With a deep breath of the city's fresh morning air, I let the breeze fill my lungs. Despite being accustomed to the urban hustle and bustle, that first breath always had a special taste, as if the day unfolded before me with endless possibilities. My eyes settled on the massive glass and steel building in front of me, a modern giant that reminded me how small one can feel in the face of something so impersonal, so colossal. But that wasn't the case today. Not today.
Today was the day. The day when my ideas, though perhaps not the most original, would find their place in the future. Today, the door to wealth and recognition would open—not through conventional means but through a revolutionary idea, or so I thought at the time.
Since arriving in this world—a world that is technically my original home, but in a parallel reality and a different time—I've learned to use my knowledge of the future to my advantage. The year is 2012, and while everyone else remains immersed in their daily routines, I can already see beyond, as if I had a temporal edge over them. An edge I have no qualms about exploiting.
My pitch for today is something that might seem like a mix of already-known ideas but with a twist. I want to present VibeHub. A platform that will combine short videos, like the popular app that rose during the COVID-19 pandemic, and live streaming, akin to services starting to gain traction—like a green music streaming app or a purple app where streamers would one day dominate and brighten the long days of the pandemic.
Yes, I know it sounds like a rip-off, and I don't care. Because, in the end, it doesn't matter who invented it first—it's about who makes it work better, right?
Besides, in this world, those apps don't even exist yet.
Money. That's what I want. I'm not ashamed to admit it. I want so much money that when the world falls apart—and I know it will—I'll be more than prepared. The future is uncertain, but the power of money is not. And if my platform can help me get it, so be it.
The building's doors opened smoothly but decisively. The receptionist, as if expecting me, gestured for me to enter. Nervousness didn't overwhelm me. I knew what I had to do. I took the elevator to the room where the investors awaited, ready to hear my proposal. I felt confident, almost arrogant, but with a conviction that left no room for doubt. I knew something they didn't. I knew what was coming.
---
Three hours later, the sun still shone over the city, but I had already left the building, smiling wider than ever. VibeHub was going to be a success. I was sure of it. As soon as I mentioned the words "a look toward the future," I saw their eyes light up, and their expressions change. They knew I was offering something big. Something they couldn't pass up.
My pitch was simple yet powerful. In the future, traditional media like radio, TV, and news will lose relevance. People would seek new ways to entertain, inform, and connect. And what I was offering was exactly that. VibeHub wouldn't just be a platform for watching videos or listening to music. It would be the epicenter of a new era where users wouldn't just consume content—but give me money—they'd become part of it. Influencers, streamers, everyday people. All of them could shine. All of them could be stars. And they'd make me money.
And they knew it. That's what convinced them. Because in a world revolving around appearances and virality, the investors quickly understood that VibeHub wasn't just another platform—it was the platform of the future. And I, as its creator, would lead the charge—and get rich.
Brother, don't judge me. Not even I know why I want so much money. I just do, you know?
---
Two years later, in 2014, I couldn't be more satisfied with what I'd achieved. Money flowed in as if there were no tomorrow. My bank account was so full I didn't even bother checking the numbers anymore. I had reached an economic stability most could only dream of. Every month, income came in heaps, and in my state of complete apathy, I only indulged in the luxuries money brought. Sometimes, I even got bored of having so much.
However, something still gnawed at me. Something that lingered in my mind. *The system.*
There were no signs of it appearing. From the start, I thought the system would activate as soon as I reincarnated in this world. But four years had passed, and there was still nothing. The platform was thriving, people loved me, the investors were happy—or so I think—but the system remained absent.
I didn't know if I was failing at something, if maybe I hadn't reached the required threshold for it to manifest, or if the system was simply defective. But I couldn't stop thinking about it. Where was it? And why hadn't it appeared yet? Something didn't add up, and although everything seemed perfect, I couldn't shake the worry.
---
It was an ordinary afternoon, one of those where the sun started to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple, while I sat in my office, disdainfully eyeing the pile of documents on my desk. I wasn't concerned about anything. My money kept coming in, my employees handled all the heavy lifting, and I, comfortably ensconced in my luxurious mansion, enjoyed life as if the world were a playground I didn't care about.
The doorbell rang. Once, then twice more, followed by firm, heavy knocks. Unusual, to say the least.
I rose from my leather chair, stretching lazily, annoyed by the interruption. Perhaps a client's call or a lawyer wanting to discuss a contract. But no. When I opened the door, the scene before me was entirely different from what I expected.
The FBI.
Four agents in dark suits and sunglasses stood on my doorstep, their serious demeanor chilling my blood. They wasted no time identifying themselves and, with a firm tone, informed me I was under arrest on several federal charges, including large-scale fraud, data manipulation, and conspiracy to illicitly obtain funds through technological platforms. My mind went blank for a moment, as though the words made no sense. I stood there in the doorway, staring at them.
This couldn't be real.
"What… what's happening?" I finally managed, gasping for air.
The lead agent, a hard-faced man with short hair, didn't respond. He simply showed me an arrest warrant signed by a judge. Without even glancing my way, he read the charges like someone accustomed to doing this to anyone in his path.
"Fraud? Data manipulation?"
I repeated, as though saying the words could offer clarity. But nothing. All I felt was my heart pounding, searching for an escape that didn't exist.
They didn't reply with words but with actions. Within seconds, an agent stepped forward and pushed my arms back, locking my wrists with professional precision. The sound of the cuffs closing around my wrists struck me like a punch to the gut. The cold metal, so simple yet so final, carried the realization that, for the first time in years, I had no control over anything. I'd made the mistake of thinking I was invincible. But the system, as always, had found a way to catch me.
"This doesn't make sense."
I muttered, my voice weaker than I wanted to admit.
The agent beside me didn't flinch. He merely gestured toward the police vehicle parked in front of my mansion. It was an armored van, the kind used for high-profile detainees. And judging by what was happening to me, that label applied now.
I was ushered outside, the cold evening air hitting my face, more chilling than the metal cuffs around my wrists. I looked around, hoping to see someone—any friend or employee who could offer an explanation, some comfort—but no one emerged. I was alone. All the luxury, the money, the fame… it seemed to evaporate.
Neighbors began peeking from their windows, though none dared step outside. And honestly, I didn't blame them. The scene was straight out of a movie: a multimillionaire being cuffed and forcibly escorted by the FBI. No one wanted to be involved in that.
The armored van awaited.
"They set me up," I thought as I climbed in, hands bound.