It's not so much that I open my eyes in a new world; it's more like my eyes were already open, and the world simply shifted into sight.
There's no ground or sky, only an endless expanse of warm white light, and I am suspended, weightless, within the warmth. The pain that seared molten-hot through my veins moments ago already feels like a memory, hazy and distant.
I breathe in deeply, and impossibly, the air smells like hugs from my mother: freshly-cut grass, cherry blossom shampoo, and the unmistakable camphor and menthol sting of Tiger Balm.
"M-mom?" I choke out.
A voice answers from within the bright void, but it is not my mother's. It's ethereal, inhuman; if moonlight reflecting on dark ocean waves had a voice, it would be this.
{Welcome, Aidan Kane. Born October 23, 2001. Died September 1, 2017.}
My heart constricts painfully, and I'm suddenly winded, as if I've run twenty miles.
So I am dead, then.
It wasn't until this moment that I realized some small part of me must have been holding out a sliver of hope that…
Well. It doesn't matter.
Guess this makes the ethereal moonlight voice God, then?
Huh.
I always thought God would sound…mightier? A thunderous rumble, perhaps?
Don't tell my mom, but I always pegged God for a dude. Mom must have been thrilled when she hit up the afterlife.
Then lady-God giggles, and my brain explodes, because there are just some things a person is not capable of dealing with, and the idea that God can giggle is one of them.
{I am not God, Aidan. I am your System.}
"Oh. Okay, then."
I should probably be shocked, but the whole God giggling bit really messed me up back there, so I'm willing to believe anything to make that whole thing go away.
Besides, it turns out dying and then waking up in an endless sea of light makes a person ready to believe pretty much anything.
(And dying the ultimate loser's death makes me eager to believe I could actually be the protagonist of my life's story.)
It's not that I'm surprised I died at the ripe old age of fifteen. I'd been living on the edge of death for years.
I just can't believe I went down to school bullies. In a dirty locker room, no less. How did my life turn into an afterschool special?
If I could cry, I might let loose a few tears at the injustice of it all.
No one wants to die a cliché.
. . .
But it might not be so bad living as one.
"So are you here to help me become a superhero, then? Or am I reincarnating into an alternate reality where I have to assemble a team of unlikely losers to save the world?" I rub my hands together in anticipation of my less-shitty Second Life.
Not-God giggles again. I frown.
God or not, ethereal moonlight voices probably shouldn't giggle either.
{My apologies, young Aidan. You misunderstand. I am not designed to transform you into that which you are not and could never be.}
Well, that sucks. Why'd I get stuck with the boring System Confined by Disappointing Reality?
{Ahem.}
Shit, right, System lady can read my thoughts.
'My bad. Carry on with the whole enlightening bit,' I think at her as politely as I can.
Not sure how polite that actually is, since courtesy's not particularly one of my strengths.
{I serve only two functions. One, I can release you from the trials and traumas of your current existence, and send you along to the afterlife.}
I'd be lying if I said that doesn't tempt me.
I've had quite enough of trials and traumas.
My right leg shakes as Derrick's sadistic grin appears in my mind, unbidden. I suck in a shaky breath, hoping the achingly familiar scent can keep me calm.
{Two, I can act as your guide as you carry on in the mortal world.}
"What kind of guide?" I'm intrigued, obviously, but if she's not here to make me a wizard or lead me to world domination or whatever, I don't get what I'd need guidance for.
{My full designation is [Champion Rise System]. In essence, I serve as the Muse of Athletes.}
It's a good thing I'm already dead, because I'm pretty sure a living heart shouldn't be thudding this hard or fast.
Also, it appears I've forgotten how to breathe.
"Are you saying...?"
{You have the soul of a champion, Aidan Kane. Your unfulfilled potential has been deemed worthy of a second chance. Do you wish to return and try once more? Is there something you have left unfinished?}
The image crowds my mind: High within a deep azure sky, the golden Sun bears down upon a beautiful green pitch. A white-and-black ball flies through the air until it hits the back net of a goal. Thousands of faceless spectators in red, white, and blue roar their approval, while thousands more rail in disappointment.
A whistle sounds, high and clear, and history is made.
As I think it, the white world melts away, revealing the very scene from my innermost dreams. I'm now standing in the center of a field greener than any real grass on Earth, under a wide open sky so blue it hurts to look at.
A soccer ball rolls to a stop at my feet.
Bill Shankly, an old manager of Liverpool FC once said, "Some people think football is a matter of life and death. I am very disappointed with that attitude. I can assure you it is much, much more important than that."
My life, and my death, seem to be proof that old Bill knew what he was talking about.
It's not simply the most important thing in my life.
It's the only important thing.
Without soccer, I have nothing, I am nothing.
{Given your background and the future you could have had—were it not for the cruelty you needlessly suffered—I would become your Soccer God System. Using data accumulated from the most talented players and coaches in the history of the sport, I would train your mind and body into becoming a champion.}
"I choose the second option. I accept you as my System. Please help me become the best soccer player in the world!"
{As you wish.}
Somehow, it sounds like the System is smiling.
I think I might be smiling, too, and I might even mean it.
A System designed to make me a soccer god? Forget magic powers; this is the kind of world domination I was born for.
"How does it work from here? I d-died, right?" I can't help tripping over the word, but I get the question out in the end. "Do I get, like, zapped into a coma kid's body or something?"
{You have a choice. You can choose to be reborn, and you will be raised from birth in a family I can guarantee will love you and never bring you harm. Moreover, you will be raised with a System. Becoming the world's champion will be many times easier with my guidance throughout your youth.}
"Would I have my memories?"
{No.}
I clutch my arms to my chest and shiver, suddenly cold even though the original warmth has not faded.
Another smiling face appears in my mind, but this one is kind, and looks just like me. My bright blue eyes, my sandy blond hair, my wide smile.
Mine, and my mother's.
For seven years, I've had nothing but memories to keep her alive and keep me sane. If I were reborn into a new life, I wouldn't even have those.
{However,} the System continues, {you would still be you, just the version of yourself that would have been possible, given different circumstances.}
But how could that be true? If I'm not my mother's son, then who am I?
"And the second option?" I ask quietly.
{You can return to the body you once inhabited, to the life cut short by the malice of your teammates. They do not realize you perished after they abandoned you and went home. No timelines or memories need to be altered.}
Terror cuts through me at the thought of returning to the nightmare that was my life.
I immediately crouch, arms hugging my precious legs. The sickening crack of bone breaking echoes in my ears, and I want to scream, or cry, or hit something else until it breaks, too, as if breaking something else will change what happened to me.
But then I smell it again, that particular blend that reminds me so clearly of the only person in the world who always cared about me. The woman who gave me a soccer ball before I could walk, who taught me to kick before I could run, and who died before I could make her dreams or mine come true.
It's her face looking back in my mirror, and I don't want to spend a lifetime not knowing that.
Slowly, I stand.
"I've made my choice."