I once heard that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic, a thought I often ponder.

It made me wonder how our world might have looked if our species hadn’t evolved—if intelligence, as we know it, had taken another form, or if something else had become the dominant force. Would another life form have risen to shape reality, creating wonders we’d see as mystical? Or would the world have followed a simpler, untouched path, free from the constructs and complexities we now consider “progress”?

These are the kinds of thoughts that float through my empty head as I lie here in this hospital bed.

I've got maybe a day or two left, if that.

Being stuck here, trapped in a body that refuses to cooperate—it’s a special kind of hell.

Through the window beside me, I can see grasslands stretching out endlessly, their beauty almost mocking in its serenity.

Then, summoning more effort than it should take, I reached for the remote on the table, along with my old notebook—the same one I’ve carried since my young days. Its worn cover felt comforting, a connection to a simpler time.

A press of a button shifted the view outside the window, revealing heavy snowfall blanketing a forest house. At the same time, the hospital room itself transformed, mirroring the scene outside.

Suddenly, I found myself seated in a cozy, dimly lit room with a fire crackling warmly not far away. The sterile walls were replaced by dark, wooden beams, and the quiet hum of hospital machines gave way to the soft crackle of burning logs.

Much better!

Feeling somewhat better, I turned my focus to the task at hand. My wrinkled hands trembled with the effort of movement. Each attempt was a struggle, but after battling the weariness urging me to close my eyes and rest, I finally managed to open my notebook.

Inside were handwritten notes I had prepared for myself to use in the next cycle—a lifetime’s accumulation of wisdom and reminders, assuming, of course, that everything would continue as it had before and I wasn’t merely delusional. Even this moment is a kind of experiment, in its way.

This year, I was nearing one hundred and sixty years old, now in my second cycle. If I added the years from my first, my total age would be around two hundred and eighty-one. As for the reason behind these cycles? I was still in the dark, despite countless attempts to understand.

In the end, the answer I’d come up with was both strange and oddly comical: I was caught in a time loop.

The humor lay in the fact that, despite being trapped in this cycle, I felt certain that I wasn’t the cause of it, nor was the loop somehow centered around me. My meta nature had helped me understand at least that much. The only explanation that made sense was that I was like a small leaf of the right weight and size, unintentionally swept up in a storm, drifting along a sideline current, carried by forces far beyond my control or influence.

The existence of such a time anomaly wasn't entirely far-fetched, not in a world where humans could bend reality itself to their will.

Strange as it was, it seemed almost mundane compared to some of the things I'd witnessed.

I read until I had committed most of the notebook’s contents to memory.

Morning had melted into evening, and I knew with quiet certainty that when I closed my eyes this time, they wouldn't open again. Looking back, I felt content with my second life, and, truthfully, the thought of continuing it for a third time seemed more like torture.

In this second cycle, I had managed to fulfill all the regrets of my first life. I had wealth, lived comfortably, accomplished the things I had always dreamed of, and even became a researcher to investigate the cause of this phenomenon.

At some point, the notebook had slipped from my hand unnoticed, and now, my heartbeat was slowing, drawing closer to the stillness that matched my fading thoughts.

For the last time, I looked at the white snow falling outside, it was beautiful and peaceful.

…

"In the early days, many scientists attributed the sudden emergence of meta nature in people to evolution. However, this theory quickly lost traction when, after only three years, a different and more convincing explanation was proposed by another group of scientists. They suggested that these abilities were triggered by external factors."

"Naturally, the general public also had its own set of theories, ranging from the work of divine forces to secret government experiments."

"..."

Despite being the day's first lecture, student enthusiasm wasn't quite matching the professor's expectations.

Thump!

The loud thud echoed through the room like a gunshot, drawing everyone's attention.

In unison, about forty heads turned to stare at North, whose eyes blinked open, having drifted off moments before. The lecture was mind-numbingly dull, and he could hardly wait to escape the classroom. But, despite the curious stares fixed on him, North’s fist clenched tightly under the desk. His suspicions were confirmed— the wheel of time had turned backward, bringing him once again to this moment.

This was no hallucination, nor was he under the influence of someone's meta abilities. He was certain of it.

“Do you think my lectures are so boring that they make you sleep, Mr. North?”

By the time I fully regained control of my senses, the professor was standing over my desk, staring at me, joined by forty other pairs of infuriated eyes. A chill crept into my bones, making me feel as though I were surrounded by a pack of hungry wolves.

A hazy recollection from my previous regression hinted that a similar scene had unfolded then, but my memory was too unclear to recall the exact details. All I could do now was hope to sidestep the situation and avoid getting pulled into something worse.

Nevertheless, staying calm and diffusing the situation was the first priority, besides, just because I had fallen asleep didn’t mean the sky had fallen.

“Are you still daydreaming, or do you actually have something to back yourself up?” the professor asked again, his tone carrying a hint of impatience and frustration. I had clearly disrupted the flow of his class.

“I’m sorry,” I met his gaze and could only mutter a single sentence, hoping my apology would be enough to satisfy him and allow him to move on. More than anything, I wanted him to stop making me the focus of everyone’s attention.

Thankfully, It seemed to have worked as the professor started walking backward.

However, my trouble was far from over, the room felt tense as the professor continued, his voice now laced with sarcasm. "If anyone here is so advanced that this class bores you to sleep, then by all means, especially Mr. North, you can meet with your program advisor and discuss your options earlier, lest it affect your future.”

Around me, the other students stifled quiet chuckles, clearly entertained by my trouble.

However, I didn’t blame them; their laughter was the least of my problems, perhaps living for two lifetimes had made me withdrawn or perhaps it was due to the nature of my predicament.

I supposed I didn’t really care about the school or even the people themselves.

When class finally ended two hours later, I slipped out quietly, avoiding everyone’s gaze. My steps grew faster, and before I knew it, I had run to the end of the hallway. When I stopped I had my hands on my knees, bending down, breathing heavily as a smile spread across my face. It felt incredible to be young again—the warmth of blood rushing through my veins, the untamed surge of hormones, the feeling of boundless energy. It was truly a novel experience, no wonder the rich paid so much for this.

I clicked my tongue in wonder, dusting off my clothes before moving forward, lost in thought.

The first thought that came to my mind was what I wanted to pursue this time around.

I had experienced life both as society’s underdog and in the lap of luxury. The only path left was one of glory, though I wasn’t particularly eager to chase it unless it became necessary. I also had a few ideas brewing—concepts I’d always wanted to explore. After all, even if this second chance had come by accident, I wasn’t about to waste the precious time it offered.

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As I mindlessly trudged down the hallway, a faint tingling sensation brushed the edge of my consciousness.

Suddenly, a hand shot out toward me, but my body reacted instinctively, shifting to the side. The man nearly stumbled forward, thrown off balance by my unexpected movement.

“Dammit, I almost hit the floor,” the young man muttered, steadying himself as he turned back to me, clearly frustrated.

"What’s going on with you today? You were absent-minded in the ‘Power Theory’ lecture too?" he asked, shaking his hands.

Believe me when I say, it took every ounce of mental effort to recall the man’s name.

He was Alex—one of the few friends I’d made during my time at the academy. But, we didn’t stay in contact for too long, both in the first and second cycle.

“Nothing,” I replied, shifting my stance slightly. “I’ve just had a lot going on my mind lately.”

To my discomfort, Alex slung his arm around my shoulder. "What’s got you so worried? Did you break up with your girlfriend or something?" he teased, pulling me along with him.

Now that he’d mentioned her, vague memories floated to the surface—hints of a figure I could barely recall and a lingering sense of sadness from some distant past.

We had broken up because I’d been accepted to the Beyonder’s Academy and had to relocate. With me moving out of state, we decided it was best to part ways—long-distance felt too challenging, and we were both too young to commit to paths that were still uncertain.

However, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t picture her face.

It left me concerned: was my memory really that poor, or was I even the same person I used to be?

I shook my head, willing the despondent thoughts away. This wasn’t the time to dwell on the past. Time moved forward, and so did people. Change was inevitable—physical, mental, even spiritual. As long as I understood who I was now, everything else could wait.

“See? You went quiet again,” Alex's voice interrupted my thoughts. “You need to worry less about the past and focus more on what’s ahead. We’re at the Beyonder’s Academy now! Fame, fortune, girls—it’s only a matter of time before we have it all.”

I rolled my eyes, though silently. If only it were that simple. Still, it wasn’t my place to crush his optimism. Who knows? Maybe if he was lucky—or resilient enough—he’d manage to survive and even enjoy the riches he dreamed of. As for his future, I had no way of knowing, and I wasn’t eager to guess.

“Anyway, why are you looking for me?” I asked, mildly intrigued.

Alex grinned. “Nothing important—I just wanted to see if you’re going to the semester party.”

“Semester party?” I repeated.

“Yeah! It’s mainly to welcome the new batch of students, but I heard a lot of seniors also show up to scout for potential recruits. So, you can imagine what a good opportunity it’ll be not just to meet them but to get acquainted,” Alex said, his excitement evident.

I nodded. He was right; it was a valuable chance to observe others and learn about their abilities.

Last cycle, I’d kept my distance from my meta-nature, focusing solely on academics and researching the nature of time. But I’d already dedicated one life to that pursuit, so there was no point in repeating it. I didn’t know how long this time loop would continue or how many cycles I had left, so I needed to make the most of every second this time around.

“I forgot the date, when is the party?” I scratched my head in an act of trying to remember. Of course, I was truthful about forgetting the date.

“It’s on Friday, after three days.”

I nodded, imprinting the date in my memories. “Count me in.”

After our short conversation, Alex and I went our separate ways. I still had two more lectures left, but my body could hardly keep pace with my mind’s constant churning. Deciding to listen to my instincts, I opted to call it a day and head back early.

I lived with my aunt, and luckily, her place was close to the academy—only a twenty-minute train ride.

When I arrived, I fished the spare key out of my pocket and unlocked the door, glancing around as I stepped inside. The house was quiet—no sign of her. A small relief. No awkward exchanges or probing questions today. Not that I was worried she’d figure out something was wrong; she wasn’t the type to pry.

I made my way upstairs, the stairs creaking faintly under my weight. Once in my room, I dropped my backpack onto the chair and flopped onto the bed, staring at the beams of sunlight streaming through my fingers as I reached for them. I couldn’t catch the light, of course, but the thought lingered: maybe some people could. Maybe their numbers were not short.

When meta-nature first appeared in humans three centuries ago, people called it a miracle—superpowers born out of fiction. Those who wielded them were hailed as superheroes, beings of legend who could defy the laws of nature. Back then, meta-nature seemed simpler, almost whimsical: people who could fly, conjure flames, or lift cars with ease. It was as though humanity’s collective imagination had shaped these abilities into something wondrous.

But the world wasn’t ready for them. Early meta-humans lived under constant scrutiny, their lives overshadowed by fear and suspicion. Society viewed them as threats more than miracles. That changed during the Meta Freedom War—a cataclysm that reshaped the very fabric of humanity. Instead of dwindling, the population of meta-humans exploded, their numbers and powers eventually tipping the scales.

The world was forced to adapt, and with time, meta-humans didn't just find their place in society—they reshaped it entirely, gradually displacing ordinary humans until they became the new standard of human evolution.

What was once extraordinary became commonplace.

Today, nearly everyone possessed some form of meta-nature. The word ‘Superhero,’ once synonymous with awe, was now reserved only for the elite of Ecleon—the very best of the best.

The rest of us? Just ordinary people in an extraordinary world. Or perhaps the world had also become ordinary.

Forming meta-nature had become surprisingly simple: a matter of desire, will, and sometimes sheer luck.

Yet simplicity didn’t guarantee usefulness.

For every person who could control fire or manipulate gravity, there were countless others with powers like changing the color of their hair or speeding up plant growth by a fraction.

Due to the influence of the unknown, the meta-nature had grown increasingly complex overtime. But this complexity didn't always translate to usefulness—sometimes quite the opposite. It wasn't uncommon to encounter individuals whose powers were as volatile as walking nuclear bombs, their very existence a potential catastrophe waiting to happen.

Of course, society had adapted to handle such threats.

The authorities had become extremely efficient at this; one whiff of unstable meta-nature, and a potential catastrophe would be quietly neutralized before most people even knew it existed.

I finally dragged myself off the bed, deciding it was time to eat something before attempting anything remotely productive. Heading downstairs, I opened the fridge, only to find it nearly barren—just a few bottles of beer rattling around on the shelves. Not exactly a feast. Thankfully, a quick rummage through the cupboards revealed a lonely packet of noodles. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do for now.

With just $17 to my name, I didn’t have the luxury of being picky. The money my parents had sent me barely covered my academic expenses, and I couldn’t justify spending a cent on anything unnecessary. In hindsight, this was probably why my performance had slipped during the first cycle. The stress of scraping by had a way of dulling focus.

I carried the steaming bowl of noodles back up to my room, taking care to lock the door behind me with a soft click. Setting the bowl aside on my desk, I opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a sleek chrome headband, its polished surface gleaming faintly in the light. It was heavier than it looked, and its minimalist design exuded a sense of precision.

Settling into my chair, I closed my eyes and slipped the cool metal band across my temples and eyes, its snug fit familiar from countless uses.

With a deep breath, I adjusted my posture and let my consciousness sink into the band.

The room around me dissolved into blackness.

Almost instantly, a glowing white logo materialized in the void, the words "Hyper Space: Designed and Powered by Mind Space" etched in clean, modern font.

A few seconds later, the logo faded, and I found myself standing in a boundless expanse of pristine white floor that stretched endlessly in all directions, devoid of shadows or imperfections.

Glancing down at myself, I noticed my features had softened and simplified, taking on a cartoonish quality. My limbs felt lighter, more fluid, as though the usual weight of reality had been stripped away. I flexed my fingers experimentally, watching them move with exaggerated smoothness.

The transition was seamless, and yet the strangeness of it all never quite faded.

All around me, hundreds of other users flickered in and out of existence, each with their own unique character designs—some realistic, others wildly fantastical. Some leapt effortlessly between invisible platforms, their movements fluid and playful, while others vanished entirely, leaving behind shimmering trails of light.

This was the internet made manifest: a physical, interactive space where data and imagination intertwined.

It translated the sprawling network of information into a tangible world, one you could navigate, build, and manipulate with ease. Meta-devices came in all shapes and forms—headbands, bracelets, rings, even decorative coins. Their function was the same, but the price tags varied wildly— limited only by how much money you could sink into them.

A quick glance around the bustling expanse of HyperSpace reminded me how alive it was

With a simple thought, I willed myself out of the chaos, reappearing in my personal lounge.

The room wasn’t much—just a modest, private workspace tailored to my preferences. A single desk, a chair, and clean, minimalist walls. It was functional, though hardly impressive. Upgrades would have to wait until I had more time—and, more importantly, more money.

I triggered a digital interface with a thought, and a translucent screen materialized before me. A detailed readout of my recent activities populated the display: time spent in Hyper Space, social interactions, contributions to community projects. None of it particularly noteworthy. I swiped past the logs and tapped on a widget labeled “Network Hub.”

It immediately expanded, displaying a variety of links and access points to other hyperspaces: games, chatrooms, community hubs, and specialized applications for every imaginable purpose.

The sheer breadth of possibilities was staggering, but my focus was singular right now.

I needed money, and this was the time to earn it.