A faint buzz. Then, silence. When Damian opened his eyes, there was no darkness, no flashes, no spectacular revelation. He was simply there, sitting at a desk, his face expressionless and his gaze distant.
In front of him, a teacher explained something in a monotonous voice. Her figure was partially obscured by the light behind her, and Damian felt confused.
He didn't understand how he had ended up there. The last thing he remembered was... well, dying. It had been a quick and painful event, something he didn't want to remember. But he had felt it, and he knew.
"What the hell is going on?" he murmured to himself, his lips barely moving.
He looked around. The classroom had the typical design of a school. Large windows let in natural light; the desks were neatly arranged in rows, and the students were attentive, some leaning slightly forward to follow the lesson. Everything seemed normal... except for the details. The blackboard wasn't made of chalk or marker. It was holographic, he now noticed, projecting a slight vibration of colors. And on the wrists of each student, there was a device that seemed to emit light.
"Time travel, or this isn't Earth," he thought. It was the only thing that made sense. His eyes dropped to his own hands, large and firm yet youthful. They weren't like his old hands, the ones he remembered before dying. He flexed his fingers, inspecting each movement, then lowered his gaze to his body. It was athletic, dressed in clothes that fit him perfectly. His reflection in a nearby window showed a face that seemed unfamiliar.
"Did I reincarnate... or something like that?"
He took a deep breath, calming himself. In a world where a futuristic blackboard didn't stand out and where his reflection didn't belong to him, any exaggerated reaction would've seemed suspicious. So, he chose to observe and wait.
The class continued. The teacher kept explaining something about interactive storytelling in digital media, but Damian wasn't paying attention. His eyes wandered around the room. Despite the technological differences, the students weren't much different from those he remembered: groups of friends whispering to each other, others taking notes diligently, a few nodding off. Only here, the physical features were so diverse that it was hard to identify which country he might be in just by looking at the people.
He focused on his desk. It was empty, with no notebooks or books, but next to it was a backpack. He opened it carefully, finding only a few personal items. Meanwhile, the others were using their wristbands to register or interact with the class in ways he couldn't quite understand.
"What am I supposed to do?" he thought, feeling the weight of confusion in his chest.
The class ended after a few minutes, with the teacher turning off the holographic blackboard and wishing everyone good luck with their exams. It was then that the atmosphere shifted. The students began talking, forming animated groups while commenting on the last topic. Damian, on the other hand, remained still, observing the social chaos unfolding around him.
No one approached him. No one spoke to him. It didn't take long for him to realize: he was an outcast.
An average teenager might've felt that exclusion as a slap in the face, but Damian, having lived an entire life before this, simply ignored it. He wasn't going to worry about such trivial things when he was in a situation that needed to be understood quickly.
He stood up calmly, grabbed his backpack, and walked toward the door. The murmurs and laughter continued around him, as if he were invisible. However, a few concerned glances followed him as he left.
Damian didn't notice. He exited the classroom without pausing, focused on the only thing he knew for sure: this world was new, and he needed to adapt quickly.
Blending in with the bustle of the hallway. The students walked in groups, some chatting animatedly while others seemed more interested in the bright screens of their wristbands. Even though it appeared to be break time, everyone looked busy.
As he moved forward, his eyes scanned the environment. Though everything seemed undeniably school-like—aligned lockers, numbered doors, motivational posters—the little details kept him alert. Holographic panels replaced typical sheets of paper, and the vending machines seemed to offer more than just simple bottles of water and snacks.
"At least this doesn't seem like a bad place for a forced rebirth," he thought, somewhat relieved.
As he passed an open classroom, Damian noticed how a projector was creating a three-dimensional simulation of what seemed like an epic battle. The students inside appeared fascinated as they manipulated small holographic figures on a digital board.
"Definitely not in Kansas," he thought, recalling a cliché that pulled a half-smile from him.
After wandering aimlessly, he found a bathroom. He pushed the door open and, confirming it was empty, allowed himself a moment of relief. He walked toward the sink and raised his gaze to the mirror.
The reflection returned an image he didn't recognize as his own, it wasn't entirely familiar. His face was attractive, with defined but masculine features. His black hair fell naturally, and his slender body seemed in good shape, though not overly muscular.
"Well, at least I didn't reincarnate as some ugly guy or, worse, an old man," he thought as he inspected his jawline.
He was about to turn away when a sharp pain struck him in the head. He staggered, leaning on the sink to keep his balance.
"Great, just what I needed right now!" he complained internally, clenching his eyes shut. The pain was like a torrent of images and information flooding his mind without warning.
Suddenly, he knew. His name: Damian Grant.
"Damian Grant," he murmured, testing how it sounded. It felt right, but at the same time... it didn't.
The memories came in waves. A kind father, a warm mother, and a younger sister, eight years old, who used to smile mischievously while stealing his candy. A typical family, of average economic standing, living in a simple home.
The pain began to subside, but the images and thoughts continued to flow intensely. This world wasn't his Earth, though there were obvious similarities. The planets in orbit and a single moon in the night sky confirmed he was still in the solar system. However, the geography was different. There were no continents separated by oceans; instead, a single colossal landmass stretched across much of the equator, surrounded by countless islands.
This difference had drastically altered the course of history in this world. Humanity, confined to a more unified environment, had fought wars on a much larger scale than in the Earth he knew. Centuries of conflict had shaped this world, until, just a century ago, the wars ceased.
Peace came, but the war had brought major changes. The continuous wars had driven technological advancements at a rapid pace. And in this age of global peace, machines performed almost all technical or manual tasks, freeing people from the burden of such work.
"So, in this world, no more doctors, architects, etc... because machines do everything. So what's left?" he thought, feeling a mix of awe and confusion.
The answer came with another flash of memory.
Robots and AI allowed humanity to focus on art, entertainment, and creation. A different world, but functional, where humans no longer lived to survive, but to imagine.
Damian let out a soft, sarcastic laugh as he straightened in front of the mirror. "A world where entertainment is the priority. Well, at least I'm not going to die of boredom."
Excitement began to stir inside him, a spark of emotion he hadn't felt in a long time. This world was different, yes, but maybe it had much more to offer. It was a blank canvas, and for the first time since his death, he felt he could enjoy it.
He splashed cold water on his face, shaking off the lingering dizziness from the pain. Looking at himself in the mirror again, he allowed a smile, more confident than before.
"Alright, let's see what this world is made of."
Damian left the bathroom with a mix of emotions. With every step, his thoughts swirled around the torrent of information he had received. He remembered his family in this world, the details of his life, and the peculiarities. Though part of him was grateful for the clarity, another couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. It was as though someone had tried to stack an encyclopedia in his brain all at once.
—Damian... hi—said a somewhat shy girl, who seemed to be waiting for him in the hallway.
Damian quickly scanned his memories for information about her, eventually recognizing her.
—Hi Clara, what's going on?—Damian asked, giving her a quick look. The girl was somewhat short but with a well-developed body for her age, dark hair with bangs that covered part of her face, and glasses. At first glance, she looked like an ordinary girl, but upon closer inspection, she was quite beautiful.
—Well, I was just a little worried, you looked strange in class—Clara said, to which Damian understood, then smiled warmly.
—Sorry, I was a bit distracted by something, but I'm fine now.
—Is it about the exam?—Clara asked, to which Damian felt a bit confused. It must have been something mentioned while he was overwhelmed by his reincarnation.
—Sorry, I wasn't paying attention at that moment. Could you send me the exam details?—Damian said, feeling a bit embarrassed, which surprised Clara a little since she had always seen Damian as someone who put a lot of effort into his classes.
—Sure, I'll send the exam details to your Panel. It's better if we prepare as soon as possible. Good luck, Damian—she said with a happy smile before she waved goodbye.
Damian thanked her for the help and simply watched as she disappeared down the hallway.
"First things first: I need more information," he thought as he turned and headed for the stairs to the rooftop.
The fresh air greeted him gently as he opened the door. It was a spacious area, with tables and chairs set up for students. Some were eating, others chatting animatedly, and a few seemed absorbed in their own Panels.
Damian passed by without paying attention to anyone, and no one seemed interested in paying attention to him either. Instead of seeking company, he went to a quiet corner where the wind barely blew. He sat on the ground and raised his wrist, observing the device that adorned his arm.
"So this is called a Panel, huh? Let's see how it works."
With an intuitive swipe of his fingers, a translucent screen projected in front of him. He could adjust it at will, expanding or shrinking it with simple gestures. Damian let out a low whistle.
"It's like a smartphone, but with steroids. Or rather, like an advanced, portable, futuristic PC. Steve Jobs would be crying from envy."
His curiosity led him to explore the Panel's functions. First, he checked his personal information. His name was still Damian Grant, and the few archived photos confirmed it was the same body he had seen in the mirror. However, his history was a lot less exciting.
"Average family... hardworking parents, a younger sister, and a big debt. Sounds like the start of a cheap drama."
His eyes scanned the message history. There were conversations with his parents, filled with worry and encouragement. Their words revealed great sacrifice: they had sent him to the region's most prestigious academy despite their limited resources. His mother worked as a set designer for the film industry, a stable job but without much recognition. His father, on the other hand, was a novelist whose only success had been in the past.
"Ah, the classic writer who had a lucky break and then nothing. At least I can blame genetics if I end up a failure too," he thought with irony, though he felt a slight weight in his chest as he read the lines filled with pride and hope they had sent him.
With a sigh, he shifted his focus and began to explore what seemed to be the equivalent of the Internet in this world. His eyes lit up as he absorbed information. This world revolved around art, entertainment, and creation, but there was something... strange.
"Too complex, too deep, and ultimately, boring."
It was clear that the previous generation had pushed art and entertainment to a level of density that felt stifling. Movies were introspective to the point of being tedious; books clung to philosophical themes with an obstinacy that ignored any attempt at accessibility. Even video games, though still a relatively new field that should be exciting, were used more to showcase the developer's ability to create complex mechanics or graphics than to offer enjoyable experiences.
"This is like someone took all the good things about art and ripped out its soul. Where's the emotion? The connection? The damn fun?" he thought, flipping through page after page.
However, he noticed a subtle shift. The younger generation, tired of the weight of tradition, was beginning to take a different path. In all disciplines, from writing to game design, creators were emerging who sought to balance depth with entertainment, while techniques in all industries were becoming more refined.
"So not everything is lost. At least someone here is going down the right path."
As he read, Damian couldn't help but compare this world to the Earth he knew. Though both shared a passion for creativity, this world seemed to be in an early stage of transition. On Earth, cinema and video games had already found a balance between narrative and entertainment; here, they were still trapped in a swamp of artistic pretension.
"Wouldn't I be a creative monster if I used Earth's entertainment here?"
The thought made him smile. He had spent his entire previous life enjoying all kinds of entertainment, and now he was in a world that clearly needed someone with his knowledge.
"Well, Damian Grant, looks like you've found your purpose. Time to get to work."
He closed the Panel and leaned against the wall, looking at the clear sky. His mind was already working, formulating ideas and strategies. There were still many unanswered questions, but one thing was certain: this world needed someone to make it come alive. And Damian was determined to be that person.
Damian carried on his shoulders the legacy of an entire civilization that had turned entertainment into art, and art into a reflection of humanity itself.