touch before settling back into place.
So I'm basically a video game anime character now. Somewhere, a twelve-year-old me is losing his mind. Present me just wants to know if there's a pause button.
Next, I tapped the HUD menu.
A translucent blue window materialized with a low hum, sharpening into crisp lines floating in midair. A progress bar filled methodically across the glass-like pane, text glowing beneath it: Initializing...
A robotic voice sounded inside my head:
"System initialization complete. Welcome, Player."
A new window bloomed open.
\[TERMS AND CONDITIONS]
The robot voice explained,
"Failure to read and acknowledge the Terms and Conditions in their entirety will result in death."
\[Agree]
"Seriously?"
I stared at the text.
"Why the hell am I being handed Terms and Conditions for my own life? I own it."
Normally, I would have skimmed past the fine print without a second thought. But this time, I couldn't afford to gamble.
I selected \[Agree].
---
\[Progression]
"This is not a game. However, you are a Player. There are no checkpoints. There is no second draft of this second life. Any attempt to get rid of the System from the Player will result in death. The Player may communicate directly with the System through verbal or mental commands when necessary. The System will respond to valid commands and perform available functions at the Player's request."
This doesn't sound like a rule about failing, like the normal system meant to make someone stronger or the ones I am familiar with. It's like a cage that had already decided I couldn't opt out. Not after I agreed. Not ever.
I stared at the glowing letters a second longer than I wanted to, took a slow breath, and kept reading, because what other choice did I have?
I had already accepted that when I died, it was over. That was how life had always worked.
I clicked **\[Agree]**.
Another window materialized.
**\[Quests]**
"Once a Quest is offered, completion is mandatory. Failure to fulfill the stated conditions may result in penalties determined by the System. Penalties may include SP deduction, temporary restrictions, attribute reduction, skill suspension, or other consequences deemed appropriate by the System."*
*Skill suspension? Attribute reduction?*
I reread the prompt, half-expecting a laugh track. There wasn't one. Apparently, the System had never heard of at-will employment.
I tapped \[Agree] again.
\[Skills]
"Proficiency Skills provide the Player with the knowledge, technique, and physical familiarity required to perform specific professional and combat disciplines."
The System seemed to assume I had zero talent of my own. Which stung a little. At the very least, I knew how to throw a decent punch thanks to the martial arts I learned because I wanted to know how to fight and the basics of boxing a friend had taught me back home. I also had a knack for sketching.
Still, seeing it laid out like a software package felt bizarre. Knowledge and muscle memory somehow downloaded straight into my brain and nervous system. But it wouldn't make my arms longer or push my reflexes past the biological limits of this teenage body. Underneath the borrowed skill, I was still just a twenty-year-old whose original life had been cut short before he'd had the chance to truly build it.
I selected **\[Agree]**.
Another window slid into view.
\[Unique Art Skills]
"Unique Art Skills are custom supernatural abilities generated by the System according to the Player's written prompt.
Unique Art Skills may only be equipped within their designated Skill Slot. Only one Unique Art Skill may be active at a time. Generated Art Skills are subject to the System's evaluation. Invalid, contradictory, or impossible prompts may be rejected. SP spent on rejected generations will not be refunded."
"Now we're talking," I whispered, perking up. "But..."
I checked the disclaimer at the bottom.
"So even my superpowers had a bureaucratic review process. Fantastic. I could already picture pouring my soul into some elaborate pitch for flight, only for the System to reject it like a picky landlord. Invalid. Contradictory. Try again. SP not refunded. No pressure at all."
I hit \[Agree]
\[Items]
"Various Items are available for purchase through the Store application, each costing 50 SP to equip. Items not registered through the System cannot be utilized with the enhanced effectiveness provided by the System interface."
"Sure," I tapped.
\[Agree]
Finishing the terms left a sour, unsettled knot in my gut. But there was nothing I could do about it. It was like signing into a platform you had no choice but to use: you either accepted the terms or you ceased to exist.
A text prompt appeared, hovering over a translucent keyboard.
\[Please enter your name]
I reached out and typed the name I had been given since birth then hitting Enter.
The holographic keys felt surprisingly solid beneath my fingertips, offering a satisfying tactile click.
"Name registered: Neriah. Noted, logged..." A beat of silence followed.
"Profile active."
A full dashboard blossomed outward, arranging itself cleanly before me:
```
╔═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════╗
║ ┌──────────────────────┐ ┌──────────────────────┐ ║
║ │ 👤 Profile │ │ 🎯 Quests │ ║
║ ├──────────────────────┤ ├──────────────────────┤ ║
║ │ 🗺 Map │ │ ➕ Add Apps │ ║
║ ├──────────────────────┤ ├──────────────────────┤ ║
║ │ ⚙ Settings │ │ 📦 Inventory │ ║
║ └──────────────────────┘ └──────────────────────┘ ║
╚═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════╝
```
I leaned in, letting out a dry, disbelieving laugh.
"Well, look at that. Not bad."
I studied the layout. The aesthetic was sleek and futuristic, yet rendered with the same rich, illustrative lines as everything else in this world.
The door latch clicked. Across the room, the heavy wooden door groaned open on its iron hinges. Jack stepped inside, balancing a wide wooden tray.
He looked completely different from the day before. The polished breastplate and formal patrol coat were gone, replaced by simple civilian clothes, a loose linen shirt and dark trousers that made him look younger, less like an officer and more like the teenager he actually was. The sword, however, still hung from his hip, its worn pommel gleaming faintly in the morning light.
His eyes met mine, and immediate relief washed over his face.
"You're finally awake," he said, stepping into the room. "You gave me a real fright yesterday. One second you were talking, the next you just folded like wet parchment."
He crossed the floor with easy, quiet strides, setting the tray down on the wobbly wooden table beside the bed. The rich aroma of warm, crusty bread and aged sharp cheese hit my nose, making my stomach contract with a sudden, ferocious hunger.
"Wasn't sure what you liked, So I grabbed whatever looked edible from the market downstairs"
Jack gestured toward the food.
"Fresh bread, hard cheese, and some dried fruit. It's simple, but it's good."
He dragged the table closer to the mattress, then took a seat on the edge of the bed frame. The wood groaned softly under his weight.
"You were restless last night," he said quietly, his tone turning gentle. "Mumbling in your sleep."
I rubbed the back of my neck. "Sorry. Bad dreams, I think. Did I say anything embarrassing?"
"Not really. Just sounded like you were arguing with someone."
Silence followed.
"Thank you for hauling me in here, I must have been dead weight."
Jack waved a hand dismissively. "Don't mention it. You're lighter than a training dummy. I'm just glad you're breathing and in one piece."
I looked at him, noticing the subtle slump in his shoulders.
"How are you holding up? Getting suspended from your post... that's rough."
He paused, his gaze dropping to the floorboards as if searching for the right words.
"The post...I'll find my way back into the watch eventually. I couldn't believe my own grandfather did that to me but I always figure something out. Or... maybe it's for the best. I can help my father at the foundry, or pick up carpentry again. Being an officer... maybe it just wasn't meant for me."
"You know, it's okay to be angry about it. I know you worked hard to earn that uniform. Having it pulled on your first day is unfair."
He managed a small, self-deprecating smile. "Yeah, maybe. But I'm not really the type to sit around moping about spilled milk."
He pushed himself up from the mattress and walked toward the doorway, pausing with one hand on the wooden frame to glance back over his shoulder.
"Eat up," he said, nodding toward the tray.
"Once you're finished and back on your feet, I can show you around the city if you're up for it."
"I'd like that," I said, offering a genuine smile. "A lot."
"Good. Don't take all morning, I'll be heading to meet my grandfather a bit then I'll be back to pick you up."
"Okey"
He stepped through, and the door latched shut behind him, leaving the room in quiet morning warmth.
After the latch clicked, I looked back up at the empty air above me. Jack hadn't reacted to the floating HUD, the health bar, or the glowing blue windows. To him, there was nothing between us but empty space. The System was mine alone.
Then there was the girl I'd met in the forest. She hadn't been friendly in the slightest, but that didn't stop a pang of worry from surfacing. I wondered if she had made it out of those dangerous woods on her own. I had survived, barely; hopefully, she had too.
I slid off the blanket, sat on the edge of the bed, and reached for a piece of bread.
For now, I had endless questions: about this world, the limits of this coercive System, the sprawling industrial city outside, and the unbreakable rules governing my second chance at life.