It was a beautiful night. The stars streaked across the sky, piercing through the light pollution of Seattle, Washington, a city usually shrouded in clouds. Even though the recent drizzle—refreshing but slightly depressing—left a misty taste in the city air, the stars lent an air of perfection to the scene.

I had just left an underground vaccination and pharmaceutical facility funded by a renowned tech tycoon billionaire at midnight, knowing I'd return in seven hours. It was a sobering reality, but I didn't mind. It was because I was rational—too rational. I was a calculator.

I was born with hyperthymesia, a condition people desire until they possess it. It allows me to recall almost everything I've ever experienced with photographic detail. No, it's more than that. I can remember the hideous tie my boss wore the day of our interview, his repulsive coffee breath, and how much I hated my life as he outlined the job duties.

That's the problem with hyperthymesia.

People take for granted the ability to forget. Sure, they won't forget a betrayal, being cheated on, and the like. However, the emotional significance of these events gradually fades. They forget the feeling of being abandoned, rejected by a crush, or being used by someone for personal gain.

I don't.

I remember.

I remember it all.

The pain and torment.

The words they hurled at me.

Everything. I remember everything.

This extraordinary ability made me a pariah among children. I was terse and unforgiving of minor transgressions, making them avoid me like the plague.

So, I turned to books and articles, mostly non-fiction. Fiction mirrored my life too closely with its tales of betrayal and heartbreak. Reading became my solace until I decided one day to make a difference in other people's lives using my vast knowledge.

That was a mistake.

Not in general. There's nothing inherently wrong with helping others. However, when you're antisocial, have trouble dealing with people, and grapple with social problems, people just exploit your goodwill. My life, already devoid of pleasure, became even worse.

Instead of becoming a helpful friend, I turned into a mere tool—a calculator, a machine.

Now, I'm a chemist who is four times more productive than any of my coworkers. But I'm underpaid, I've been reprimanded for my social issues enough times that they can fire me at will, and here I am, leaving a facility at midnight. What a miserable life.

I despise this disorder.

If I could wish for anything, I'd want a second chance at life. A life with a normal memory, free of trauma, and capable of feeling emotions.

I just want to be normal.

However, life hadn't given me that. So when I saw a seven-year-old dash in front of a bakery truck, I merely shifted away, thinking: "Wow, that sucks."

That was my only thought. So, when the truck driver finally noticed the child and swerved off the road to avoid him, thereby changing its trajectory to me, I thought: "Wow, this sucks."

BAM!

That was it. What a shitty, illogical way to die.

But hey, at least I never did anything wrong in my life. With ninety-hour workweeks confined to the library and my workplace, I never had the time to hurt anyone. That's the explanation being given to me at the moment.

"Woooooooooooow!" gushed a blonde with an uncannily symmetrical face, examining a sheet of parchment. Her bright blue eyes and stellar body were encased in a white cross-over dress that emphasized her perfectly proportioned body.

Her symmetry was strangely satisfying and appealing. If only she weren't suffering from an intense case of Beckyism, she'd be a true goddess. Instead, she made me wonder if it was possible to die twice.

"Honestly, Vincent—your record is more flawless than this dress," she said, glancing at her cleavage rather than her dress. "Isn't it adorable?"

My eyes glazed over, and I sighed. "Yes, it looks perfect, Aphrodite."

Aphrodite is the Greek goddess of love, beauty, and desire. The Roman equivalent of Aphrodite is Venus, from which the planet gets its name. Needless to say, I had no clue why she would be responsible for my post-death evaluation.

"Reaaaaaaaally?" Aphrodite squealed, her fists trembling with excitement. "Does that mean you find me perfect?"

"No," I replied. "You're physically attractive, but your personality is like swallowing a razor blade."

"Hyrumpha!" she harumphed. "What does that even mean?"

"It means that you're inextricably unpleasant, yet I can't help but pay attention to you," I replied. "Congratulations."

Aphrodite's eyes sparkled as she grandly lifted the parchment. "Ahem. Despite your gloomy circumstances and somewhat dreadful tastes, you have the purest soul among the eligible candidates. It seems there are benefits to holing up in a library and never leaving your workstation."

"Candidates?" I furrowed my brows, disregarding her backhanded compliment. "For what?"

"Saving Solstice, of course," she replied, waiting for me to ask.

My eyebrow twitched. "Could you please give me all the information I need in the fewest sentences possible?"

Aphrodite puffed out her cheeks, clearly feeling swindled out of her fun. "Solstice is a magical world that's destined for an apocalypse exactly one century from now," she explained. "You will reincarnate there and save it."

"The hell I will!" I scoffed, standing up. "What insult do I have to throw for you to permanently end my life? I refuse to endure a century playing the hero."

"I can do it for free~," she shrugged. "Buuuuuuuuuu~t! If you agree, I'll gradually alleviate your hyperthymesia and slowly imbue you with emotions. Or rather, 'unlock' your emotions because they're already there; they're just... poisoned. So 'cure' is a better word."

My eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I presume you want me for my hyperthymesia, so what good would I be without it?" I questioned. "That's all people have ever needed me for."

"No, they've needed you for the knowledge in your head," Aphrodite tapped her temple. "That, and your quick retention rate. Memorization isn't the same as comprehension. If it were, you wouldn't need to read the books you memorize while lying in bed. Or am I wrong?"

"No, you're right," I sighed. "So, what information do you need from me? It's hard to imagine you'd pick an antisocial chemist over a professional fighter, mafia boss, or a business tycoon."

"Ah~," she smiled, leaning back. "The thing is, I've tried all sorts. Samurai, Daoist martial artists, business tycoons, and military generals from countless eras. However, they all failed for the same reason."

"And what's that?" I asked in a monotone voice.

"They didn't know how to recreate modern society," Aphrodite responded with a smile. "Imagine people's frustration when they returned to the Middle Ages, ready to invent gunpowder, only to realize they didn't know what its made of?"

I smiled at the thought. "So you prioritize someone who has that knowledge?"

"Cor~rect," she chimed.