They say when you die, your life flashes before your eyes.
Mine didn't.
Instead, I woke up twice—once in a hospital-like room that hummed like a machine, and again in a classroom where everyone looked at me like I was a threat.
Now, here I am, walking down the hallway of a college I don't recognize, in a body that feels wrong, in a world that feels too fast.
The hallway pulsed with advertisements, glowing lockers, transparent glass floors revealing the stories below—like I had stepped into a dream of the future. Or worse, a simulation.
Every screen blinked in multiple languages. Korean, Hindi, English, Mandarin. Some scripts I couldn't even begin to name. I walked among people who didn't even notice me anymore—just minutes ago, they stared like I was a monster. Now, I was forgotten. As if even the fear they held for Neon was just part of a scheduled routine.
But their whispers still crawled behind me.
"Did he get hit on the head?"
"No way that's Neon. He helped Hana pick up her books."
"Maybe it's a prank. Or... maybe something's wrong with him."
They weren't wrong.
Something was wrong.
I stepped out through sliding doors, into a city I had never seen—but somehow, in a strange corner of my mind, it felt like I had.
Towering buildings kissed the clouds, alive with neon signs and holograms dancing midair. Hovercrafts skimmed above without sound. Digital cherry blossoms drifted in the wind, blending with real petals that somehow bloomed despite the concrete and circuits. The scent of electricity mingled with food—ramen, spices, grilled meat, something synthetic I couldn't name.
As I walked, a pulse echoed in my chest, like I was being drawn.
My eyes landed on a flickering stall nestled between two glass buildings. It sold bracelets, sigils, chips, and charms. One of them made my fingers tingle.
Black leather. Silver spiral. Two threads intertwined like a mirrored storm.
Why did that symbol feel so familiar?
I didn't touch it. I didn't dare. But it burned into my memory like it wanted to be remembered.
And then, like a current snapping through me—I remembered something.
Not about this world. Not about this body.
But about my world.
Back when I was 22, I wrote something. A novel. A chaotic, half-finished fantasy story I never showed anyone. It was filled with anger and sorrow and revenge. A fictional world I created to punish characters who reminded me of the real people that failed me.
A side villain I named Neon.
A city I named "Eden-Mira", wrapped in tech and sorcery.
A secret organization. A cursed sigil. A girl named Hana. A world where people whispered about something ancient hiding beneath the surface.
And now—I was here.
I stopped walking.
My legs trembled.
This wasn't just a futuristic city.
This wasn't just another timeline.
This was my story.
The realization hit like thunder.
I created this.
But no one around me knew.
No one looked at me like I was a god or an author. Not even a character.
To them, I was just Neon—the violent, reckless, heartless jerk that everyone avoided.
Only… I wasn't him.
And he wasn't me.
And that's when it hit me like another wave—
I was living as two people in two different timelines.
Faisal, who died in 2001, confused and broken.
And Neon, the side villain I created at 22, who was now me in this world of steel and magic.
But our behaviors had switched.
Faisal, the soft-hearted nobody, was now living as Neon—the feared bully.
And Neon's cold, cruel instincts were somehow trapped in my old 2001 body.
It wasn't just a body swap.
It was like someone—something—was playing a game with me as the pawn and the player at the same time.
A scream broke my thoughts.
I turned sharply.
Across the plaza, two students ran past a corner where a strange blue light flickered and fizzled.
One of them cried out, "The Veil shifted again!"
The Veil.
The same name I'd invented for a mystical boundary between dimensions in my novel—a place where logic bled and reality fractured.
But I had never finished writing what the Veil was. I didn't even know what it really did.
Now it was real.
Or at least, here, it seemed real.
I took a shaky breath, heart racing. I knew this place. And yet I didn't. The details were sharper, more alive, as if someone else had picked up where I left off and made the story breathe.
But it was my story.
And I was stuck in it.
I wandered back into campus grounds, avoiding the crowds, slipping behind a column draped with creeping ivy that shouldn't grow in this kind of city.
I slumped down.
My fingers curled into fists.
Why me?
Why now?
Was it punishment? A second chance? A mistake?
Before I could finish the thought, something slammed against my shoulder. A girl had tripped and fallen beside me—her books scattering.
She looked up.
I recognized her.
Hana.
In my original story, she was the one Neon tormented most—until she either snapped or disappeared, depending on which draft you read.
Now she looked at me, eyes wide with fear.
I stared back at her and realized—this was my chance.
Not just to survive. Not just to figure this world out.
But to rewrite the damage Neon had caused. To prove he could be something else.
"I'm… sorry," I said, before I could stop myself.
She blinked. Confused. Suspicious.
So was I.
But for the first time since waking up in this world, I felt a thread—thin, fragile, real—connecting me to something good.
I helped her pick up her books.
And as she walked away, still watching me like I was an unsolved equation, I whispered under my breath:
"This time, I won't waste it."
And then… I saw him.
A shadow at the corner of the building. Watching me.
Eyes like mine. A posture like mine. But colder. Meaner.
It was me.
Or… Neon?
Or Faisal?
I couldn't tell anymore.
And then he smirked—and vanished into thin air.
The air grew cold.
The city lights flickered.
Something was changing.
And I wasn't sure about anything