Once the shock faded, something else felt wrong.
Ethan stood before the mirror again—this time not panicking, but analyzing.
His body.
It wasn't just young.
It was better.
Broader shoulders.
Narrower waist.
Muscles dense beneath relaxed skin.
He clenched his fist.
Strength answered instantly.
Not forced.
Not strained.
Controlled.
"This isn't my old body," he muttered.
In his first life, even at nineteen, he had been skinny and weak. Sports had been humiliating. Confidence nonexistent.
This body felt refined.
Optimized.
He closed his eyes.
Sounds sharpened.
Footsteps in the hallway.
A door closing several rooms away.
The faint hum of electricity above him.
When he opened his eyes, even light felt clearer.
No system explained it.
No rules limited it.
Which meant mistakes would still hurt.
Good.
Ethan straightened.
"I already know what failure looks like," he said quietly.
He turned away from the mirror.
This campus.
This life.
They weren't chances anymore.
They were tools.
And this time, Ethan Cole intended to use them properly.