The moment I stepped through the school gate, the memories came rushing back.
Not fragments.
Not vague impressions.
Everything came back with almost uncomfortable clarity.
The jeepney ride that morning.
The heat trapped inside the crowded vehicle.
The sound of coins clinking as passengers paid their fares.
The smell of gasoline mixing with the aroma of street food drifting in from the roadside.
Even the sunlight looked exactly the same.
I could remember the angle at which it fell across the road and the shadows cast by the buildings along the street.
That was the curse of Hyper-Eidetic Memory Syndrome.
Most people remembered important moments and gradually forgot the little details.
My brain worked differently.
Once something was properly encoded into my memory, it stayed there with extraordinary precision.
I couldn’t forget faces.
I couldn’t forget voices.
I couldn’t forget places.
And unfortunately, I couldn’t forget painful memories either.
After living for decades, I had accumulated more memories than I could possibly count.
Yet somehow, this particular morning remained among the clearest.
Maybe because I knew exactly where it had led.
This was the day everything had started.
I took a few steps before stopping near the gate and looking down at my feet.
My shoes were a disaster.
The leather had split open along the front, leaving a gap large enough for my toes to poke through.
When I moved my foot, they wiggled through the opening.
I stared at them.
“Yeah…
these definitely need to go.”
I couldn’t help remembering how long I had worn those things in my first life.
Months.
I had continued wearing them until they were practically held together by hope and friction.
Back then, getting a new pair wasn’t something I could simply decide to do.
My parents were already struggling to put food on the table, so asking for new shoes whenever mine started falling apart would have been selfish.
Besides, I had gotten pretty good at hiding the damage.
At least, I thought I had.
Looking at them now, I wondered how I had managed to convince myself that nobody noticed.
I’ll buy a new pair.
It wasn’t exactly the grand beginning I had imagined for my second life, but it was a start.
Of course, before I could worry about shoes, I had something more important to deal with.
Edmund’s book report.
I opened my bag and pulled out the slippers I normally wore inside the classroom.
After glancing around to make sure nobody was paying attention, I quickly changed out of my shoes and slipped the ruined pair into my bag.
Walking into school wearing slippers wasn’t exactly something I wanted to advertise, but it was still better than walking around with a shoe that had practically developed a second mouth.
I adjusted my bag and headed inside.
The campus was already buzzing with activity.
The intramural games were underway, and students seemed to be everywhere.
Basketball players in their jerseys gathered around the court while volleyball teams moved between buildings.
Other athletes were preparing for their events, and groups of students were standing around cheering for their classmates.
The noise brought back another flood of memories.
I remembered which students were playing basketball.
I remembered some of the volleyball teams.
I remembered where certain groups of students liked to gather.
It was strange.
I had lived through decades of war and technological development, traveled across continents, studied alien machinery, and eventually fought on another world.
Yet I could still remember exactly where a group of teenagers had been standing during a school intramural event.
My brain really knew how to prioritize useless information.
I made my way toward Edmund’s classroom.
His homeroom teacher was also my English teacher, and I remembered exactly what had happened when I submitted his report the first time.
I had always assumed that arriving around noon meant most of Edmund’s classmates would already be outside watching the intramurals.
Apparently, fourteen-year-old me had been overly optimistic.
Nearly the entire class was still there.
I stopped at the doorway for a moment.
I remembered how nervous I had been.
Back then, I had been painfully aware of everything that made me different from the other students.
My clothes weren’t particularly nice.
My shoes were falling apart.
And standing in front of a classroom full of people was terrifying.
If the old me had been standing here now, he probably would have waited outside and hoped the classroom emptied out.
Unfortunately for him, I wasn’t him anymore.
I had lived through wars.
I had watched cities burn.
I had spent years studying alien technology while humanity fought for survival.
I had stood on another world with thousands of soldiers behind me and watched almost all of them die.
Compared to that, walking into a classroom full of teenagers wasn’t exactly a terrifying experience.
I took a breath and stepped inside.
Several students turned toward me.
I ignored their curious looks and walked straight toward the teacher’s desk.
“Good afternoon, Ma’am.”
My teacher looked up from the papers she was checking.
She was exactly as I remembered her.
Strict expression.
Sharp eyes.
The kind of presence that could make an entire classroom quiet without needing to raise her voice.
I smiled politely and handed her the report.
“This is Edmund’s book report, Ma’am.
He asked me to submit it for him.”
She looked at the report, then at me.
“You’re Edmund’s brother, right?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Why isn’t he here?”
“He’s sick.
He has chickenpox, so he couldn’t come to school.”
She studied me for a moment.
I knew what was coming.
In my first life, this was the point where my stomach had started twisting.
This time, I simply waited.
Her stern expression suddenly changed.
A mischievous grin appeared on her face.
“I’ll accept it.”
I almost smiled.
Then she continued.
“But…”
There it was.
My teacher pointed toward the front of the classroom.
“You have to sing something for the class.”
A few students immediately laughed.
Others started whispering among themselves.
I remembered this perfectly.
In my first life, I had been terrified.
I was shy, insecure, and painfully conscious of my worn-out shoes.
Standing in front of everyone had felt like a punishment far worse than whatever I had originally done wrong.
This time, however, I couldn’t help smiling.
My teacher raised an eyebrow.
“What?
Are you backing out?”
“No, Ma’am.”
I stepped forward.
The classroom gradually became quieter.
Then I saw her.
Rosalie.
She was sitting among her classmates.
For a moment, the noise around me seemed to fade.
I had remembered her for decades.
Her face.
Her hair.
The way she smiled when she talked with her friends.
The small expressions she made when she was embarrassed.
There had been times during my first life when I wondered whether I had exaggerated those memories.
Maybe nostalgia had made her more beautiful than she really was.
Maybe I had spent so many years remembering my first love that my mind had turned her into something larger than life.
Standing there now, I realized how wrong I had been.
If anything, my memories hadn’t done her justice.
She was exactly as beautiful as I remembered.
Rosalie noticed me looking at her.
Our eyes met.
She blinked.
Then she quickly looked away, and a faint blush spread across her cheeks.
I almost smiled.
I remembered that reaction.
She had done the exact same thing back then.
Apparently, some things didn’t need to be changed.
I turned toward the front of the classroom.
“Alright, Ma’am.”
My teacher smiled.
“What are you going to sing?”
I already knew the answer.
There had never really been another choice.
I closed my eyes for a moment.
The melody surfaced in my mind with perfect clarity.
HEMS didn’t only affect my memory of people and places.
Music was just as deeply embedded in my mind.
If I heard a song enough times, I could remember its melody, rhythm, timing, and pitch with extraordinary accuracy.
Then I opened my eyes.
I looked directly at Rosalie.
“Another Chance.”
I began to sing.
The classroom immediately went quiet.
Everyone recognized the song.
It had been dominating the Myx music charts around that time, so it wasn’t exactly an obscure choice.
But for me, it meant something completely different.
I had heard that song countless times in my first life.
Now I was singing it again on the exact day I had first met Rosalie.
It felt almost as though the universe had handed me a second chance and decided to make the symbolism painfully obvious.
I kept my eyes on her whenever I could.
I had heard from her friends that this was her favorite song.
Back then, I hadn’t understood what that little detail meant.
Now, every lyric carried a different kind of weight.
I wasn’t simply singing for the class.
I was saying everything I had never managed to say.
I like you.
I wanted to tell you.
I wanted to walk you home.
I wanted to spend time with you.
I wanted you to be my girlfriend.
But I had been too afraid.
Too ashamed of my family’s poverty.
Too conscious of my worn-out clothes and shoes.
I had convinced myself that someone like me had no chance with someone like her.
Those fears were still part of my memories, but they no longer controlled me.
I had already survived a world war.
I had fought creatures that shouldn’t have existed.
I had watched cities disappear beneath alien attacks.
I had stood on another planet while humanity’s last army was being slaughtered.
Compared to that, standing in front of a classroom full of teenagers suddenly seemed almost ridiculous.
So I sang.
And I sang with everything I had.
My voice was steadier and more controlled than it had been in my first life.
Years of experience had changed me, even if my body had returned to that of a fourteen-year-old.
When I reached the final note, I let it linger for a moment before allowing my voice to fade.
For a brief moment, nobody said anything.
Then the classroom erupted.
Applause filled the room.
Several students shouted in surprise while others clapped enthusiastically.
Even the students who had been talking before I started singing were now staring at me.
I lowered my head slightly.
I tried to look modest.
I probably failed.
My teacher looked particularly surprised.
She stared at me for several seconds before shaking her head with an amused smile.
“Well, I certainly didn’t expect that.”
A few students laughed.
She looked at the book report in her hand before turning back to me.
“As promised, I’ll accept the book report.”
“Thank you, Ma’am.”
I gave her a small bow and stepped away from the desk.
As I headed toward the door, I glanced at Rosalie one more time.
Our eyes met.
This time, she didn’t immediately look away.
There was something in her expression that I couldn’t quite identify.
She looked embarrassed, but there was also curiosity there.
I smiled.
She immediately lowered her gaze.
I almost laughed.
Yep.
Definitely the same Rosalie.
I left the classroom with a quiet sense of satisfaction.
For decades, I had remembered this day as one of the happiest and most painful memories of my youth.
I remembered the song, the classroom, Rosalie’s reaction, and the way her friends eventually tried to bring us together.
Most of all, I remembered what I had done afterward.
I ran away.
Not because I didn’t like her.
Because I thought I wasn’t good enough for her.
That was one of the regrets I had carried with me for decades.
This time, things would be different.
As I walked down the corridor, I found myself smiling.
I already knew what would happen next.
Rosalie’s friends would probably approach me sooner or later and try to figure out whether I was interested in her.
This time, I wouldn’t make excuses.
I would talk to her.
If she wanted to walk home together, I would go with her.
If she wanted to get to know me, I would let her.
And if she didn’t feel the same way, I would accept that.
Knowing the future didn’t mean I could control another person’s feelings.
Rosalie wasn’t a memory waiting to repeat itself.
She was a person experiencing these moments for the first time.
If I wanted her in my life again, I would have to earn that relationship.
And this time, I intended to try.
That night, after dinner, I sat at my desk and stared at my worn-out school bag.
I needed money.
Not millions.
Not yet.
Right now, I had much more immediate problems.
My shoes were falling apart.
My school uniform had seen better days, and my bag looked like it had survived a war of its own.
I also barely had any decent clothes outside of my school uniform.
If I was going to start changing the future, I at least wanted to stop looking like I had just crawled out of a disaster zone.
I sighed and leaned back in my chair.
The problem was that I was fourteen.
I couldn’t exactly walk into a bank and start investing millions of pesos.
I didn’t even have enough money to replace everything I needed.
Then I remembered something.
Suertes.
My mother used to place bets whenever she had a little extra money.
I could still remember watching her buy a ticket when I was younger.
She wasn’t a serious gambler.
Most of the time, it was just a small bet—a little hope that perhaps she’d get lucky and bring home some extra money.
One particular memory suddenly came back to me.
My mother had placed a bet.
I had been standing beside her when the results came out.
She checked the number.
Then she sighed.
She hadn’t won.
It had been such an insignificant moment in my first life that I probably would have forgotten it if I were anyone else.
But I wasn’t.
HEMS didn’t let me forget.
I could still remember the place where we had been standing.
I could remember the piece of paper in her hand.
I could remember her expression.
And I could remember the result.
The winning number.
My eyes widened.
“Wait…”
I immediately grabbed my notebook and wrote it down.
There it was.
Three digits.
I stared at the number for several seconds.
I remembered it perfectly.
Of course, I couldn’t be completely certain that the result would remain unchanged.
I was already altering the timeline simply by being here.
But this was one of the earliest events I could remember clearly.
It was worth testing.
I left my room and found my mother in the kitchen.
“Mom?”
She looked at me.
“What is it?”
“Can I ask you for some money?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“For what?”
I hesitated for a moment.
“New shoes.
And a school uniform.
My bag is also pretty worn out.”
She looked at my shoes.
Then at my bag.
Her expression softened.
She probably hadn’t realized just how bad they had gotten.
“How much do you need?”
I thought about it.
I didn’t want to ask for too much.
“Maybe enough for a pair of shoes, a new uniform, a bag, and a couple of clothes.”
She nodded slowly.
“I’ll see what I can give you.”
Then I remembered the ticket.
I pulled out the small piece of paper on which I had written the three digits.
“Mom…
can you also place this number on a Suertes ticket?”
She looked at the paper.
“You’re betting now?”
“Just this once.”
She smiled faintly.
“Where did you get this number?”
I shrugged.
“I just have a feeling.”
She gave me a suspicious look, but eventually laughed.
“Fine.
I’ll put a small bet on it.”
I watched her take the paper.
For a moment, I felt strangely guilty.
My mother had no idea what was about to happen.
To her, it was just another small bet.
To me…
It was the first step toward changing the future.
I returned to my room and sat down at my desk.
If the number won, I would use some of the money for what I actually needed.
A proper pair of shoes.
A new school uniform.
A new bag.
A few decent clothes.
Nothing extravagant.
I didn’t want to suddenly start living like a rich kid.
The rest of the money will be used to help my parents.
They had spent their entire lives struggling just to keep our family afloat.
If I suddenly had a little extra money, the first thing I wanted to do was make their lives a little easier.
The Suertes bet was only a test.
I needed to know whether the future I remembered was still intact.
If that number came out as I remembered, then I would have my answer.
My next target would be the lottery.
Unlike Suertes, I wasn’t interested in winning a few thousand pesos.
I needed enough money to give me a real starting point—enough to establish a company without having to depend on investors or anyone else.
I knew there was a particular draw in the future.
I knew the date.
And I knew the winning numbers.
I opened my calendar and stared at the years ahead.
Then I circled the date.
My hand paused for a moment over the page.
That draw was still years away.
A lot could happen between now and then.
And if the Suertes result proved that my memories were still accurate, I would have much more confidence that this would work.
That jackpot would be the foundation of everything.
I wouldn’t waste it.
I would use it to establish a company and slowly build the infrastructure I needed.
The company would provide me with a legitimate source of income, access to equipment, connections, and eventually the resources necessary for much larger projects.
I would hire people I trusted.
Build facilities.
Acquire advanced equipment.
Establish a research laboratory somewhere in the Philippines.
And from there, I could finally begin working on the technology that would matter.
Industrial robots.
Automated manufacturing.
Advanced laboratories.
Machines capable of building other machines.
It wouldn’t happen overnight.
Even with all the knowledge I carried from my first life, I couldn’t simply recreate technology from the future with nothing but a notebook and a soldering iron.
I needed money.
I needed materials.
I needed equipment.
Most importantly, I needed time.
Fortunately, I had all three things that mattered most.
Knowledge.
A second life.
And years before the world fell apart.
I looked down at my shoes again.
One of them was split open badly enough that my toes were practically sticking out.
I sighed.
Apparently, changing humanity’s future wasn’t the only thing on my schedule.
I picked up my pen and wrote at the top of the page:
“Step one: Build enough wealth to change the future and definitely buy a new pair of shoes.”
I stared at the sentence for a moment.
Then I smiled.
The future was still far away.
For now, I had a family to help, a few things to replace, and a lottery ticket to test.
And if everything went according to the memories inside my head…
That would only be the beginning.
For the first time in two lifetimes, tomorrow didn’t feel like something I had to fear.
It felt like something I could build..