Morning came without ceremony. I woke to the same ceiling as the day before. I sat up slowly, joints stiff, and let my feet rest against the cold floor.
"Time?"
<07:00.>
I find it strange that I wake up at such a precise time, yet it feels perfect. Control of my life is what I really wanted in my old life, and now it's possible. I stood, stretched, and headed for the bathroom.
The mirror reflected a face that wasn't quite mine, but close enough that the difference didn't matter. Black hair, unremarkable features, eyes that looked dead, a quality that went beyond physical appearance.
I brushed my teeth in silence as I listened to videos for background noise. I let my mind wander, debating whether I should let the
"..."
I stepped outside, and the city greeted me with motion rather than sound. People walked with purpose, eyes forward, conversations clipped and efficient. Delivery bikes cut through gaps that shouldn't have existed. Vendors were already setting up, steam rising from metal carts as breakfast scents mingled with exhaust. This world feels real to me. And it feels the same as usual.
Ultimately, I only see the world from my perspective—and no one else's.
I didn't feel any invisible pressure to become a better person, contribute to society, or give up my hobby to prepare for a better tomorrow. Now, I no longer wish to die after having everything.
As the Sage begins exercising my body, my mind awakens from exhaustion and starts thinking about myself and my future goals. What do I want to achieve? Ultimately, my mind is consumed by the goal of overcoming humanity's most daunting challenge.
'Curing cancer… Should I try it?'
I had concerns, of course. Authority, legitimacy, trust.
As a blank slate, my current identity isn't helping me establish a convincing rapport as a doctor or researcher. I don't think people would be naive enough to accept a license I obtained through illegitimate means without verifying it.
The only options I can think of are either enrolling in a medical school or yoloing it.
"… Hm?"
What does that mean exactly?
'Tell me more.'
'Indirect means then?'
'So, if I fix the structure, can the goal be achieved?'
I can understand a few of them from the name. The gist of it is that I don't need to be a doctor to do it.
The answer surprised me more than it should have, reminding me of a news story from my old world about a good lawyer who never got a degree. So it's somewhat believable.
'What's the plan?'
It then starts rapid-firing all the solutions.
In truth, I don't fully understand it, even after the
'In the end, I'm compiling all the theories, removing the unnecessary, and systematizing them to accelerate the cure. Is that the gist of it?'
That makes sense. Humanity's imagination is the greatest tool, after all.
"So even if I work on the cure, and it works, it might never reach people."
"Damn. That's harsh."
Taking a moment to take it in, I ask.
"… So instead of being the answer, I become the canvas for them to bloom."
"Well, that's convenient. I guess in the meantime of doing that, I'll just play games and stream for fun then."
With a perfect execution on command in my head, I think doing a speedrun would be fun and easy. But killing speedrunners' drive isn't nice. I'll make human errors, since I kinda cheat.
'Besides, even if I do compile and systemize the process, would anyone dare to try or believe in it? I'm also disappointed in humanity, after all.'
The days passed without anything worthy of mention. And I became somewhat famous at the gym for always arriving and leaving on time. Similarly, in my online career, I rely on my skills in games, so it looks normal… at least until I become a god. As for the side project, it was tedious, so I touched it occasionally.
"How's your day, Jiang?"
"Hm? Ah, it's just the usual, I guess?"
I capped the bottle and glanced to the side. Recently, a woman named Qin Zhilan started appearing around the same time as me. It's the same gym, with the same hours. That's why I believe I'm in my popular phase.
She was wiping her hands with a towel, movements neat and unhurried. Nothing particularly eye-catching aside from her beauty—average height, plain sportswear, hair tied back. She's the kind of person you'd remember even if you only passed her once, and recognize her instantly if you saw her every day at the same time.
"Your 'usual' looks pretty consistent," she said. "You always finish exactly on time."
"Amazing, right? I'm just like that."
She nodded, like that answered something for her. We stood there for a few seconds, the low hum of treadmills filling the silence. I was about to leave when she spoke again.
"Have you ever written anything?"
"Hm? Like what?"
I must admit that I'm a bit surprised by the sudden mention of this topic, as it seems to come out of nowhere. She then tilted her head slightly, thinking.
"Methods, I guess… When you figure out a better way to do something. Timing, routines… or optimizations."
"Something along those lines, I guess? Mostly for games and stuff like that."
"I see..."
She didn't press on and just smiled faintly.
"That's a shame, then. If it were organized, other people could probably copy it."
"Pft! As if. The topics for my stuff are not serious enough for people to copy."
"... What if those topics are serious enough, then?"
I turn to look at her before sighing.
"I'm somewhat disappointed in humanity itself, so I doubt anyone would take them seriously."
Experience had taught me: inefficiency rarely needed a good excuse. So her point made sense.
She didn't look offended. If anything, she looked… thoughtful. For a moment, she studied the floor, as if arranging her words in her head. Then she lifted her gaze back to me, with a calm expression, almost neutral.
"People don't take most things seriously at first," she said. "Not because they're bad at judging value, but because switching systems is troublesome."
"That's a generous interpretation."
"Maybe."
She gave a small shrug and smiled smugly.
"But it also means they don't need convincing forever. Just until the cost of ignoring it becomes higher than the cost of changing."
"That's true, I guess."
I close my eyes, chuckle, and take a moment to think.
"You sound like you've thought about this."
"I've watched it happen," she replied. "More than once."
Right now, in my mind, I'm wondering why I don't take this world seriously enough. The real reason comes quickly to mind, and it's a subject I avoid thinking about.
'Because no matter what I do, I'm a stranger in this world. And no world will ever be my true home.'
My name, nationality, even my competence—everything that made me "me" here was borrowed. I took a sip of water before continuing.
"Either way, it's not really my problem. If something's useful, it'll spread eventually."
"Eventually," she echoed softly.
That reaction was an unexpected one. Instead, she nodded slowly, as if she had already accepted that answer long ago.
"Yes," she said. "Eventually."
Her fingers tightened slightly around the towel before relaxing again. When she spoke next, her voice was lighter, almost idle. She met my gaze briefly, then looked away, as if she were just talking to herself.
"If no one's waiting for it, then of course it can wait," she continued.
"There's nothing wrong with that. But some things can't afford to be late."
I opened and quickly closed my mouth. For some reason, that sentence didn't feel like an opinion. She glanced at the clock on the wall and folded her towel.
"Looks like you're done."
"Yeah. Same as always."
She stepped aside to let me pass. "Then I won't keep you."
I left first. But that night, staring outside of my window, I found myself thinking less about myself—and more about the people living here in this world.
Just as I'm tired of everything, wouldn't some people here feel the same way? That night, I let the