25 August 2025 (On a sunny day)
As usual, James dragged his sorry ass home after another thrilling day of standing behind a shopping counter — a job so exciting it could put a Red Bull on sleeping pills.
Home.
Hah. That word deserved a standing ovation for trying so hard.
James lived in a 20-square-meter rented room with walls thin enough to hear his neighbor sneeze… three rooms over.
The bathroom was shared. And by "shared," he meant a public execution site for anyone's sense of hygiene.
Sometimes, the faucet screamed louder than his soul.
Today wasn't special. Not even in the "maybe I'll get hit by a truck and reincarnate" kind of way.
It was just James — minimum wage, maximum disappointment — walking back to his micro-sized paradise.
As he turned a corner, a sudden wave of crushing self-awareness hit him like a tax audit.
FUCK. FUCK. FUCK…!!!
I'm a fucking loser, aren't I?
Yep. There it was. The classic James special — mental breakdown with a side of crippling self-esteem.
He walked faster, as if trying to outrun his thoughts. Spoiler: He couldn't.
By the time he reached his so-called home, the sun had set, the streetlights flickered like they too were done with life, and James had cursed himself at least fifteen times.
A personal best.
He shoved the door open — a luxury wooden masterpiece called plywood — and stepped into his "kingdom."
Four walls.
A bed.
A mini-fridge that hummed louder than a jet engine.
Life goals achieved.
He washed his face, staring into the cracked mirror.
Staring at a face that looked like it gave up on him years ago.
James flopped onto the bed, arms spread out like a starfish on life support.
The springs groaned under him. Probably in protest.
His mind did what it always did when faced with silence — it reminded him of all the ways he'd disappointed himself.
His father.
That man worked his bones off, scraped every dollar, sold every spare thing they had, just to send James to college.
And what did James do?
Daydreamed.
Daydreamed about being the protagonist of some cheesy web novel.
About systems and skills and magical worlds.
And now?
He was living the ultimate fantasy:
Retail.
$1200 a month.
Enough to survive. Not enough to live.
Hahaha… what a fucking loser.
James lay there, staring at the ceiling — cracked and stained like it had seen things.
He wondered if ceilings judged you.
If they laughed at you behind your back.
Eventually, suffocated by his own thoughts, he slipped on a hoodie and stepped outside for air.
The park was a block away, a forgotten patch of green sandwiched between concrete towers.
He sat on a wobbly wooden bench that looked as tired as he felt.
The stars hung lazily in the sky, twinkling like they had better places to be.
James stared up at them.
"Bet you're laughing at me too, huh?" he muttered.
A shooting star zipped across the sky.
James scoffed.
"Make a wish?"
Yeah, sure.
He closed his eyes and whispered,
"I wish I wasn't such a loser."
He opened his eyes.
Nothing happened.
Of course.
A breeze rustled the leaves, and James sat there until the night air felt less refreshing and more like a subtle reminder that he had rent due.
With a sigh, he walked back home.
Sleep came easily — it usually did when you had nothing to look forward to.
But the sky didn't agree.
Because high above the city, something glowed.
Something that wasn't supposed to be there.
A burning stone, shining like a star dipped in molten gold, shot across the night sky at impossible speed.
Straight toward Earth.
Straight toward James.
The stone phased through walls, through flesh, through everything — and sank into James' chest as he slept.
He didn't wake up.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't notice.
But when he did wake up…
He felt different.
He sat up, blinking against the weak morning light bleeding through his broken blinds.
His body felt lighter.
Like he'd actually slept eight hours instead of his usual four.
His muscles didn't ache.
His head wasn't pounding.
James stumbled over to the mirror.
He looked…
Younger?
His skin was clearer.
The dark circles under his eyes — the ones that had basically set up camp — were fainter.
He flexed an arm.
"…Okay, did I just regress?"
He snorted.
"Right. This is it. This is my regression arc. Next stop — buying Amazon stock in 2000."
He checked his phone.
Date: 25 August 2025
Nothing changed.
Same apps.
Same depressing bank balance.
Same unread texts from his landlord.
James stared at the screen.
"Hah… Of course. Figures."
He tossed the phone onto the bed and sat down.
His brain played with the idea anyway.
What if this was the start of something?
What if he was the protagonist?
He chuckled.
Because if he was, the universe clearly had a weird sense of humor.
And then…
[DING]
A sharp, metallic chime echoed in his head.
James froze.
What the f—
[Welcome, User.]
A glowing blue screen materialized in front of his eyes.