Daniel Park woke up to silence.
Not the miserable hum of old office lights.
Not the frantic clicking of keyboards at 3 A.M.
Not the soft thud of another energy drink hitting the trash can.
Just… quiet.
Too quiet.
He blinked at the unfamiliar ceiling above him. White. Smooth. Clean.
His old apartment ceiling wasn't clean. It had a leak that once dripped directly onto his face during a nap.
So yes—this was wrong.
Daniel sat up abruptly, the blanket tangling around his legs. His breath caught.
His hands—smooth. His skin—healthy. His joints—didn't ache like a rusted robot.
"What the…?" Daniel whispered.
He stood and stumbled toward the mirror attached to the closet.
And froze.
A much younger version of himself stared back.
Black messy hair.
Ordinary features.
Not handsome, not ugly—just aggressively average.
A face that would get ignored at parties and forgotten during attendance.
But it was undeniably him.
A 20-year-old Daniel Park.
He lifted a hand to touch the mirror.
The reflection copied him.
His heart thumped violently.
"This… this isn't my body."
He quickly scanned the room for clues.
Textbooks were stacked in chaotic towers: Psychology, Sociology, Statistics.
A cheap laptop blinked with notifications.
Clothes were scattered across the floor in a way that suggested a young college student had given up on life much earlier than expected.
This was not the room of a tired wage slave.
This was the room of a student.
Daniel's eyes caught something on the desk: a student ID card.
He grabbed it.
Daniel Park — Hunter College
Freshman — Psychology Major
Age: 20
He checked the cracked phone on the nightstand.
September 1, 2020.
He nearly choked air into his lungs wrong.
"2020?! I'm— I'm back in 2020!?"
But… wasn't he dead?
His last memory was collapsing at his desk, his overworked heart finally giving out after years of stress, low pay, and corporate abuse. He remembered darkness. A floating numbness. A quiet end.
So waking up here?
This felt like a scam.
Or a second chance.
Daniel inhaled deeply and started scrolling through apps, looking for anything familiar.
That's when the weirdness hit him.
Celebrities had different names.
Movies he recognized existed, but the lead actors were swapped.
Brands looked slightly wrong, like knockoff versions of his previous Earth.
This wasn't his world.
It was a near-perfect copy—just altered enough to be unsettling.
A parallel Earth.
His pulse raced. His hands trembled.
Then—
A sudden, sharp migraine slammed into him.
"GHH—!"
He gripped the desk as memories—two sets of them—crashed through his skull like a tidal wave.
Memories of his old life:
the all-nighters, the exhaustion, the regret, the moment his heart failed.
And memories of this world's Daniel:
a stressed but alive 20-year-old trying to survive Hunter College, juggling classes, ramen dinners, and New York chaos.
Two Daniels merging into one.
Two timelines fusing.
The pain faded gradually, leaving Daniel panting, sweating, and gripping the chair like it owed him money.
He wiped his forehead.
"I… I have both sets of memories," he muttered.
"My old life… and this one."
He now had the mindset, instincts, and trauma of his overworked adult self…
inside the younger, healthier body of a college student.
He wasn't sure if that was a blessing or cosmic bullying.
Either way—he was 20 again.
"Well," he sighed, "at least the universe didn't revive me as a toddler."
He turned to grab his backpack from the corner—only to flinch at a sudden sound.
DING.
A glowing blue panel popped up in front of his face.
Daniel screamed internally.
"What—WHAT IS THAT?!"
The panel expanded like a holographic window.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZING…]
"A system? No way—no way—no way—"
Another panel slid into existence.
[Welcome, Daniel Park]
You have been registered to:
THE REAL-LIFE MASTERY SYSTEM
A direct-assistance interface designed to help you grow, evolve, and master real-world abilities.
Daniel stared, mouth hanging open.
"A… system. A real-life system. This is insane."
More text appeared.
[Skill Mastery Tiers]
All skills are categorized into:
Beginner → Intermediate → Advanced → Expert → Master → Grandmaster
Skill upgrades require System Points (SP).
His eyes widened.
"A progression system? Like an RPG skill tree but… real?"
The next message confirmed it.
[SP — System Points]
Earn SP through:
• Completing missions
• Gaining fame
• Significant achievements
• High-pressure actions
• Skill usage
SP can be spent to upgrade skills or unlock new system features.
Before Daniel could scream again, a small alert chimed.
[Starter Mission Complete]
You cleaned and organized your bedroom.
Reward: Basic Trash Sorting — Beginner
SP Earned: +3
Daniel stared at the skill in disbelief.
"…The universe gave me a trash-sorting skill."
He tapped the window.
Basic Trash Sorting — Beginner
You clean 3% faster.
Your organization skills slightly improve.
Environment management: +1.
Daniel placed his face in his hands.
"I reincarnated with garbage mastery…
I guess that's on brand."
Another window opened, almost proudly.
[BEGINNER TIP]
Your growth depends on:
• Missions
• Achievements
• Fame
• SP purchases
• Pressure
Choose wisely, Daniel Park.
Daniel closed the window with a sigh.
He was timid.
Cautious.
Greedy.
A money-grubber.
And extremely average-looking.
Those personality traits seemed to have carried over flawlessly.
But now he had:
✔ A younger body
✔ A parallel world
✔ A real-life skill system
✔ And a chance to change everything
He walked to the window and pulled the blinds open.
New York City roared below—taxi horns, shouting pedestrians, music blaring from passing cars.
The city felt the same… but the world wasn't.
Daniel grabbed his mask and slung his backpack over his shoulder.
"Alright," he whispered, heart thudding.
"This is a second chance. Don't screw it up."
He opened the door, stepping into his new life.
"Welcome back to 2020… I guess."
And with that, Daniel Park's second life officially began.