The campus was still quiet as Nick jogged toward the athletic complex, early enough that most students were still asleep. He knew the facility officially opened at 6:00 AM, giving him the privacy he needed. The morning air carried a hint of autumn crispness as he moved across the empty pathways with calculated strides.
The athletic complex was nearly deserted, just a sleepy-eyed student employee manning the front desk who barely looked up from her textbook as Nick scanned his ID. He made his way to the smaller training rooms at the back of the facility, finding one equipped with mats and training equipment. Perfect.
Nick locked the door behind him, ensuring privacy for what he was about to attempt. He began with his standard regimen—push-ups, pull-ups, and core work—but today he would add complexity. Each movement flowed into the next with a warrior's precision, his body remembering forms and stances from battlefields centuries gone.
"Let's see what this body can really do," he murmured to himself, moving to the center of the training mat.
Nick closed his eyes, visualizing one of Arlize's most challenging training sequences—a series of movements that required perfect balance, explosive power, and controlled precision. He'd never attempted anything remotely similar in his previous life.
His body moved without hesitation, muscle and sinew responding to commands from another lifetime. A spinning kick transitioned seamlessly into a low defensive stance, then an explosive series of strikes against an imaginary opponent. The movements felt as natural as breathing, yet impossibly advanced for someone with no formal martial training.
As he performed his final set of movements, Nick noticed something new—a faint blue glow emanating from his forearms, visible only for a split second between movements.
The sight triggered something deep within his consciousness—
The battlefield stretched before him, littered with the fallen. Rain pelted down, turning earth to mud as lightning split the sky. Arlize stood at the center of a clearing, surrounded by seven elite guardsmen in black armor, their enchanted blades gleaming with malevolent purpose.
"Surrender, Commander," their leader called. "Even you cannot defeat us all."
Arlize's hands rose slowly, palms upward. The blue glow began as a mere shimmer around his fingertips, then intensified—brightening until it enveloped his entire arms in crackling azure flame. The energy pulsed in perfect rhythm with his heartbeat, illuminating the rain-soaked battlefield with otherworldly light.
"I am Arlize Dentragon," he answered, voice carrying above the storm. "I do not surrender."
The men attacked as one, a coordinated assault that would have overwhelmed any ordinary warrior. But Arlize was far from ordinary. His movements blurred, the blue energy extending from his limbs like phantom blades. Each strike carried impossible force, each defensive move creating shields of solid light.
Within moments, six of the seven attackers lay incapacitated, their magical weapons shattered by the pure energy Arlize commanded. The leader, last standing, stared in disbelief.
"What manner of magic is this?" he whispered.
Arlize's eyes glowed with the same azure light that encased his body. "Not magic," he corrected. "Something far older."
Nick gasped, stumbling out of his stance as the vision receded. He caught himself against the wall, breathing heavily as he stared at his hands. The faint blue glow was already fading, but he'd definitely seen it—power that shouldn't exist in this world. He glanced quickly at the locked door, ensuring no one had witnessed what just happened.
Sweat beaded on his forehead as he pushed himself harder, testing not just Arlize's combat training but his own endurance. If he was going to face whatever threats awaited him, his body needed to be a weapon as sharp as his mind. But that vision—the raw power Arlize had commanded—it was both exhilarating and terrifying to contemplate.
By the time he finished, his muscles burned pleasantly, but he noted something strange—he wasn't nearly as fatigued as he should be. Recovery times that would have taken days in his previous life now seemed to require only hours. Another advantage of this merged existence.
Nick showered in the empty locker room, his mind already shifting to the day's strategic objectives while part of him still processed the implications of the vision. The Business Leaders Association had scheduled an informal happy hour that evening—an opportunity he wouldn't have recognized in his previous life but now saw as invaluable for networking with upperclassmen who had already navigated the waters he was preparing to enter.
Nick had deliberately kept his Fridays completely free of classes, so after showering and changing into fresh clothes he made his way to the campus café for a protein-rich breakfast. Unlike the crowded chaos it would become by mid-morning, at 8:15 AM the café was nearly empty, occupied only by a few bleary-eyed students with early classes and a couple of professors reviewing notes over coffee.
Nick selected a high-protein meal—eggs, turkey bacon, and whole grain toast—fuel designed to optimize his recovery after the intense training session. As he ate methodically, he pulled out his tablet and began reviewing his weekly progress notes. The quiet morning hours were perfect for his next priority: intelligence gathering.
First, he created a secure document detailing his observations of the military-postured student from his Statistics class. Physical description, behavioral patterns, possible affiliations—all categorized with the precision Arlize had once used to profile potential threats. Nick added a note about the man's positioning outside his dorm last night, mapping patterns that might reveal his purpose.
Next, he compiled what he knew about Jordan, noting the inconsistencies in his behavior—the carefully casual demeanor that sometimes slipped to reveal something more calculated underneath. Nick began cross-referencing Jordan's claimed background with public records accessible through the university's alumni database, looking for verification or discrepancies.
By 9:30, Nick had moved to the engineering building, ostensibly to use their specialized computer lab. His real purpose was to observe the early morning routine of Maggie Zhang, the engineering prodigy whose hacking skills he planned to eventually recruit. He didn't approach her—not yet—but noted her schedule, work habits, and social connections. Building a profile for future use.
The next two hours were dedicated to methodical reconnaissance of campus resources he would need in the coming weeks. Nick visited the business school's research center, casually inquiring about access to market analysis databases he would need for his Coleman Fellowship application. He toured the newly renovated entrepreneurship lab, noting the schedule of visiting speakers—potential connections to cultivate.
Most importantly, he spent time in the administrative building, carefully mapping the office locations of key faculty and staff who controlled access to resources he would need. Professor Williams' office suite, Dean Harrison's corner office, the financial aid department that processed fellowship applications—all added to his mental map of the university's power structure.
Every location was assessed through Arlize's tactical perspective: entry points, security measures, staff routines, and potential surveillance. Not because he planned anything illicit, but because information was power, and knowing the landscape was the first step in any successful campaign.
By noon, Nick had claimed his preferred corner in the library's third floor—quiet, with good sightlines to both entrances, and minimal foot traffic. He spread out his materials, setting up his workspace with the disciplined precision of a commander preparing a war table.
First, the Coleman Fellowship application. Nick studied the requirements again, mentally calculating his approach:
Research proposal: something innovative but not suspiciously brilliant. Accessible enough to impress but not so revolutionary as to raise questions about how a freshman conceived it.
He began drafting several potential topics, weighing each against what he knew of the selection committee's interests. Dean Harrison from Finance had published extensively on emerging market volatility. Professor Kelley's work focused on consumer behavior in digital environments. And then there was the Callahan Industries representative—likely someone focused on corporate growth strategies, given the company's aggressive expansion over the past decade.
Nick paused, a memory surfacing from his previous life—a campus news article about the previous year's fellowship winners. One had researched sustainable supply chain management, a topic that had gained significant traction shortly after. The timing seemed deliberate in retrospect, as if Callahan Industries had been seeking research that aligned with planned initiatives.
Information asymmetry is power, Nick reminded himself, jotting down "predictive market analysis in sustainable technologies" as his leading proposal concept. The topic would interest all three committee members while giving him legitimate reasons to research sectors where he already knew future developments.
As he worked, Nick sensed a familiar presence approaching. He didn't need to look up to recognize the deliberate footfalls and carefully casual gait.
"Didn't expect to find you here on a Friday afternoon," Sarah said, sliding into the chair across from him, uninvited. "Most freshmen are already pre-gaming for tonight."
Nick looked up, his expression neutral despite the jolt of aversion her presence triggered. "Just finishing some work."
Sarah's eyes scanned his materials, lingering on the Coleman Fellowship application. "Ambitious," she remarked, one perfectly shaped eyebrow rising slightly. "That's typically for upperclassmen."
"Professor Williams suggested I apply," Nick replied, deliberately returning his attention to his notes rather than engaging with her surprise.
"Williams suggested it?" Something flashed across Sarah's face—annoyance, perhaps, or recalculation. "Interesting. Matt's already preparing his application too."
Of course he is, Nick thought, remembering how in his previous life, Matt had casually mentioned winning the fellowship during junior year—as if it had been a minor achievement rather than a deliberately cultivated advantage.
"Good for him," Nick said, keeping his tone neutral as he continued writing.
Sarah leaned forward slightly, her perfume—jasmine with undertones of vanilla—wafting across the table. A scent that had once intoxicated him now registered as a calculated choice, designed to create specific associations.
"So you're definitely not coming tonight?" she asked, her tone carrying a hint of challenge. "It's going to be the social event of the semester. Everyone who matters will be there."
Nick set down his pen and met her gaze directly. "I've got prior commitments."
"With who?" Sarah pressed, disbelief evident in her tone. "You've barely talked to anyone all week except that Jordan guy from your dorm."
She's been tracking my social interactions, Nick realized. Taking inventory of potential influences.
"The Business Leaders Association," Nick replied, allowing himself a small smile as surprise registered on her face. "We're meeting up before I head back to work on this application."
Sarah recovered quickly, her expression shifting to one of casual interest. "Tyler Davidson's group? I didn't realize you'd connected with them already."
"Just expanding my network," Nick said with deliberate casualness, gathering his papers into a neat stack. "Was there something specific you needed, Sarah? I'm trying to stay focused here."
For a moment, Sarah's carefully constructed facade wavered, irritation bleeding through her practiced charm. But she recovered with practiced ease, standing gracefully.
"Just checking in," she said lightly. "Matt and I miss having you around. When you're ready to hangout again, the invitation stands."
Nick watched her leave, noting the subtle tension in her shoulders despite her confident stride. Another data point. Sarah wasn't accustomed to being dismissed, especially by someone she'd previously had wrapped around her finger.
Turning back to his work, Nick focused on completing his fellowship outline. By four o'clock, he had drafted a compelling research proposal centered on predictive modeling for sustainable tech markets. The proposal was solid—sophisticated enough to stand out without raising suspicions about a freshman's capabilities.
With that completed, Nick shifted to his second priority: mapping out investment opportunities. Using Arlize's memory techniques, he created a detailed timeline of market events he recalled from his previous life, coded in a shorthand only he could decipher.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Helios Pharmaceuticals' breakthrough announcement in six weeks was just the beginning. He noted several other key opportunities:
- Maxwell Technologies' battery innovation announcement (3 months)
- Riverbend Software's security vulnerability discovery (5 months)
- Nexus Virtual Technologies' neural interface patent (18 months)
- Global semiconductor shortage beginning (10 months)
Each event represented a potential opportunity to multiply his initial investment, creating the financial foundation he would need to operate independently.
As the library began to empty for the evening, Nick packed up his materials and headed back to his dorm to prepare for the BLA happy hour. He changed into dark jeans and a crisp button-down shirt—professional but not trying too hard—and made his way to McAlary Brews, the casual bar where the group had arranged to meet.
McAlary Brews buzzed with Friday evening energy, the warm glow of copper fixtures and wood paneling creating an atmosphere both relaxed and sophisticated. The bar smelled of hops and cedar, with undertones of the day's special—some kind of bourbon-glazed appetizer that filled the air with sweet-smoky notes. Classic rock played at a volume perfectly calibrated to permit conversation without forcing people to shout. Students occupied most tables, their laughter and animated conversations creating a tapestry of sound that rose and fell in organic rhythms.
Nick spotted Tyler Davidson holding court at a large corner booth, already surrounded by about eight other students. He approached with confident strides, nodding in greeting as Tyler looked up.
"Nick Valiente," Tyler called, gesturing to an empty spot. "Glad you could make it. We were just talking about Professor Williams' latest corporate valuation model."
Nick slid into the indicated space, noting the mix of students—mostly juniors and seniors, judging by their confident postures and easy familiarity.
"Nick's the freshman I mentioned," Tyler said to the group. "The one who actually knew about the mentorship program before I even mentioned it."
A senior with close-cropped dark hair extended his hand. "James Mercer, Finance concentration. How'd you know about the mentorship program? Most freshmen are still trying to find the library."
"I believe in thorough research," Nick replied with a modest shrug, accepting the handshake. "The program's too valuable to miss due to simple lack of information."
"Smart approach," said an Asian woman to his left, her business casual attire suggesting she'd come straight from an internship. "Alexa Kim, third-year Marketing and Data Analytics. I wish I'd been that strategic as a freshman."
The conversation flowed easily after that, with Nick carefully balancing between demonstrating knowledge and appearing appropriately deferential to the upperclassmen's experience. He extracted valuable insights about professors' grading tendencies, corporate recruitment patterns, and the tacit hierarchies within the business school—all information that would have taken months to gather in his previous life.
"So, Valiente," said a senior named Marcus after their second round of drinks, "Tyler tells us you're applying for the Coleman Fellowship already. Bold move."
Nick detected no hostility in the observation, only genuine curiosity. "Professor Williams suggested it. I figure the worst they can say is wait until next year."
"Williams actually suggested it?" Alexa raised an eyebrow. "That's unusual. He's notoriously selective about who he encourages."
"What's your proposal focus?" asked James, leaning forward with interest.
Nick shared a carefully edited version of his research concept, watching as genuine interest sparked in their eyes.
"That's... actually really insightful," Marcus admitted, looking impressed despite himself. "Especially the predictive modeling component for emerging sustainability techs. That's exactly the kind of thing Callahan Industries has been exploring lately."
"Is it?" Nick asked innocently, as if this were new information. "That's good to know."
"Their new VP of Strategy gave a talk last semester about their five-year sustainability initiatives," Alexa explained. "They're positioning to be ahead of anticipated regulatory changes."
"Anticipated by whom?" Nick asked, seeing an opportunity to gather more intelligence.
James lowered his voice slightly. "Word is, Matthew Harrington Sr. has some inside track with the regulatory committees. The company always seems to pivot just before major policy shifts."
Nick filed this information away carefully. Another connection between Matt's family and potential insider information—perhaps related to the neural interface technology that would eventually emerge.
The conversation shifted to campus social life, with Tyler mentioning the Alpha Phi party scheduled for later that evening.
"We usually head over after happy hour," Tyler explained. "You're welcome to join us, Nick."
Nick checked his watch, feigning regret. "Unfortunately, I need to head back soon. Early commitment tomorrow morning."
"On a Saturday?" Marcus laughed. "Man, you really are dedicated."
"Just trying to make the most of the time I have," Nick replied with a slight smile. "This was great, though. I appreciate the invitation."
"You should come to our Tuesday meetings," Alexa suggested. "We have alumni speakers every other week, and the networking is invaluable."
"I'll be there," Nick promised, sensing he'd successfully established himself as serious but personable—exactly the impression he'd aimed for.
As the group prepared to head to the Alpha Phi house, Nick exchanged contact information with several members, cementing the connections he'd made. Strategic social capital, building steadily.
The walk back to campus gave Nick time to process what he'd learned. The BLA represented potential allies, mentors, and information sources—all resources he'd failed to cultivate in his previous life. And the intelligence about Callahan Industries' advance knowledge of regulatory changes added another piece to the puzzle he was assembling.
Something about James' comment regarding Matthew Harrington Sr.'s "inside track" nagged at Nick's memory. He diverted his path toward the library, which would still be open for another hour. There was something about Callahan Industries he needed to verify—something from his previous life that suddenly felt significant in light of this new information.
In the library's computer lab, Nick logged into a terminal and began searching for information on Callahan Industries' regulatory activities over the past five years. The company's public profile showed a pristine record of compliance and innovation, with carefully curated press releases highlighting their environmental initiatives and ethical business practices.
But as Nick dug deeper, searching for specific information about their neural interface investments—the technology that would eventually revolutionize the gaming industry in his previous timeline—he encountered unusual obstacles. Links that should have led to patent filings returned error messages. News articles mentioned in search results showed up as "Page Not Found" when clicked. Academic papers referencing early neural interface technology developed by Callahan subsidiaries had been redacted or removed from databases entirely.
Most disturbing were the gaps in his own memory. Nick could recall the general outline of Nexus Virtual Technologies' breakthrough and Callahan Industries' eventual acquisition of the smaller company, but specific details—names of key researchers, exact timelines, technical specifications—seemed frustratingly blurred, as if someone had selectively erased portions of his recollection.
"They're systematically scrubbing information," Nick murmured, scrolling through yet another dead end. This wasn't normal corporate secrecy; this was active information suppression. And somehow, it seemed to have affected even his memories from a future that hadn't happened yet.
The implications were chilling. If Callahan Industries had the power and reach to remove information so thoroughly from public records, what else were they capable of? And was there a connection between their neural interface technology and his unexplained rebirth with Arlize's memories?
The library's closing announcement interrupted his thoughts. Nick logged off, erasing his browsing history before leaving. This wasn't just about Matt and Sarah anymore. Something much larger was at play—something that might explain why he'd been given this second chance at all.
As Nick approached his dorm building, he spotted a familiar figure—the military-postured student from his Statistics class, standing near the entrance, seemingly engaged with his phone. The man glanced up as Nick approached, their eyes meeting briefly before the stranger returned his attention to his screen with practiced casualness.
Not a coincidence, Nick thought, Arlize's tactical instincts humming. The man's positioning offered a clear view of everyone entering or exiting the building, and his apparently relaxed posture belied the alertness in his eyes.
Nick entered the building, maintaining an unhurried pace while heightening his awareness. He climbed the stairs to his floor, mind working through possibilities. Was the man watching him specifically? Or perhaps Jordan? Or someone else entirely?
As he reached for his door key, Jordan's door opened suddenly, as if he'd been waiting for the sound of footsteps in the hallway.
"Hey, man," Jordan greeted with his usual casual smile, though Nick noticed his eyes were sharper than his tone suggested. "Just heading out?"
"Just got back, actually," Nick replied, using the moment to glance past Jordan into his room.
The space beyond was an eclectic mix—band posters covering one wall, a guitar propped in the corner next to a bowl of neatly folded clothes. The desk was organized with almost military precision, pens and notebooks arranged at perfect right angles. Yet the bed remained unmade, sheets tangled as if from restless sleep. The contrasting elements struck Nick as deliberately inconsistent—like a set designed to convey a specific impression rather than a naturally inhabited space.
"Business club thing," Nick explained, nodding toward Jordan's jacket. "You headed to Alpha Phi?"
"Yeah, thought I'd check it out," Jordan confirmed. "Figured you'd be there already, to be honest."
"Not my scene," Nick said with a shrug. "I've got work to do on the Coleman fellowship application."
"On a Friday night?" Jordan raised an eyebrow, his expression a careful mix of amusement and admiration. "That's dedication, man."
"Just prioritizing," Nick replied, using the same phrase he'd given Sarah earlier.
"Well, I won't see you tomorrow—heading home briefly for a family thing," Jordan said, adjusting his jacket. "But we're still on for Sunday study session, right?"
"Absolutely," Nick confirmed. "Noon in the library study rooms."
"Perfect. See you then," Jordan said, heading toward the stairs with the same carefully calibrated casualness Nick had observed before.
Nick entered his room, closing the door firmly behind him. He stood motionless for a moment, extending his senses as Arlize would have done, checking for any signs his space had been disturbed in his absence. Everything appeared untouched, but something felt subtly different.
Trust your instincts, Nick reminded himself. He performed a careful sweep, checking the specific patterns in which he'd left items on his desk, the precise angle of his chair, the exact folding of his bed covers. Nothing was visibly disturbed, yet the faint scent of unfamiliar cologne lingered in the air—so subtle it might have been dismissed as hallucination by anyone without Arlize's enhanced senses.
Someone had been in his room. Someone careful enough to disturb nothing, but not careful enough to account for scent.
Nick's jaw tightened, but he felt cold calculation rather than panic. This was why he'd kept his most sensitive materials either on his person or encrypted within his laptop. Still, the intrusion confirmed what he'd already suspected—he was being watched.
By whom? Jordan was the obvious suspect, given his suspicious behavior and convenient placement across the hall. But that raised another question—who was Jordan working for? Matt's family? Some university security team? Or something else entirely?
Nick settled at his desk, opening his laptop to continue work on his Coleman application. He would proceed as planned, giving no indication he'd detected the intrusion. Let them think their surveillance was unnoticed while he gathered more information.
With his Coleman application draft completed, Nick checked the time—almost midnight. His body needed rest, but his mind was still processing the day's revelations: the information about Callahan Industries, the evidence of someone searching his room, the military-postured student's surveillance.
Before sleep, Nick decided to attempt another meditation session, hoping to access more of Arlize's memories or abilities. The blue glow he'd glimpsed that morning warranted investigation.
He settled into the cross-legged position on his bed, back straight, hands resting lightly on his knees. Four counts in. Hold for seven. Out for eight. He directed his focus inward, seeking that distinct presence he now recognized as Arlize's consciousness.
This time, instead of passively waiting for memories to surface, Nick actively searched for information about the strange blue glow. He visualized the color, focusing on the sensation he'd experienced during his morning exercises.
A memory unfolded—Arlize standing alone in a stone chamber deep beneath the royal palace, surrounded by runes etched into the walls. The warrior-mage held his hands before him, concentrating as a faint blue luminescence emanated from his skin.
"Aether manifestation," came the explanation in Arlize's voice, though no one else was present in the memory. "The physical embodiment of magical potential, visible only when properly channeled."
Nick felt a surge of understanding. This wasn't just a memory—it was knowledge transfer, direct and immediate. He instinctively understood that Arlize had been practicing a foundational technique for channeling magical energy, something taught only to the most promising students of the arcane arts.
Following the memory's guidance, Nick shifted his focus to his own hands, imagining energy flowing through his body and concentrating in his palms. At first, nothing happened. Then, like a match striking in darkness, a faint blue luminescence appeared around his fingers—barely visible, but undeniably real.
The sight was so startling that Nick lost his balance, toppling sideways off his bed with a thud. The glow vanished instantly as his concentration broke. Heart racing, he pulled himself up from the floor, staring at his hands in disbelief.
This wasn't just muscle memory or enhanced awareness. This was something physically impossible—tangible energy manifesting through thought alone. Magic, for lack of a better word, in a world where such things shouldn't exist.
"What the hell am I becoming?" Nick whispered to the empty room.
The memory of Arlize provided no answer, but Nick sensed this was only the beginning. Whatever connection existed between them was growing stronger, more integrated. The implications were both thrilling and terrifying.
As he finally lay down to sleep, Nick's mind raced with possibilities. If he could access Arlize's magical abilities as well as his memories and skills, the advantage it would give him was incalculable. But it also raised profound questions about his own identity and the nature of his rebirth.
Was he still Nick Valiente with Arlize's memories? Or was he becoming something else entirely—a fusion of two souls across different worlds?
One thing was certain: whatever power this was, he would master it. Control it. Use it.
His first week at Westlake University was ending, the pieces moving into position on his mental chessboard. He had established his academic credentials, made strategic social connections, initiated his financial independence plan, and identified potential allies and enemies. The foundation was laid.
Now the real game could begin.
As Nick drifted toward sleep, the memory of Arlize standing before the Emperor's council surfaced again—the warrior's determination to expose betrayal not through rash confrontation but through methodical, irrefutable evidence.
"Patience is the deadliest weapon," Arlize had once said to his most trusted lieutenant. "A sword stroke can be blocked, but the slow, invisible approach of true justice cannot."
Nick smiled grimly in the darkness. Let Matt, Sarah, and whoever else was watching think they held the advantage. Their overconfidence would be their undoing.
His consciousness was just beginning to fade when a soft vibration jolted him awake. Nick reached for his phone, blinking at the bright screen. An automated alert from one of his security protocols: 'Unauthorized access attempt detected on encrypted file: NK_TS_INV.dat.'