"And where am I?" Rain wondered aloud as he made his way toward the staircase. His steps echoed faintly as he descended, reaching the floor below. Walking down the empty corridor, he headed for the elevator. As soon as he arrived, the doors slid open with an eerie sense of timing.
"Wow," he muttered. It was the first time something like this had happened—he hadn't even pressed the button. Hesitantly, he stepped inside, and the doors closed behind him. He reached for the button for the third floor, where his hospital room was. As soon as he touched it, the elevator opened again, revealing the third floor already in front of him.
He blinked. *That was fast.*
Realization slowly dawned. *This isn't real.*
Experimenting, Rain thought of his hospital room, and in an instant, the scenery shifted. He was standing beside his bed, just as he remembered it. Everything was exactly as it should be—the sterile smell of the room, the thin sheets on the bed. Yet, a strange emptiness pervaded the space, as if it was nothing more than a hollow memory.
Testing this newfound ability further, he thought of the street outside the hospital. The room dissolved around him, and suddenly he was standing on the sidewalk, staring up at the hospital's facade. The streets were eerily quiet, devoid of the usual bustling crowds. The city, once so alive, felt like an empty shell—a reflection of the past, drained of its vibrancy.
Rain began walking toward his childhood home, taking in the familiar yet lifeless surroundings. Buildings and shops passed by, places that once bustled with life. His heart ached with nostalgia, but there was something unsettling in the air. Everything looked like it belonged in the past, but with an off-kilter twist—like a distorted reflection in a mirror.
As he continued, his eyes fell on a bent lamppost. It was slashed cleanly on one side, as if sliced by something sharp. Rain froze, staring at the damage. He didn't remember the lamppost being like this in his past life.
Then, like a spark igniting a memory, it came flooding back to him—the nightmare he had earlier that day. In it, he had been fleeing from a stitched-together corpse monster, and the creature had swiped at the lamppost with its claws.
His heart quickened. *This... this is from my dream.*
Realization hit him hard, sending a chill down his spine. "When we have bad dreams while sleeping, we call them nightmares," Rain whispered, his voice barely more than a breath in the stillness. "But now... I'm *in* my dream."
A surge of urgency followed. He recalled the monstrous creature from his nightmare—the one he knew he couldn't face, not as he was. But then, his memories from this new life came flooding in. He wasn't the same Rain anymore. He was a trained fighter, skilled in combat, and soon to be a genetic warrior. The weight of that reality pressed down on him. Once he woke up, he'd have responsibilities: joining the City Guard, facing criminals, protecting others. His new skills couldn't be lacking. If they were, people would notice. Worse, *he* would be vulnerable—he could die.
The idea of being exposed, of his weakness being laid bare, gnawed at him. Before becoming a genetic warrior, he had been a decent fighter. But if he couldn't fight properly now, after gaining so much power, it would make no sense. Suspicion would follow. No, he had to regain his combat instincts, to integrate his new abilities seamlessly into his life.
He needed to train.
The thought of returning to his childhood home vanished, and with it, so did the city around him. The streets dissolved, the sky faded away, leaving him in an infinite white space. Nothing but pure, empty possibility surrounded him.
In this void, he focused on the memories of his combat training. The movements, the strategies, the reflexes—it all flooded back into his mind. But something was missing. He could recall the techniques, yet practicing in this vast emptiness felt futile. There was no opponent, no resistance. He was simply moving through the motions, but the real connection to battle eluded him.
"I need a fight," he muttered to himself, frustration building. "I need someone to spar with." But his friends couldn't know. They would notice his struggle, the gaps in his ability, and they would question him. He had to keep this hidden. He had to perfect his skills before returning to the real world.
Then, an idea struck. *This is my dream. I can do anything.*
Rain took a deep breath, focusing his thoughts. If this was his dream, he had control. He could shape it. He closed his eyes and envisioned another version of himself standing in the empty space—a mirror image, ready to fight.
When Rain opened his eyes, he saw it—an exact copy of himself standing before him, with cold, lifeless eyes. Success, he thought. His experiment had worked. This doppelgänger would help him relearn his combat skills. But before he could start, Rain hesitated. Giving the copy his full memory—especially the memories of his past life—might render it weak, unable to fight effectively. Instead, he decided to share only the memories of this world, before his past life awakened within him. That version of himself had been skilled in combat, after all.
"Hello," Rain said, testing the waters.
"Hello," the copy responded, its voice a perfect mirror of his own.
"You must know why you're here," Rain stated.
The copy nodded. "Yes. You may start."
Rain clenched his fists, preparing to attack. But something about the copy's posture irritated him. It remained completely relaxed, both hands in its pockets, as if it had no intention of even trying. "I'm coming," Rain warned, eager to knock that smug expression off his double's face.
The copy simply nodded, a calm smirk barely flickering on its lips. "You can come," it said, unfazed.
Rain felt anger flare up inside him, though he wasn't sure why. This was supposed to be just practice. Why should he be so annoyed with his copy? Suppressing his irritation, he sprinted forward, pulling back his right fist, aiming for the copy's face. As his fist inched closer, he thought, *This will show him for underestimating me.*
But just as he was about to land the punch, the copy effortlessly dodged by tilting its head to the side. Before Rain could react, a sharp kick connected with his stomach, and he was sent flying backward, gasping for air as he crashed onto the ground.
Rain steadied himself, his breathing ragged, pain still radiating from his abdomen. He couldn't afford to be reckless again. He replayed the combat techniques he had once mastered in his mind, digging through memories, grasping for anything that would help him survive this sparring session.
"Quickly, get up," the copy demanded, its voice cold and impatient.
Rain gritted his teeth, pushing himself to his feet. This time, he wouldn't rush. He wouldn't be overconfident. He adopted a defensive stance from his memory, feet shoulder-width apart, arms up, ready to block or parry any incoming strikes.
"You attack. I'll defend," Rain said, voice firm. He needed to observe, to learn, to get his rhythm back.
The copy smirked. "Then get ready."
Without warning, Copy Rain lunged forward, lightning fast. Its right fist shot toward Rain's face. Rain barely raised his forearm in time, blocking the punch but feeling the force behind it send a jolt through his arm. Before he could recover, the copy spun low and swept at his legs. Rain jumped, but not fast enough—the kick knocked him off balance, and he stumbled, falling to the ground.
Groaning, Rain pushed himself back up, determination burning in his eyes. *Focus. Don't just react—anticipate.* He reviewed the move in his mind. His timing had been off. He needed to correct that.
The copy waited, expression unreadable. "You're slow. Again."
Rain got into position, this time planting his feet more firmly. The copy attacked again, this time with a series of rapid jabs aimed at his torso. Rain managed to block the first few, but a quick feint from the copy sent a fist into his ribs, winding him. He doubled over, but didn't fall this time. Pain flared, but he stayed upright, using it to sharpen his focus.
*I need to read his moves,* Rain thought, adjusting his stance. He remembered more now—how to pivot his body, how to distribute his weight. He couldn't match the speed, but he could minimize the damage and look for an opening.
The copy came at him again—this time with a high kick. Rain ducked, narrowly avoiding the blow. As he did, he saw it—an opening. He shot his fist upward, aiming for the copy's midsection, but it was too slow. The copy sidestepped and retaliated with a sharp knee to Rain's gut, sending him crashing down once more.
But Rain didn't stay down for long. Each time he failed, he corrected a mistake. His body was beginning to remember. He got up, adjusted his stance again, and nodded at the copy, signaling he was ready.
The next exchange was a blur of strikes and counters. Rain's blocks became more fluid. He absorbed fewer hits, sidestepping some, deflecting others. Every missed punch or kick taught him something, even as pain rippled through his body with each mistake. Slowly, his defense tightened.
Copy Rain's movements became faster, more aggressive, but Rain's eyes sharpened. He anticipated the attacks now, seeing the patterns in the strikes. When a roundhouse kick came flying toward his head, he ducked and felt the wind from the kick brush past him. He retaliated with a quick jab—this time, it landed on the copy's shoulder. It wasn't much, but it was progress.
Copy Rain stopped for a moment, eyes narrowing. "Better," it said. "But not enough."
Rain's breath came in heavy pants, sweat dripping from his brow. His body was sore, bruised, but his mind was clearer. He was learning, adapting. The gap between them was closing, but he knew he still wasn't at the copy's level. Not yet.
The next barrage was relentless. Copy Rain aimed a vicious elbow at Rain's head, followed by a sweeping leg strike. Rain blocked the elbow, twisted his body to avoid the leg sweep, and, for the first time, countered with a quick left hook. It landed—lightly, but it landed. His heart raced with a surge of adrenaline.
But before he could capitalize on the hit, Copy Rain spun, delivering a crushing backfist to Rain's jaw. He staggered, barely keeping his footing, the world spinning around him. He felt the blood trickling from his lip, but he steadied himself once more.
The fight continued, back and forth, each exchange a dance of strikes and dodges. Rain wasn't winning, but he wasn't losing as badly anymore. Each time he fell, he rose faster, stronger. His movements were becoming more fluid, his reactions quicker. He had reached 30 percent of his copy's fighting ability. It wasn't enough to win, but it was a start.
The copy stood in front of him, unscathed but no longer dismissive. "You're improving," it said, almost with a hint of respect. "But you still have a long way to go."
Rain wiped the blood from his lip, grinning despite the pain. He wasn't done yet. Not by a long shot.
The copy waited, hands still in its pockets, as if inviting Rain to try again. And Rain would. He wasn't giving up, not now, not ever.
As the two stood facing each other, the white space around them pulsed, the air thick with anticipation, the next round of combat just a heartbeat away. Rain's body was tense, ready to engage, but suddenly, a distant sound echoed in the void.
A voice. Faint, but familiar.
He blinked, his focus faltering as the voice grew louder, more distinct. It was calling his name—insistent, urgent. The white space around him began to tremble, vibrating like an unstable dream on the verge of collapse.
Rain's eyes widened as he recognized the voice. *Principal Gupta.* The reality of the situation hit him, and he realized he wasn't just dreaming—he was being summoned back.
The copy in front of him stood still, its lifeless eyes watching him. Rain, his breathing uneven, lowered his fists. The dream around him—this fabricated world—began to shudder, cracks forming in the white expanse.
*It's time for me to wake up,* Rain thought. The realization settled in, and he let go of the tension in his body. The white void rippled and began to dissolve, the edges of the dream world unraveling into nothingness.
The last thing he saw was the copy standing silently, still watching, before everything vanished.
Rain's eyes fluttered open, the brightness of the real world flooding back into his senses. He was back in the medical room, the steady beep of the machines around him a stark contrast to the dream. His body felt heavy, sore, but alive. He heard Principal Gupta's voice, soft but relieved, as Rain's gaze met his.
"Welcome back, Rain," the Principal said.
Rain blinked, still feeling the echoes of the fight in his muscles, the remnants of the white space lingering in his mind. He had crossed another threshold. But this time, it was real.
The next chapter of his life had begun.