2025, May 20th — Monday
The end of Spring and the start of Summer
The sun was already too bright when I stepped out of my rented room—a single, suffocating shoebox that smelled of mold, old paint, and financial failure. Blue Star might've been three times larger than Earth, but apparently that didn't include giving losers like me more living space.
My name is Ethan Cross.
Twenty-one.
Jobless.
And painfully aware of both facts.
Yesterday gave me another rejection email. One more corporate bot telling me I wasn't worth the electricity used to generate that message. At this point even AI seemed bored of rejecting me.
I tried straightening my shirt, but the wrinkles just sneered back at me. Rent was due in ten days, and my landlord didn't tolerate late payments. Hell, he barely tolerated the fact that I was alive.
The summer heat was thick and gritty as I joined the rush of people. Office workers with purpose in their stride, students laughing, vendors shouting—it felt like everyone else was plugged into life while I was stumbling through it on low battery.
Blue Star looked almost exactly like Earth. Same cities, same tech, same chaos. If someone woke up here suddenly, they'd assume nothing changed.
Except me.
Because I wasn't originally from here.
That thought always squeezed my chest. Transmigrated with no gift, no cheat, no legacy. Just thrown into a stranger's life and forced to grind through school like a defective NPC.
Some people crossed worlds and got golden fingers.
I crossed worlds and got exam stress.
The bus screeched to a stop. My wallet had exactly 14 Dollars left. Enough for instant noodles, maybe two days of survival if I didn't do anything stupid like "live."
The engine rattled like it shared my depression. By the time I reached the city center, I was drenched, starving, and spiritually done.
I checked the address and walked toward the small office building for today's interview—third one this week. Maybe they wouldn't look at me like I was diseased.
But fate wasn't done sharpening its knife.
The receptionist didn't even look up.
"The interviewer left early. Position's filled."
That was it.
Not even a chance to sit down.
Not even a chance to fail properly.
I walked out before the frustration in my throat turned into something pathetic. The pavement burned through my shoes as I wandered without aim. The world blurred in the heat and disappointment.
Maybe I really was stupid for hoping.
Maybe this downgraded transmigrated existence was the whole package—no bonus DLC.
My phone buzzed. I ignored it. My head felt heavy, my breath unsteady. By the time I found myself in a quiet alley beside an old apartment block, I leaned against the wall, drained.
Sweat rolled down my spine. My pulse throbbed like I was running on fumes.
"Damn… everyone transmigrates with a golden finger. Where's mine!?"
The moment the words left my mouth, the world shifted.
DING—!
My vision smeared.
My pulse kicked wildly—like my heart missed a step.
A heavy wave of dizziness crashed into me.
Blood pressure rising… stabilizing…
Heart rate irregular… synchronizing…
Neural frequency detected… calibrating…
"What… the hell…"
Cold prickled down my spine.
Then it appeared.
A translucent panel, faint and glowing, right in front of me.
[SYSTEM INSTALLATION: 1%… 12%… 37%…]
I froze.
[79%… 92%… 100%]
Another chime.
DING—!
Life Simulator System Installed.
My throat tightened.
A system.
A real, actual system.
After a whole year of being kicked around by fate, the universe finally remembered I existed.
Another panel materialized—clean, crisp, absurdly real.
[STATUS]
Name: Ethan Cross
Age: 21
Charm: Average
Physical Condition: 6 (10 = normal human max)
Current Funds: 14 Dollars
I waved my hand like an idiot.
"Hey, system! Hello? Hello?"
Silence.
Cold, dead silence.
"Tch… system's dumber than half the bots that rejected me," I muttered.
Then I noticed something on the interface.
[Simulation count can be increased per week]
[Reward Extraction Requires Money]
[Simulation Count Can Be Accumulated]
"…so I can extract things from the future… but only if I have money?"
A broke man staring at a feature locked behind cash—yeah, that stung.
I scrolled again.
[Remaining Simulation Count: 1]
[In the first simulation, all rewards are free]
[Would the host like to start the first simulation?]
[Yes / No]
My pulse lowered.
My breath steadied.
For the first time since arriving in this world…
I felt something warm.
Dangerous.
Alive.
Hope.