Two years slipped by like the quiet drift of autumn leaves carried on a gentle breeze.
Ren woke each day in the sprawling mansion surrounded by towering pines, the faint scent of damp earth and pine needles drifting through open windows. His room, a sanctuary of machines and tools, was a constant companion — a place where metal bent willingly to his will, where ideas took shape in the silent language of gears and circuits.
School days folded into family weekends, which melted into long summer trips and simple evenings spent beneath a sky cluttered with stars.
The steady rhythm of life grounded him.
Each morning, he moved through the rituals — breakfast with his parents, schoolbooks stacked in his bag, quiet walks to class through streets lined with evergreen shadows. He was just another boy, blending in easily, unnoticed but observant.
At home, afternoons were often spent in his workshop, the metallic heartbeat of tools and engines filling the air. The subtle hum of electricity coursed through his fingers, a gentle reminder of the power that lay beneath the surface.
His ability to manipulate metal had evolved beyond simple gestures. Now, he could feel the atomic dance within steel, aluminum, and alloys — bending each molecule with precision as if the metal were an extension of his own body.
But this power was a secret kept close, a silent companion to his solitary afternoons.
The Bai household was a haven of quiet affection.
Ren watched his mother's tired but contented smiles as she tended the garden, heard his father's low chuckle when they shared a joke over dinner. They traveled sometimes, visiting coastal towns or wandering through forests, their bond deepening without the need for grand words.
Love here was a gentle warmth — not loud or demanding, but steady and sure, like the steady pulse of a heart beating unseen beneath the skin.
His passion for cars was a steady flame.
Blueprints and sketches filled the worn notebook on his desk, detailing engines and chassis he dreamed of bringing to life. Small modifications to old engines gave way to bigger experiments. His hands, steady and sure, worked metal into new shapes, coaxing life from cold steel.
Each rev of an engine, each gleam of polished chrome, was a quiet victory — a tangible proof that his life here, in this new body and time, was more than a second chance.
It was a path he was choosing.
Ren's mind no longer wandered to the past or what had brought him here. The memories of another life — the world of 2045 — were tucked away like a half-forgotten dream.
Here, in this time and place, his future stretched wide and inviting. He was no longer a ghost in someone else's life, but a boy building something real — brick by brick, bolt by bolt.
The metal whispered in his veins, the forest hummed beyond the windows, and the world was quietly, patiently unfolding before him.
Ren stands by his workshop window at dusk, the amber glow of the setting sun catching the edges of his tools and sketches. Outside, the wind stirs the pine needles, and the faint promise of rain lingers in the air.
He breathes deeply, steady and calm — ready for whatever comes next.