I jolted awake, my sheets tangled around my legs and the dull morning light filtering through the curtains. For a few seconds, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, heart beating steadily. The dream had been too vivid—the garden, using the mana stone, the dojo. I could still feel the phantom ache in my jaw from biting down on the leather strip. But now... I was definitely in my room. Right?
Before trying to untangle the knots in my thoughts, I did the only sensible thing I could think of—I took the longest, hottest shower imaginable. The kind that steamed up every surface in the bathroom and turned the mirror into a useless, fogged-over mystery. I stood there, eyes closed, letting the water pour down my face and over my shoulders, wondering if anyone had ever had such a weirdly vivid dream. By the time I got out, my fingers were pruned like raisins, but I didn’t care. I dried off, tossed on some old gym pants, and ordered enough Chinese takeout to feed a family of five—half out of hunger, half because I needed something absurdly normal to anchor myself to being home.
And the thing was... I ate all of it. Every last bite. Fried rice, dumplings, sweet-and-sour chicken, egg rolls, even the fortune cookies. I wasn’t just hungry—it was like I had an industrial furnace for a stomach. I hadn’t eaten that much since... well, ever. Not unless you counted the night after that hiking trip where I skipped dinner and dreamed of cheeseburgers.
Then—because I could—I took another shower. Not because I needed one, just because hot water, clean towels, and the distinct lack of goblins felt like the definition of luxury.
I finally started thinking clearly—or, at least more clearly than I had been. I realized I was being an idiot, lounging around while the one person I should’ve seen right away was probably just getting home and would be raiding the fridge soon.
As I stepped downstairs, I saw my sister entering from the garage with her arms full of groceries. Unsurprisingly, it was mostly meat—she was still doing the whole carnivore thing.
I didn’t care. I rushed up to her and gave her the biggest hug I could.
It’s not like my sister and I never hugged, but it was definitely an awkward time for one. And the sudden desperation I felt to make sure she was real only added to her concern.
She paused mid-step, blinking at me with a confused frown. “Uh... are you okay? I literally saw you before I left for work yesterday. Did something happen last night?”
“No, nothing really happened—I mean... it’s complicated,” I mumbled, pulling back slightly. “I had… this incredibly vivid dream. Like, I was trapped somewhere else for what felt like weeks. I’ve never had anything close to a dream that intense.”
I didn’t mention the dungeon. Or the fire-forged hell of a mana induction. I still didn’t know if it was a dream or not. And as focused as I’d been on making sure being home was real, I hadn’t even thought to test any of the things I’d learned—or supposedly learned. I hadn’t used a single skill. Heck, I hadn’t even checked to see if I still had a status screen. That thought only hit me much later in the afternoon when I finally made my way back upstairs.
We both went into the kitchen—me to help put away the groceries, her to continue her personal quest to eat a literal ton of bacon before the day ended. Her diet probably would’ve been more effective if she actually followed the important rules—like not washing it down with sugar-filled juice. But she always told me, “I’m working on it. I’m at least halfway there. I gave up bread!” She said that last part with an emphatic, serious tone.
She went straight for the fridge and started pulling out ingredients. I watched in mild awe as she threw what had to be three pounds of bacon into a giant skillet like she was prepping for an army. She poured herself a full glass of orange juice, took one long drink, and finally glanced over at me.
“You didn’t even bring up the yacht,” she said, raising an eyebrow.
I blinked. “What yacht?”
“The one you’ve been begging me to buy since we got rich off that stupid t-shirt logo line we came up with,” she said, deadpan. “You know, the yacht with the shark-shaped hot tub? The one with the built-in smoothie bar?” she reminded me, smirking.
A small smile crept onto my face. “Right. The yacht.”
She gave me a side-eye. “You feeling okay?”
“Honestly? I really do feel like I’ve come home after being gone for weeks. It’s a weird feeling,” I admitted, then added with a grin, “But for the record, you got rich. I’m just a highly motivated mooch.”
“Mhmm,” she said, clearly not buying it. “Are you still meeting George for the game later? I thought you two were finally gonna talk about that super hush-hush business plan you’ve been dancing around for the last month.”
I paused, unsure how to answer without sounding like a lunatic. “Maybe. I haven’t decided yet. Like I said, might just lay low for a bit.”
She looked at me again, chewing thoughtfully. “Weird dream really messed you up, huh?”
I nodded quickly. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”
I made an excuse about needing to check an email and practically bolted upstairs.
I wasn’t gonna miss the game this time.
After I went upstairs, I changed into a fresh outfit for the soccer game I had originally planned to attend that day. One thing was certain—I would not be bringing a certain sound-amplifying object with me this time.
As soon as I was dressed, I walked over to my desk to grab my keys and froze.
There, under my keys, was a letter.
It had the exact same handwriting as that other letter, complete with the same two words on the front:
“Read first.”
If that didn’t convince me I hadn’t just dreamed everything, I don’t know what would’ve.
I shoved the keys into my pocket and unfolded the letter.
Jake, this is your Heavenly Father. It wasn’t a dream, and don’t behave as if it was. You should probably test all your talents and skills before moving on to the rest of your day.
You have seven days before you go back. Use your time wisely.
And remember: you, your sister, and everyone else are my children—and I love you.
P.S. I think Sky could use a little pizza. Might want to learn a good recipe to bring over.
– God
Well, that changed my entire day—and pretty much my week. And yeah, it was also really nice to know I wasn’t crazy. I could easily see myself floundering between “dream or not?” and wasting half my time before getting yanked back to Sky.
I pulled out my phone, looked up pizza recipes, then headed downstairs and drove to the park. The soccer game was set to start in about thirty minutes.
I decided I needed to talk to George about the business idea—and I needed to do it today.
Unfortunately, the only parking spot left was the same one I’d parked in the day I died. Yeah. That one. I made a veryconscious effort to avoid all no-parking signs, yield signs, stop signs—basically anything sign-shaped.
When I arrived at the field, I was waved down by George and his girlfriend May.
May was a phenomenal girlfriend, especially considering how little free time she had. She was studying to become a lawyer, which normally would’ve made me think ew, but May was different. Her uncle had been absolutely destroyed by a shady contract, losing almost everything he’d worked for. Since then, she’d devoted herself to becoming an expert in property and business law.
Needless to say, May didn’t mess around. She wanted to make sure nobody else got screwed like her uncle did. And hey—she planned on making a truckload of money doing it.
George greeted me with a big grin and fist-bumped me before pulling out a spare lawn chair like he’d been waiting for me to forget mine. Again. I’d bought this $200 rocking camp chair that I’d only remembered to bring once. In two years. I’d saved for months to buy that chair—and somehow left it at home every time.
I sat down as George handed me a cold bottle of water from their cooler. He knew I never drank enough.
We didn’t say much at first—just the usual back-and-forth jabs about the game, mostly just enjoying each other’s presence without the need for deep conversation.
With about ten minutes left in the game, I turned serious.
“I’ve got a business idea,” I said. “And I want your help getting it off the ground.”
George raised an eyebrow. “You mean, like, you want me to run a business for you?” He grinned. “Again?”
I laughed. “Yeah. Pretty much.”
“Jake, this is like... the fourth business idea you’ve pitched to me this year. What makes this one different?”
“For starters, you won’t actually have to do anything besides check in once a week.”
That got his attention.
“It’s legal, right?” he asked suspiciously.
“Very legal. Boring, even.”
“Okay... hit me.”
“I’m buying a spot over by Inside Loop Road and 20th. Gonna set up one of those filtered water and ice vending machines. All you’d have to do is maintenance checks and keep it running.”
George made a slow, thoughtful sound. “Sounds decent. But that’s not exactly a full-time gig. Why do you want me doing it?”
“Because,” I said, “in that same location... you’re gonna open your dream job.”
He looked at me like I’d grown a second head. “My dream job?”
“The sandwich stand. You know—the one we talked about when we were twelve.”
May snorted, almost spitting her drink. “Your dream job is a sandwich stand?”
George went instantly defensive. “Hey, I was twelve and obsessed with sandwiches! They’re the perfect food. Infinite combinations!”
I pointed at him. “Dude, you’re still obsessed.”
He nodded proudly. “Still the perfect food.”
May raised a skeptical eyebrow. “If you love sandwiches that much, why don’t you work at SubDay or something?”
George and I turned to her in sync, voices unified:
“Blasphemy!”
“Those are not real sandwiches,” I added, horrified.
May blinked. “Okay, so this is your super weird thing, huh? At least it’s not toenail collecting. I knew a girl like that...”
I turned back to George. “Honestly, I just think it’d be fun. Like, a weekend thing during the lunch rush. And I can help with the paperwork and setup this time.”
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I’d been trying for a while to get George to quit his job as a day laborer. It wasn’t a bad job—it paid okay, and he had good coworkers—but it was a dead-end. He’d been there six years, and I hated seeing him grind away with no upward momentum.
And let’s be honest, most of our weeknights ended with George too tired to do anything except grill steaks in the backyard.
If it weren’t for May keeping him socially functional, he probably would’ve turned into a full-on hermit. Soccer and sandwiches were the only things keeping him human.
Knowing how he operated, I changed the subject by about two degrees.
“So... how many sandwiches are in the cooler right now?”
George hesitated. “I don’t want to answer that question.”
May stared at him. “How many sandwiches are in the cooler?”
He cracked. “Four.”
I grinned. “Perfect. I need two.”
Which wasn’t a joke. I was still absurdly hungry.
I leaned back in the chair, chewing the last bite of my sandwich slowly while my stomach let out a low, greedy growl—not the satisfied kind, the demanding kind. Honestly, I’d never eaten this much in my life. Not after two-a-day soccer practices, not during those wild teenage growth spurts, not even after a Thanksgiving marathon. This wasn’t normal hunger. It felt like my body was running on overdrive.
And then it clicked. There wasn’t any ambient mana here. Not like back in Sky. If everything I’d read was accurate, my body must’ve started generating mana on its own to make up for the lack of it in the environment. Which, apparently, meant I was burning through physical energy like a bonfire soaked in gasoline. Add to that whatever lingering effects mana had on improving my body—bones, muscles, reflexes—it was like my metabolism had swapped out its old engine for something pulled off a rocket. I wasn’t just hungry… I was upgrading.
George turned to me, squinting a little like he was trying to figure out a puzzle. “Hey… did you start going hard at the gym or something? You look different from last week. Like, reallydifferent.” He motioned vaguely toward me with his sandwich. “Wait—is that why you’re eating so much? You don’t usually inhale food like you’ve been starved for a month.”
I laughed it off, mostly because I didn’t have a better answer. “Yeah, something like that. Just felt like it was time to take things more seriously, you know? Whole new outlook. Maybe a little bulking phase while I’m at it.”
George nodded like that made perfect sense, but May narrowed her eyes. “You’re not on roids, are you?”
I choked on my water. “What? No! Come on. I just… started training a little differently.”
Like surviving death and having your soul rewired. But yeah. "Training."
“To be honest, there’s more to it than just training,” I admitted, scratching the back of my head. “But I’m kind of under an NDA?”
That earned me a raised eyebrow from both of them.
“It is not steroids,” I added emphatically, trying to sound reassuring.
But May immediately pounced. “Do you mean experimental?” she asked, her concern clearly ramping up.
Waving my hands in what I hoped was a calming motion, I said, “Seriously, I can’t talk about it. There are no drugs involved. It’s just… a very different kind of training. It involves a lot of meditation—that’s about all I can say.”
I wasn’t looking to tell them anything more than that. I was about 99% sure I wasn’t supposed to talk about Sky or the soon-to-be double life I’d be juggling. With about two and a half seconds to brainstorm between sentences, I made the smoothest subject change I could muster.
“So, do you guys wanna help me out? I need to learn how to cook a few specific recipes this week before I start working on buying the land for the water-slash-ice machine.”
Yeah… I had a bad habit of saying “slash” in regular speech. But miracle of miracles, the distraction actually worked—May perked up immediately.
“You’re gonna start cooking?” she asked, genuinely excited.
“Yeah. I need to learn how to make pizza. And I figure I’ll try at least three other meals—stuff that’s easy enough to make but would seem exotic in other parts of the world.”
I didn’t tell them it was for Sky. But that thought lingered as I talked—bringing a little spark of excitement with it.
I was gonna have my own home. Like… my own. And it was a really nice one. Thinking back on it, it basically had everything I’d ever want in a house—except maybe a hot tub. And, okay, a few modern comforts like a proper shower and other odds and ends. But still… it was mine.
Kind of a bummer I couldn’t bring George and May over to see it. Who knows—maybe one day I’d get permission to bring a few friends through. I wouldn’t get my hopes up, but… never say never.
It seemed I had opened Pandora’s box, because May immediately lit up like a kid at a candy store.
“Ooh! Oh! Me, me!” she said, practically bouncing. “I know what we can make! First, you’ve gotta learn to make a really good roast. You can never go wrong with a roast, especially if you’re cooking for a bunch of people. Oh—and there’s this almond rice pilaf that’s essential. Like, essential-essential. Total comfort food, or just a really good filler.”
George held up a hand like a traffic cop, stopping the madness before it spiraled. “Okay, hold on. If we’re talking real meals here, let’s not pretend you’re reinventing the food wheel. Anyone can throw meat in a pot and call it stew.”
May raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Anyone can slap turkey between bread and call it gourmet.”
"Blasphemy," George said flatly. Again.
She ignored him. “Look, Jake. You want practical, right?
May said, clearly fired up like I’d just challenged her to a bake-off. “Stuff you can actually make in a basic kitchen with pans and some pots?”
I nodded, halfway through another bottle of water and already wondering how I’d survived this long without remembering how much food meant to me.
“Okay. First thing—fried chicken. Hear me out. You get the seasoning right, and that stuff will have people crying. Crispy, juicy, hits every craving button—especially if you figure out how to make a good brine or marinade”
George looked like she’d just kicked a puppy. “You’re trying to replace sandwiches with fried chicken?”
“Please,” May said, brushing him off. “Second: crêpes. You learn to make that thin pancake flip, and suddenly you’re making breakfast, dessert, and lunch all with the same batter. Plus—”
“Let me guess,” I cut in, “you want to stuff it with vegetables.” I said this with an extremely dead pan face.
She gave me a smug grin. “Duh. Mushrooms, spinach, caramelized onions, cheese. You can even go sweet with fruit or jam. It's all about balance.”
George groaned like someone had suggested tofu at a barbecue.
“And third,” May continued, “pancakes. I know, I know—basic. But think about it. They’re comfort food, they’re filling, and you can sneak shredded vegetables into them if you want to feel morally superior. Zucchini, carrots—whatever you got.”
“I feel like that’s cheating,” George muttered, still sulking. “That’s not cooking, that’s witchcraft.”
“Oh!” May said suddenly, eyes lighting up. “Cinnamon rolls. You absolutely need to know how to make those. They’re addictive, they smell amazing, and if you ever need to bribe someone into friendship or loyalty? Bam. Pastry diplomacy.”
“And hot wings,” I added with sudden inspiration. “I’m figuring out how to do hot sauce. There’s no way I’m living without wings.”
That got a bit of a raised eyebrow from May. “Why would you need to live without chicken wings?”
George looked even more betrayed. “You’re seriously planning a menu with everything but sandwiches?”
I leaned back, grinning. “George, buddy... I’m diversifying.”
George sighed, defeated, like a man watching his childhood treehouse being remodeled into a yoga studio.
“Yeah, okay… I couldn’t live without lots of breakfast items either,” he admitted, “You already make a pretty good omelette. I’ll give you that.
May gasped, mock offended. “Are you finally admitting that eggs and onions aren’t a crime?”
“Onions aren’t the problem,” George said with mock seriousness. “It’s the tomatoes. They’re like intruders. They don’t belong.”
“You’re insane,” I said with a snort. “Tomatoes are the backbone of civilization. Fight me.”
“Civilization crumbles under soggy tomatoes,” he replied flatly.
After that, I managed to get May and George to promise they'd come over the next day to teach me how to make pizza from scratch—and to try out a few different recipes while we were at it. I’d already decided that calzones were basically just the sandwich version of pizza, so those were going on the list too.
Over the next few days, I spent most of my time learning how to cook awesome pizza and several other recipes—including a homemade fried chicken recipe my sister swore by. She also claimed she hated me for it, since fried chicken involved breading (or the equivalent), and I was now officially the reason she’d fallen off the wagon when it came to her carnivore lifestyle. She said this with a deceptive glint of glee in her eye, which I interpreted to mean I had done well.
Aside from pizza, fried chicken, and roast—and yes, the absolute essential according to May: crêpes—George had taken his lunch breaks to teach me how to grill steaks to perfection. Well, maybe "grill" wasn’t the right word. I’d made the odd request that he teach me how to cook steaks in a cast-iron pan over an open fire in the backyard. That had earned me a raised eyebrow and a long stare, but he just shrugged and said, “Sure.”
That led to an exhausting (and extremely passionate) explanation about how to cook a steak properly, and that if he ever found out I cooked one medium-well or well-done, he would disown me. Which, in our friendship, basically meant he’d seriously consider stopping me from eating his sandwiches.
Now, what did I do with my new superpowers?
Okay, yeah—they weren’t really superpowers. But they were super cool.
I ended up using Clear Mind several times while learning recipes, and I leaned on it heavily when George was teaching me how to cook steak. That might’ve been the biggest miracle of all, because I actually started to understand what he was talking about. By the end of his sermon—I mean, lesson—I wasn’t exactly drinking the Kool-Aid of his Cult of Steak, but I was definitely on the list of charitable believers.
Aside from using Clear Mind a bunch, I also found out that Inspect still worked. Although I did notice that whenever I used Clear Mind and Inspect together, the mental fatigue afterward was no joke. Using Inspect made me a little drowsy for a few minutes. But when I finished using Clear Mind, I was mentally wiped for about ten minutes—hard to focus, like I’d just sat through four hours of college calculus with no coffee.
What really stood out to me—and to everyone else—was the sheer change in my physique. I’d definitely gained weight, but I’d also lost inches off my waist. I had bulked up fast. Like… anime training montage fast. It wasn’t quite proportional, and it was borderline concerning how much mass I’d put on in just a few days. Naturally, people started asking questions.
Which is part of why I took the whole week off work. I called my boss, Harry, and told him I might need to step away permanently due to some “medical issues.” Yeah, kind of a jerk move to take two weeks off when I was planning to quit anyway—but Harry and I had an understanding. It was a seasonal gig, and we both knew that when business slowed down, I’d be looking for something more stable anyway.
(I’d been working as a forklift operator and warehouse assistant at a local distribution center—not glamorous, but the pay was decent, and it gave me time to think while moving boxes and crates around.)
The other things I spent my time on over the week included, in my opinion, some cleverly disguised questions to my sister—mainly about a bunch of other recipes, how to pickle or can vegetables, and how to preserve stuff like kimchi. I also asked about how her business worked when it came to distribution and manufacturing. I had this idea about creating playing cards and getting them produced over there, assuming there was some kind of printing press. I even Googled printing presses while I was at it.
I brushed up on my CPR just in case, and spent a few hours brainstorming simple things that could be made cheaply. The truth was, I was still metaphorically in the dark about what would actually be a good idea to bring to market over there, other than food. I hadn’t met anybody besides Sadie—and, well, the folks who tried to kill and rob me—so it’s not like I had any real understanding of Sky’s economy or what people valued. I was 99% sure I was making some badass assumptions. For all I knew, they had flying cars powered by unicorn dust.
The last thing I did was memorize a bunch of songs that I could sing or play with whatever instrument I could get my hands on over there.
Somewhere in the middle of all that, I mentally checked my storage space. It was still there. Still less than 10% full. But there was a noticeable change. Before, when I accessed my personal storage, it felt fluid—like water shifting around, everything distinct and categorized but free-flowing. Now, though… now it felt like a block of lead. I couldn’t take anything out.
Strangely enough, I could still put things in.
Which quickly became a problem.
See, I’m one of those people who likes to have everything on hand—just in case. The kind of person who keeps a small hardware store in the backseat of their car. I’d taken that “Be Prepared” motto from the Boy Scouts way too seriously, and now that storage space was calling to me like a junk drawer with a black hole.
I could put so much stuff in my personal space. It was incredible. And anything that I had put in there while on Earth, I could take out. The only issue was when I tried taking something out that I had stored while in Sky—it just wouldn’t happen.
I took a moment the day before Saturday, when I’d be heading back to Sky, and decided to see if I could get one of the rules bent a bit. The letter had said I couldn’t bring things over except in rare cases. Well, I wanted to know what rareactually meant, so I decided to do what Javier suggested: pray.
Problem was—I didn’t know how to pray.
I had a friend back in high school who was a super nice guy, the kind who constantly invited people to church. He considered everyone his friend and was sometimes so nice it was actually obnoxious. I mean, in a good way, but still. Somehow, when I was around sixteen, we ended up having a conversation where the topic of church came up—as would be expected with him. Only, he wasn’t the one who brought it up; it was another kid in our lunch group. Somehow that led to the topic of prayer.
I barely remember anything from that conversation, except for what sounded like a strange order of operations—if that’s the right term.
- First, address God. (I personally knew He liked being referred to as Heavenly Father.)
- Second, say thank you for the things you have, or at least the things you appreciate.
- Third, ask for what you need.
- Fourth, something about His son and a name, and then say “amen.”
The one thing I distinctly remember was that “amen” was basically another way of saying you agree, even if you weren’t the one saying the prayer. Honestly, I almost wanted my sister to do it so all I’d have to do was nod and say amen.
I think there was also something about kneeling or bowing your head, but I wasn’t going to do that.
I’m not going to go into the details of what I said—mainly because of sheer embarrassment. There were some strong feelings involved. But when I was done, there was a definite feeling of warmth and this weird sense that things were okay. I don’t remember getting a “yes” in reply, exactly, but I decided to test things out anyway. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have a bunch of spices on hand. The pantry back at my home in Sky was pretty darn limited.
That Friday night, I took my sister out to dinner at her favorite Mexican restaurant, where she ordered—yes, I think you can guess—lots of meat.
It was a good night. There was a mariachi band, and my sister ordered a bunch of mocktails. She didn’t drink. That was mainly because of our aunt, who took care of us for a couple of years until my sister moved out with me. Calling her a "guardian" would be like calling an axe murderer your friendly neighbor across the street. We avoided her like the plague. Subconsciously, I think we both suspected she would’ve actually given us the plague based on her personal hygiene. She was not sad to see us go.
When I woke up that Saturday morning, there was a portal in my bedroom...