One moment, Faelyn was flying across the street after getting hit by a truck, his life flashing before his eyes in a chaotic montage of awkward first dates, forgotten passwords, and that one time he accidentally liked his ex’s Instagram post from 2017. The next moment, he was standing in the middle of a bustling street, his sneakers firmly planted on cobblestones, the acrid scent of coal smoke and grilled fish wafting through the air.

The street was alive with activity. Women in vibrant kimonos strolled past, their wooden geta sandals clacking against the stones. Men in dark hakama trousers and Western-style hats hurried by, their voices a cacophony of rapid-fire Japanese. Lanterns hung from wooden eaves, casting a warm, golden glow over the scene. Faelyn blinked, his brain struggling to process the fact that he was no longer sprawled on asphalt but standing in what looked like a historical drama set.

Panic bubbled up in his chest like a poorly shaken soda. 'Where the hell am I? Did I die? Is this the afterlife? Because if it is, it’s weirdly specific.' His heart raced as he glanced around, his modern denim jacket and jeans making him stick out like a sore thumb. Pedestrians shot him curious glances, their whispers sharp and unintelligible. 'Okay, Faelyn, don’t freak out. Maybe you’re just hallucinating. Maybe you’re in a coma, and this is your brain’s way of coping. Or maybe—and this is a big maybe—you’ve been kidnapped by aliens who really like historical reenactments.'

Forcing himself to take a deep breath, Faelyn sidestepped to the edge of the road, his back pressed against a wooden wall. He closed his eyes, trying to calm the storm of questions swirling in his head. 'Was I kidnapped? Drugged? Am I a brain in a jar right now, hooked up to some Matrix-style simulation?' The possibilities were endless, and none of them were comforting.

Then, as if someone had flipped a switch, a flood of information crashed into his mind. He wasn’t hallucinating. He wasn’t in a coma. He wasn’t even on Earth anymore—or at least, not the Earth he knew. A higher being—because of course there was a higher being—had plucked him from his world and dropped him into this one as part of an “experimental skill system.” The details were vague, but the gist was clear: he could either reject the offer and die in his old world or accept it and live in this one. Faelyn didn’t need a flowchart to make that decision. "Live, obviously. I didn’t survive a truck-kun encounter just to tap out now."

As if on cue, a futuristic glass panel materialized in front of him, hovering in the air like a hologram from a sci-fi movie. At the top left corner was his name, written in a font that looked like it had been designed by someone who hated readability. Below it was the word “Marketplace,” encased in a rectangle that screamed “click me.” On the top right corner was a number: "100." Faelyn reached out to touch the screen, but his hand passed right through it. "Great. I’m stuck in a world with a glitchy UI."

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The system, as it turned out, was about as user-friendly as a VCR manual from the ’80s. It had a rudimentary interface that listed bought and created skills, along with a marketplace where he could purchase new ones. The number in the corner was his system points, which he could earn by creating skills—apparently, the system valued creativity. Or maybe it was just messing with him. Faelyn wasn’t sure.

The text on the panel was so small and poorly contrasted that he had to squint to read it. "Could this thing be any more annoying?" he thought. As if in response, the text suddenly grew larger and sharper, the borders clearer. Faelyn blinked. "Wait, did it just—?" He focused on the interface again, mentally willing it to change. The panel shifted, the layout rearranging itself to his preferences. "Okay, that’s cool. Actually, that’s really cool." For a moment, he forgot about the strange world around him, engrossed in customizing the interface like it was a new phone. He made the text bigger, adjusted the contrast, and even added a border because why not? He was practically giggling to himself, completely oblivious to the fact that he looked like a lunatic.

From the perspective of the pedestrians, Faelyn was a spectacle. A man in bizarre clothing, staring at empty space, muttering and gesturing wildly. Whispers rippled through the crowd. "Henna gaijin(weird foreigner)," one woman murmured, clutching her child’s hand. "Kichigai ja nai ka(are you crazy)?" another man muttered, giving Faelyn a wide berth. The words floated past him, just out of reach. He recognized the sounds—his years of watching anime had taught him that much—but the meaning was lost on him. "They probably think I’m crazy," he realized with a grimace. "I miss Google Translate."

Snapping out of his interface-induced trance, Faelyn dismissed the panel and hurried away from the curious gazes. As he walked, the reality of his situation began to sink in. He was in a foreign land, in the past, with no money, no friends, and no idea how to survive. His brown complexion and round face—typical of his Indian heritage—made him stand out even more. "How am I going to survive?" he wondered, his earlier excitement replaced by a gnawing sense of dread.

Then it hit him: the system. He summoned the interface again and navigated to the skill marketplace. The skills listed were all in Japanese, which he couldn’t read, except for one at the bottom of the list. It was in English and read: "Guide to Skill Creation." It cost 20 points. "Not exactly a skill," he thought, "but it’s better than nothing." With no other options, he purchased the guide.

The knowledge flooded his mind instantly, no headache, no dizziness. One moment he was clueless; the next, he understood the skill creation process. It followed the Three ‘C’ Principle: Conception, Clarification, and Crystallization. "Conception" was the ideation phase—coming up with a specific, actionable idea. "Clarification" required developing a clear, logical framework for how the skill would work. And "Crystallization" involved using his Concept Engine, fueled by something called Noothra—a type of thought energy—to manifest the skill.

Faelyn found the process oddly similar to the scientific method. "Form a hypothesis, design an experiment, test it, and record the results. Only this time, I don’t have to worry about pesky things like physics." He grinned despite himself. "Alright, universe. Let’s see what I can do."