Gao Wen… Gao Wen?"
Warm chaos surrounded him. Floating weightlessly, his consciousness began to blur. His vision dissolved into a soft haze, and he couldn't make out the outlines of anything—only a faint wash of blue, clear and inviting. He couldn't help but reach out, wanting to touch it.
Just a little closer… a little closer.
"Gao Wen!"
The shout exploded in his ear like thunder.
The rolling sound waves slammed into him with force, shattering his balance. Gravity seized him, the sudden pull crushing his heart in a surge of panic. Instinctively, he flailed his limbs, trying to steady himself—trying to grasp something, anything.
Then, in an instant, he fell headlong into the blue and his feet touched solid ground.
A sense of stability rose from beneath him, clashing against the wild thumping in his chest. The roar in his ears faded. His eyes began to focus again. The blue light slowly transformed into gold—radiant, dazzling gold—crashing into the depths of his pupils.
In front of him stood a square-jawed young man with black hair and eyes, thick brows, and a handsome face. The corners of his mouth were slightly pursed, but there was a bright, easy smile between his brows—a look full of youth and life.
Wait… McDonald?
Gao Wen blinked in confusion.
Mackenzie McDonald—his old college teammate from UCLA's tennis team. They'd spent countless days sweating side by side in training and competition. But after graduation, their paths had split completely.
Gao Wen, sidelined by a knee injury, had given up tennis and returned to China, becoming an ordinary office worker.
McDonald had gone pro—and done well.
The last time Gao Wen had seen his name was on TV.
At the start of the year, McDonald had reached the fourth round of the Australian Open, matching his career-best Grand Slam result. Gao Wen had been sincerely happy for him, cheering quietly from afar. But time and distance had long erased their contact. They hadn't spoken face to face in years.
So… why was he seeing him now?
Still dazed, Gao Wen looked around. This wasn't an office. It wasn't his apartment. It was… a tennis court.
Dark blue against light blue—the hard court gleamed. Nets piled like fishing lines, rows of stepped seats stretching upward into a well of space. Around the court, tall trees swayed gently in the morning breeze.
So strange. And yet, so familiar.
The early sunlight filtered through the branches, spilling gold across the court. Gao Wen instinctively lifted his hand, feeling its warmth against his palm. Nearby, supermarket carts overflowed with tennis balls—worn, fraying, bursting from overuse. Little yellow birds of memory, carrying traces of his youth.
A gust of wind blew. Leaves whispered. Light and shadow danced.
Then he saw it:
the familiar logo on the court's edge—
the UCLA Bruins.
Wait—was this really his alma mater?
But how? How had he gone from Shanghai to Los Angeles?
And why was he standing on the campus tennis court?
Was this a dream?
But if it was… it felt too real. Too perfect.
"…Gao Wen, what's wrong? Still half-asleep?"
McDonald nudged his shoulder, teasing, eyebrows raised.
"Or are you trying to slack off and dump prep duty on me?"
McDonald's sun-tanned skin glowed with life, his youthful energy almost radiant.
Gao Wen blinked, slowly pulling himself together. He spread his hands helplessly and said with a grin,
"Ah, so you saw through me."
McDonald chuckled, scratching his nose awkwardly.
"Alright, alright. You weren't feeling well the other day, and you handled cleanup by yourself. I'll take prep duty today."
Yep—same McDonald as ever. Honest, considerate, just like Gao Wen remembered.
Gao Wen raised an eyebrow and flashed a triumphant "V" sign, celebrating his escape from morning chores.
McDonald groaned, glaring at him, and lunged as if to grab him—but Gao Wen was a step faster, dancing back out of reach.
"You little punk!"
McDonald gritted his teeth, grabbed a tennis ball, and hurled it at him. Gao Wen dodged, laughing, and took off running. McDonald chased after him, tossing balls as he ran. Their laughter echoed across the court—bright, unrestrained, as if they were kids again. Even the sunlight seemed to join in, twirling in time with their footsteps.
Once, life had been just like this—simple and bright. They'd believed in sunlight, in the future, in hope itself. Happiness had been as easy as running, chasing, laughing together. But over time, they'd grown up. Joy had faded. The world had dulled into gray, and they'd been trapped in it like walking ghosts.
Only when Gao Wen watched tennis again did he feel that spark—
that old, buried passion.
But every time he saw the jagged scar on his knee, every sleepless, rainy night, that spark was snuffed out again.
Knee?
Gao Wen froze.
He looked down. His knee wasn't swollen or aching. In fact—
it felt… light. Effortless. As if he'd never been injured at all.
He stopped short, bracing suddenly. From his toes to his thighs, he felt every muscle, every tendon working in perfect harmony. The movement was smooth, strong, elastic—completely under control. Even after that sharp stop, his knee held firm.
Stunned, he looked down again.
Smooth. Unscarred. Whole.
The ugly marks from all those surgeries—gone.
He could barely even remember what his legs had looked like before the injury.
But now, they were exactly that—unmarked, painless, brand new.
Bang!
The abrupt stop caught McDonald off guard. At full speed, he nearly crashed into Gao Wen. It should've been a full-on collision—but somehow, Gao Wen steadied both of them, adjusting his balance in an instant and keeping them upright.
"Sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry!" McDonald blurted automatically, still dazed.
Gao Wen barely heard him. He was too absorbed, too amazed—feeling the effortless strength in his legs, the perfect, oiled precision of muscle and bone working together like a newly tuned machine.
Joy surged through him—pure and fierce.
When he finally looked up and saw McDonald's worried face, something inside him broke open. His chest filled with laughter.
"Ha… ha ha… hahaha!"
McDonald blinked, bewildered. Then, checking around to make sure no one was watching their stupidity, he hesitated—before giving in completely.
He threw back his head and laughed too.
The two of them stood there, doubled over, laughing freely, their voices ringing through the court—rising into the morning light.
Gao Wen's laughter shone brighter and brighter.
He was back.
A second chance.
So many times, in his darkest, loneliest moments, he had wished he could start over—that life could give him one more try.
And now… somehow, impossibly, it had.
But—when exactly was this?
He remembered clearly: his first knee injury had happened on February 15, 2014.
And now, his leg was still whole.
So it must be before that.
He looked at McDonald's young face—no traces of the years yet—and at the morning court still waiting to be set up. Memories long buried began to stir.
Yes. It must be December 2013.
Back then, he and McDonald were both freshmen—new to the team, just six months in. Every morning they were the first to arrive, setting up the court; every evening, the last to leave after cleanup.
He had just turned eighteen that November.
The world before him had seemed infinite, bursting with promise.
Then—
Buzz…
A faint vibration pulsed through his mind.
A moment later, light blue text appeared across his vision:
"System activated."
He blinked.
What…?
Before he could react, another line appeared:
"Growth potential +0.01%"
Huh?
Was this… some kind of rebirth bonus?