A sharp whistle of an incoming shell warned me, and I dove into the trench. A violent blast slammed me to the ground, burying me under a mound of dirt. The headache and ringing in my ears were unbearable—another blast concussion for my collection.

  A choking sensation made me cough. Cold air rushed into my lungs, sharp as needles. My eyelids felt heavy, but I forced them open. Above me, a curved surface glowed dimly—matte, like a thin layer of ice concealing a world beyond.

  What the hell?!

  I was enclosed in some sort of tight structure. The walls around me were smooth and cold, while beneath my back, thighs, and heels, I felt a strange, springy material—almost like gel. I seemed to be naked. To confirm, I ran a hand over my thigh, and at that very moment, my prison reacted.

  It trembled and began to shift, raising me from a lying position to a standing one. Not entirely upright—it retained a slight tilt—but now my weight was pressed onto my feet. The frosted surface before my eyes slid upwards, and the frame beneath it split open like a pair of doors. A rush of air washed over my face—and everything below it.

  Yes. I was definitely naked.

  My head throbbed, as if caught in a vice, and my vision blurred at the edges. My genitals seemed to dissolve into the haze. And then, like a lightning bolt shattering the void in my mind, a pain came.

  I struggled to gather my thoughts. Where was I? How had I ended up here? The ringing in my head drowned out any answers.

  A sound interrupted my daze—a sharp hiss, like a valve releasing pressure in the confined space.

  Cautiously, I stepped out. My legs trembled like a newborn’s. The pod I had emerged from stood in the corner of a small room, its walls gleaming with a metallic sheen. The space was strange—sterile, like an operating theatre, yet eerily silent, as if time itself had stalled.

  I looked around. Along the walls, five more pods were positioned in two neat rows, lying horizontally. Mine was the only one standing open.

  I approached the nearest closed pod. Through its transparent window, I saw a person. A teenager? The boy looked around sixteen—maybe a little older. He was asleep… or in hibernation… or a coma.

  A fresh wave of pain shot through my skull. I shut my eyes and waited for it to pass.

  When my vision cleared, I moved forward again. On one of the walls—one without pods—I spotted a built-in screen. At least, I assumed it was a screen; the surface was far too dark to be a mirror.

  Then something made me stop.

  I caught my own reflection.

  Smooth skin. Sharp cheekbones. Deep-set, eyes framed by thick brows. Soft black hair falling over my forehead. I reached out, brushing my fingers against my cheek, but the sensation—no, it wasn’t what I was used to.

  Where was my stubble?

  This face… wasn’t mine.

  The realisation struck like thunder. I didn’t know what I used to look like, but this—this wasn’t me. My heartbeat thundered in my ears. I ran my hands over my shoulders, my chest, checked the most essential parts. The body was toned, strong—but foreign. Like wearing a suit that didn’t quite fit.

  “What the…” The words escaped me.

  My voice sounded too clear, almost ringing, which only irritated me more.

  A sudden click broke the silence. A faint rustling caught my attention—a pod was pulsing with a brighter light. The teenager inside twitched. A moment later, his eyelids fluttered, and his fingers gave the slightest tremor.

  I took a step back. Another wave of panic crashed over me. Why am I here? Who are these people? What kind of bloody isekai is this?!

  Wait—isekai! At least it wasn’t a truck… and now a new world? So, when do I get my overpowered magic and personal harem? …Although, no. This place reeked of science, not magic. Hopefully, they wouldn’t cheat me out of the harem part.

  I stepped closer to the pod, peering through the transparent window. The light inside was dim, but I could make out the teenager’s face. He was… handsome. A softly rounded face, short blond hair. His skin was smooth, flawless—just like mine.

  That put me on edge.

  Wait… what if I’m the one being prepped for a harem?

  A shiver ran down my spine. What if I was a clone? Or worse—a genetically engineered pleasure doll? Or am I hallucinating?

  I walked along the row of pods. Inside each one was another attractive teenager. But they were all different. In the second pod, a dark-skinned girl with thick curls lay motionless. The third held a lean boy with a tanned face and long, straight hair spilling over his shoulders. The fourth—an Asian girl with a short bob and a dragon tattoo curling around her neck.

  Different genders. Different races. Different features.

  Clones don’t look like this, do they? And test-tube hybrids don’t usually have tattoos—unless they’re barcodes. I ran a hand over my own neck, half-expecting to find a scar, a tag—something to prove I was an experiment. Or maybe to prove I wasn’t. But there was nothing.

  I approached the final pod. Inside lay a girl—thin, almost delicate, her pale skin almost translucent under the pod’s soft glow. Her face was serene, almost angelic.

  For some reason, I lingered.

  “Who are you all?” I murmured, though, of course, no answer came.

  “Who are we?”

  I stepped away from the pods, trying to piece everything together. But before I could, a sharp hissing sound behind me made me spin around. The doors had slid open. A man in a white coat stepped into the room.

  Tall and lean, with sharp features and close-cropped silver hair. His eyes fixed on me with clear irritation.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” His voice was low and measured, but the tension in it was unmistakable.

  “I…”

  My first instinct was to cover myself.

  “…was just looking,” I finished, realising—rather belatedly—how perverted that sounded.

  The man stopped a few steps away, giving me a slow, measured once-over. His gaze was cold and analytical—like I was an exhibit in a museum.

  “You were instructed to remain in place,” he said sternly.

  “No one told me anything,” I replied.

  He let out a sigh and shook his head, like a teacher disappointed by a student who hadn’t done their homework.

  “I personally sent you a voice command via your neuro-interface the moment you woke up,” he said, moving to the dark mirror-like screen on the wall. His fingers danced across the still-black surface, and a sudden chill ran down my spine.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, but he ignored me.

  He turned, studying me with sharp focus—then frowned.

  “Well, that explains your behaviour,” he muttered, more to himself than to me.

  “What explains it?” I asked, trying to make sense of his words.

  “Your neuro-interface is inactive,” he said. “That’s… unusual. The operation logs indicate successful implantation, but that would explain why you never received the command.”

  “Operation?” I echoed.

  The doctor gave me a long look, as if assessing my mental state, then turned back to the dark screen.

  “What do you see?” he asked, gesturing at it.

  “A black, mirrored surface.”

  He turned back to the screen, scrolling through invisible data with his fingertips, his expression tightening.

  “Neuro-interface implantation is a standard procedure,” he murmured, eyes still locked on the display. “All cadets receive one. It allows integration with the network—so we can maintain communication, monitor your condition, and assist with adaptation. But in your case…” He frowned again. “

  “Fallen through? From where?” I asked.

  “Not from the network—that’s certain. You never connected to it in the first place. The interface is there, physically implanted, but for some reason, it’s inactive. And that’s… an anomaly.”

  “One in a million,” I muttered.

  For a moment, he looked at me with a mix of exhaustion and irritation, as if dealing with a particularly unruly child. Then he stepped closer, pulling out a small device that resembled a pen and raising it towards my head.

  “Lean back,” he instructed, nodding towards the open pod.

  Awkwardly, I complied. Covering myself didn’t exactly add to my grace.

  The doctor simply shook his head, as if my embarrassment was mildly amusing.

  “This is just a quick scan. No need to worry,” he said, leaning in. The device in his hand emitted a faint hum, radiating gentle warmth as he moved it near my temple.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “A scanner. I’m checking your interface. Either it failed to synchronise with your brain, or…” He hesitated. His gaze sharpened, growing almost wary.

  “Or what?” I demanded, irritation creeping into my voice.

  “Or you have… a memory gap.” He stepped back, examining the device before looking at me again. “I’m seeing anomalies in your brain activity. Certain patterns are missing.”

  “A gap? What does that mean?”

  He sighed and ran the scanner around my head once more, as if hoping for a different result.

  “A memory gap means parts of your past have been erased or blocked. Your brain is functioning, but large sections of data are inaccessible. It could be due to trauma, a procedural error, or…” He paused. “Or it was done intentionally.”

  “Intentionally? And who the hell would do that?” My heart pounded. My hands would have curled into fists—if they weren’t otherwise occupied covering my tresure.

  “We didn’t,” he said quickly, almost defensively. "Relax, I’m just reciting protocol. It’s a classified anomaly case. Think of it as winning the lottery—with a four-million payout." He arched an eyebrow. "And no, the odds aren’t one in a million, but three."

  Then, shifting to a more official tone, he continued, making it clear his personal remarks were over.

  “There’s a chance this happened before you arrived here. Someone could have implanted a suppression virus.”

  His bureaucratic mask cracked, revealing humanity again.

  “In your case—unlikely. Too much effort to erase a random orphan.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked. “Do you know who I am?”

  The doctor raised his hands in a calming gesture.

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “Jake Sullivan. Lewis Home for the Gifted. Orphaned at twelve. Relax. We only know what’s in the system.”

  Oh, this was definitely an isekai.

  Orphan? Check. Minimal attachments for easy plot progression. Four million instead of magic? Also check. At least the names sounded normal. I’d hate to wake up as some Feng Xiao. It’s like watching a Chinese drama for over two dozen episodes and still having no clue what the characters' names are. And whenever two characters talk about a third one, you’re always guessing—do they mean the young lad, the old master, or maybe his granddaughter?

  The doctor must have noticed my reaction—but misread it. He made another calming gesture and, in a gentler tone, said:

  “We’ll fix this. But first, I need to make sure you’re stable.”

  “Stable? Are you serious?” I snapped, pushing myself upright.

  Some isekai stories started with disabilities for extra suffering. I really hoped this wasn’t one of them.

  “Calm down,” he ordered dryly.

  I exhaled sharply and leaned back against the pod again, trying to steady myself. My hands were trembling.

  The doctor stood there for a moment, silently observing me, then added:

  “This seems to be more complex than we initially thought. But you’re not the first case like this. The procedure is well-established. In most cases, it can be corrected.”

  “And if it can’t?”

  “Then there’s more money involved.”

  He waved a hand dismissively. “For now, we need to see if your neuro-interface can be activated. If we can switch it on, we might be able to retrieve some of your memories—even if they’re blocked. If not…”

  He trailed off.

  “If not what?” I pressed.

  “Then we reset the process. You could start from a blank slate.” His gaze met mine. “With a very large sum of money.”

  Reset. Blank slate… He said it so casually, but the words sent a chill through me.

  Would I survive that process? Because one thing was certain—I wasn’t Jake Sullivan. Whoever that kid had been, I felt sorry for him. But I wasn’t about to get wiped out of this body. Especially not with that much money on the line. Something told me I’d never had that kind of cash before.

  “…Can I just take the money now?” I whispered.

  “No,” he said flatly. “Standard protocol. You have a chance to recover your memory, and we will use that chance.”

  Translation: we’ll do everything we can to avoid paying you.

  The doctor put the scanner away and pulled out another pen-like device from his pocket.

  “Now, relax,” he said. “You might feel a slight tingling, but don’t worry.”

  With that, he pressed the device to my neck.

  Something cold touched my skin.

  “Just don’t kill me by accident,” I muttered, closing my eyes.

  The doctor didn’t answer.

  Chapter 2

  The cold against my neck turned to warmth—then a sharp sting flared and shot straight into my temple.

  “Bloody hell!” I blurted out, jerking instinctively, but the doctor’s grip tightened on my shoulder.

  “Do not move!” he barked. “This is a standard synchronisation process. If it works, the interface should activate in a few seconds.”

  The pain faded just as suddenly, leaving only a faint tingling sensation. The doctor tilted his head, eyes fixed on his scanner, but before I could even ask what he saw, a wave of dizziness hit me.

  A moment later, something like static rippled through my body.

  I opened my mouth to ask if that was normal, but before I could speak, a loud hissing sound filled the room.

  One of the pods—the one with the tattooed girl—began to shift into a standing position.

  The doctor sighed in irritation, tearing his attention away from his magic pen just as the pod clicked open.

  “I told you to wait! What, is your interface broken too?” he asked.

  Without hesitation, the girl pushed herself off the inclined wall and stepped forward.

  “Seems to be working fine,” she replied, blinking at the empty air.

  Like me, she was completely naked—except for the tattoos.

  The dragon coiling around her neck wasn’t the only creature decorating her rather intriguing canvas. Someone had gathered quite the mythical menagerie across her skin, complete with mountains, waterfalls, and a rather impressive sky. The style wasn’t entirely Asian, either…

  "Where do you think you're staring?" she snapped, finally noticing me.

  “At your tits,” I answered without thinking. The artwork twisted in fascinating ways over the curves.

  “Pervert!”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Then why are you flashing them at me? You could turn around.”

  Her mouth opened in outrage—then she flushed red and spun away.

  “Nice arse, too,” I added. Flowers and birds were inked across her lower back.

  Her fists clenched, and she whirled around furiously—only for the doctor to whack me on the forehead with his magic pen.

  “Ow!”

  “Both of you, shut up!” the doctor snapped, and for the first time, there was real anger in his voice. “You have far more important things to worry about than your childish bickering! Get your bloody hormones under control!”

  He pointed to the wall behind the girl, and a hidden compartment slid open, revealing neatly folded hospital clothes. With a curt nod, he gestured for her to take them.

  “Get dressed. You’ll have plenty of time to argue later.”

  She grabbed the clothes without breaking eye contact, silently warning me that our conversation wasn’t over yet. But even that wasn’t enough for her.

  “Say one more thing,” she hissed.

  “What, compliments aren’t in fashion anymore?” I muttered, though this time, I kept my voice low—no need to provoke the doctor and his iron grip of justice.

  The girl pulled on a loose grey jumpsuit while the doctor turned back to me, rolling his pen-like device between his fingers in a clear warning.

  I sighed, lifted my right hand, and mimed locking my lips and throwing away the key.

  “Good,” he said, raising the scanner to my neck again.

  This time, the pain was duller, but a strange sensation took its place—like rusty gears grinding inside my brain.

  And then—a flash. Semi-transparent windows blinked into existence before my eyes, hovering in mid-air.

  “What the…” I recoiled, bumping into the pod behind me.

  Was this… LitRPG? Or had I just hit my head way harder than I thought?

  “The interface seems to be working?” the doctor asked, eyeing me like a tired parent trying to convince a toddler to eat their vegetables.

  “Something’s working… I guess…”

  “Then look at it,” he instructed, his voice laced with exhaustion.

  The text flickered, shifting as my gaze moved. A window suddenly popped forward, filling my vision. And what I saw nearly made me choke.

  Lifespan: 16/60 years.

  “What the… What does this mean?” I asked the doctor, pointing at the text.

  “One moment,” he said, stepping over to the black screen on the wall.

  This time, it displayed a copy of my interface.

  “You can see this?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “Sixteen out of sixty? Why so low?”

  The question applied to both numbers. I was definitely older than sixteen, but that number didn’t bother me as much as the other one. Sixty? That seemed… a bit short.

  “According to your medical records, you’ve already lost a significant portion of your potential lifespan. Your body underwent intensive treatment that shortened your natural life cycle.”

  “So sixty, and that’s it? I just drop dead?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, though my pulse was racing.

  “Sixty years is only the projected lifespan—if you take no action. There is a way to extend it.”

  “And what’s that?”

  I really hoped they weren’t about to demand the millions they’d just promised me.

  “Cultivation,” he said.

  “…What?”

  “Cultivate your internal energy. If you reach the next stage—Foundation—you can extend your life by forty or fifty years.”

  I stopped, trying to process his words.

  “Cultivation…” I muttered.

  Xianxia? I’d landed in a bloody sci-fi xianxia world… Oh, and with an interface, too. So it was LitRPG xianxia.

  Brilliant. Which idiot thought this was a good idea?

  The doctor seemed to realise I needed a moment to absorb this information, so he turned to the girl.

  “Your turn,” he said, gesturing for her to lean against the pod.

  She complied without hesitation, though her gaze kept flicking back to me—as if just waiting for the perfect moment to get even.

  “Tilt your head slightly. Yes, keep it steady,” the doctor instructed, moving his device along her neck and temple.

  I pushed off the pod and took another look around the room.

  Cold walls. Rows of pods. It all still felt surreal. What the hell is this place? Why am I here?

  Fully sinking into my thoughts was proving difficult—mostly because of the constant discomfort of being stark naked.

  I wasn’t cold, but the sheer awareness of my nudity was starting to get on my nerves, and covering myself with my hands wasn’t helping.

  “Can I get some clothes?” I finally asked, realising the doctor wasn’t even looking my way.

  “In a moment,” he muttered, eyes glued to his scanner. He kept glancing at the display, where different interface windows were shifting.

  One of them looked just like mine, except its lifespan read 16/95.

  Damn, is Painted this healthy?

  No—there was a separate bar for that. Health: 100/100.

  Mine was 99/100.

  The doctor paused briefly, then gestured towards the same wall where he had retrieved the girl’s clothes earlier. Another panel slid open, revealing a similar jumpsuit and a pair of slippers. Both were simple but soft to the touch.

  Balancing awkwardly, I pulled on the jumpsuit and slipped into the slippers. Then I glanced back at the doctor and the girl.

  He had finished scanning her, and they were now speaking in hushed voices. Her expression was focused, his was calm—but I noticed he kept glancing at me. Apparently, my condition worried him more than it worried me. And honestly… that was worrying.

  My reaction to all this—it didn’t feel natural.

  I had woken up naked in a pod. Then I found out this body wasn’t mine, that I was a “lucky” sixteen-year-old with a capped lifespan of sixty. I had massive memory loss—literally the only thing I remembered was that whistle of incoming shell and an impact. And yet, instead of panicking, I was cracking jokes and admiring tattoos.

  Speaking of which… I liked the artwork a lot more than the canvas.

  What the hell is wrong with me?!

  I tried to analyse myself.

  Yes, she was only sixteen, yes, I was disoriented. Yes, my thoughts kept jumping around, as if scrambling for something familiar.

  But overall… I felt too in control.

  I had been able to argue with the girl, joke about her tattoos, and now here I was—calmly assessing my situation, thinking about my next steps.

  I sat down on the floor and tried to dig deeper.

  Something in my mind felt dull. Like there was an invisible wall between me and my emotions. This wasn’t normal. This wasn’t me.

  “Something wrong?”

  The doctor’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

  He stood a few steps away, having finished with the girl. She now stood silently by the door, arms crossed.

  “Something’s wrong with me,” I said, a bit slower than usual. “Why am I… reacting like this?”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, studying my face closely.

  “I have a massive memory gap… but I’m way too calm about it.” I gestured vaguely. “This whole circus—pods, cultivation, neuro-interface, a set lifespan—why am I not panicking? Why am I not banging my head against the wall? This isn’t normal.”

  The doctor was silent for a few seconds.

  Then he nodded, as if he had just remembered something obvious.

  “That’s entirely natural in your case,” he said. “Your system is still under the influence of the medication. After awakening in the pod, we administer sedatives and stabilisers. It’s standard procedure to prevent shock.”

  “So, I’m… drugged right now?”

  “There are residual traces of stabilisers in your bloodstream,” the doctor confirmed. “They reduce emotional distress and help with the awakening process.”

  I nodded slowly, though his answer didn’t exactly put me at ease.

  “Hear that?” I said to the girl. “I’m not a jerk, blame the drugs.”

  “I’m drugged too,” she scoffed. “You’re just an arse.”

  "Hmm… Could be. Unfortunately, I wouldn’t know that, thanks to the memory gap. Or maybe it’s just that you’re a bitch?"

  “Nope. I’m definitely a sweetheart,” she retorted.

  “Go to the waiting room,” the doctor ordered, nodding towards the door. Then, turning to me, he added, “Focus!”

  “Alright, fine. How long does this last?”

  “Depends on your metabolism,” the doctor replied. “Typically, the effects wear off in a few minutes. You’ll start feeling more... yourself, though it might be unpleasant.”

  “Unpleasant?”

  “Some patients describe it as an ‘emotional crash’. Your mind will start processing reality without the filter of medication. You may become especially stubborn or agressive. If you already feel disoriented, it may intensify once the effects fully dissipate.”

  “Well, that’s fantastic,” I muttered sarcastically, though anxiety stirred inside me.

  The doctor stepped closer, his gaze serious.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m monitoring everything. If anything goes wrong, we have methods to stabilise you again.”

  “Goes wrong?” I echoed. “That’s reassuring—especially since it’s already going wrong.”

  He didn’t respond, only glanced at the girl, who appeared to be listening to our conversation with mild interest.

  “Out!” he barked at her. “We’re done with you for today.”

  She shot him a brief look, then glanced at me as if she wanted to say something—but simply waved a hand and left.

  “So, we’re just waiting for this ‘emotional crash’, then?” I asked.

  “No new memories?” he inquired, holding his scanner pen to my temple while watching the monitor.

  “Nothing!” I replied.

  Maybe that shell impact was just a dream?

  I still couldn’t remember anything before it—just a consuming void where there should have been a mountain of memories.

  Maybe this was my real life?

  “Are you familiar with the term isekai?” I asked.

  “No. Is it from an ancient language?”

  “What about xianxia? LitRPG?”

  “No. What are they?”

  “They seem like literary genres. I think… I used to enjoy reading.”

  “There you go! You’re remembering!” he said, sounding oddly pleased. “Though I must admit, I’ve never heard of such genres.”