Jack stared at the refle in the puddle.

  The face that looked back at him wasn't his.

  The fuck?

  His eyes widened as he leaned closer, rainwater dripping down his new features. His cheekbones were sharper, his skin smoother, his jawli quite the same.

  His old face had been rougher—a lifetime of fights and cigarettes had made sure of that. But this one?

  This one looked like it hadn't even seen a proper bar fight yet.

  He squinted.

  "Wait. Am I… Asian? White? What the fuck am I?"

  His new racially ambiguous features weren't helping.

  Jack tilted his head to the sky, rain hitting his face, a out a long, dramatic sigh.

  "Wow. I did so much good in my life… so the gods rewarded me with a fao one racially profile."

  He let the rain soak him a bit longer, processing the sheer absurdity of it all.

  Then—his brain clicked.

  A very important question popped into his head.

  His hands immediately shot downward.

  He checked.

  Then checked again.

  Then—

  "Holy shit."

  His eyes widened in awe.

  "This body has MORE than my past life."

  For a brief moment, he fot about everything else—the gunshots, the reination, the fact that he was very muot in his own body.

  Then, his brain caught up to the situation.

  His thoughts started pieg themselves together.

  He got shot the fuck up.

  Somehow, he was alive again.

  His soul must've been switched into this weakling's body.

  That means—his gang must've thought he was still inside his inal body.

  They loved him so much that they went through the trouble of iieology to save him.

  Jack pced a hand over his heart, pretending to brush away a tear.

  "Those bastards… they really do care."

  He sniffed dramatically.

  "They went to such lengths to switch my soul. But, sihey don't know I'm already sed… that means all I have to do is find my way bay boss."

  It all made perfect sense in his head.

  Now—he just had to walk back to his gang ahem he was alive.

  Simple pn.

  Except—

  Jack pushed through the pain, staggering to his feet. Every inch of his new body hurt like hell, but pain was nothio him.

  He stumbled out of the alleyway, rain dripping off his tattered clothes, and onto a dimly lit street.

  Somethi… off.

  The cars that passed by looked older. The billboards above him weren't right. The air even smelled different—less like pollution, more like cigarette smoke and cheap gasoline.

  His gut twisted.

  Jack spotted a street vendor, an old man grilling skewers under a pstic tarp.

  He staggered forward, pnting both hands on the vendor's cart.

  "Uncle," Jack rasped. "What year is this?"

  The vendor blinked. "Huh?"

  Jack's eyes narrowed. "Just tell me. What year is it? Or else this world is in danger."

  The vendor raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious of the half-soaked kid demanding the current year like a lunatic.

  "2002, kid. Now get lost."

  Silence.

  Jack's eye twitched.

  "…Excuse me?"

  Not 2025.

  Not the year he got shot up at the wedding.

  No, no.

  Twenty. Fug. Years. Ago.

  Jack just stood there, eyes vat, brain buffering like a shitty i e.

  Then, finally, he muttered—

  "What the actual fuck?"

  The rain tinued p.

  Jack stood frozen in the rain, his new reality sinking in.

  He was in 2002.

  Not 2025. Twenty. Fug. Years. Ago.

  But instead of panig like a normal person, his brain immediately started doial gymnastics worthy of an Olympic medal.

  He crossed his arms, nodding to himself. "Alright, let's break this down. My gang, out of sheer love for me, must've worked themselves to the brink of death to revive me."

  He rubbed his . "BUT—because they were w so hard, they pushed the soul-switg mae to its limit… and it malfuned."

  His eyes lit up with uanding.

  "That's it! The soul-switcher must've overloaded, transformed into a goddamn time mae, and BOOM—my new body got flung back to 2002!"

  He snapped his fingers, feeling immensely proud of himself.

  "Damn, my boys really went all out for me. Evehey fuck up, they still put in the effort. Much love."

  Jack grinned.

  "Well, no use w about it. I'm young again. With a big dick. Might as well enjoy this leisure time!"

  Then—his stomach growled so loud it startled a pigeon nearby.

  Jack grimaced, pg a hand over his gut. "Jesus. How many nights has this body gohout food?"

  He finally took a good look at himself. His clothes were damp and dirty, his limbs thihan he was used to, and his stomach felt painfully hollow.

  He sighed.

  "Alright, guess first order of business—cash."

  And there was only ohing Jack Hou knew better than gang politid crag jokes at the worst moments—

  Pickpocketing.

  Jack moved through the busy streets, eyes sing the crowd like a predator hunting prey.

  It was almost too easy.

  Rich businessmen, distracted couples, tourists who had no idea how atown worked—all perfect targets.

  His fingers moved swiftly, slipping into coat pockets, brushing against belts, tugging wallets out like he was born for this.

  By the time the sun was high in the sky, Jack had already collected several wallets, each heavier tha.

  "Damn," he muttered, flipping through the stolen goods. "Even my past self wasn't this effit. Guess I leveled up in my past life."

  But Jack wasn't careless.

  He ducked into an alley, took out a pstic bag, and started s:IDs, ATM cards, and important dots—separated ly.Cash—his, obviously.Wallets themselves?

  Jack grinned. He kly what to do with them.

  He strolled up to a wallet vendor, a grumpy old man selling cheap knockoff leather goods under a flickering neon sign.

  Jack smmed a pile of wallets onto the ter. "Alright, boss, let's talk business."

  The vendor squinted. "Where the hell did you get these?"

  Jack smiled. "I'm in the recyg business. Trying to save the enviro."

  The vendor raised an eyebrow. "You're selling stolen wallets to a wallet vendor?"

  Jack leaned in, l his voice. "I prefer the term 'pre-owned.'"

  The old man exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. "How much you want?"

  Jack griapping the ter. "Nah, boss. How much are YOU willing to pay?"

  The haggling began.

  The vendor lowballed him hard, but Jack wasn't a fool.

  He kly what they were worth.

  After a few minutes uing, fake walking away, and mutual insults, Jack finally sold off the wallets—except for one.

  One for himself.

  He pocketed the cash, flipping through the bills with satisfa before tug them ly into his new wallet.

  Jack stretched, crag his knuckles. "Ahhh. Such a tiring day. All in a day's ho work."

  The vendor stared at him bnkly.

  Jack winked. "Stay sustainable, old man."

  And then he walked off, whistling a tune.

  With cash in his pocket and nothing to do but enjoy his success, Jack sauntered up to a noodle stall, the st of hot broth and garlic making his stomach cry tears of joy.

  The noodle dy, an auh sharp eyes and a well-worn apron, g him. "What do you want, kid?"

  Jack smmed his hand on the ter dramatically. "Three portions of noodles, please!"

  The auntie squinted. "Three? You sure you finish that?"

  Jack grinned, patting his stomach. "Auntie, I'm about to make those noodles fear for their lives."

  She rolled her eyes but got to work.

  Jack leaned back, hands behind his head, the smell of food filling the air.

  New body. New era. Same bullshit.

  And holy?

  He was kinda having fun already.

  …

  Jack leaned ba his chair, arms spread out, staring at the five empty bowls in front of him.

  The noodle stall auched him with a mix of amazement and judgment.

  Jack patted his stomach. "Damn. I still eat like I was in my st body."

  The auntie scoffed. "Kid, you ate like you were feeding aire vilge."

  Jack grinned, flipping a few bills onto the ter. "You should be grateful, Auntie. I just funded your retirement."

  She snatched the money, muttering something about "damn bottomless pits", but Jack was already up and walking.

  The pain that had racked his body earlier was gone, repced by a fortable warmth.

  Fresh body, full stomach, good weather.

  For the first time since waking up in this mess of a new life, Jack actually felt great.

  Then, of course, the universe decided to ruin it.

  Jack strolled through the streets, hands in his pockets, whistling to himself, when—

  "Hey, Bob!"

  Jack kept walking.

  "Hey, you deaf or something?!"

  Jack frowned, looking around. Bob? Who the hell is Bob?

  Then, a rge hand cmped down on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

  Jack turned slowly and found himself face-to-face with a group of kids—five of them, all around his new body's age, led by a taller, broad-shouldered brat with a shaved head and a cocky grin.

  Jack raised an eyebrow. "What do you want?"

  The leader sneered. "Why are you still here, Bob?"

  Jack blinked. "Bob?"

  He looked over his shoulder—maybe there was someone behind him?

  Nope.

  The kid leader crossed his arms. "I'm talking to you, Bob."

  Jack's brain gged for a sed.

  Then it clicked.

  They think I'm this Bob kid.

  Jack sighed, shaking his head. "Sorry, wrong guy. I'm Jack Hou."

  The kids stared at him like he just spoke alien.

  Jack shrugged and walked past them, ued in dealing with child gangsters.

  That should've been the end of it.

  But the leader grabbed him by the colr and yanked him back.

  Jack stumbled slightly, feeling that familiar heat of irritation rise.

  He cracked his neck, letting out a long breath.

  "Okay. Now you've do."

  He grinned, eyes fshing with something dangerously amused. "So? You guys gonna attack me or what?"

  The kids exged ghen lunged.

  Jack sidestepped the first punch, his body moving on instinct—but the movement wasn't as fast as he expected.

  Shit. This body's slower.

  He ducked under a sed swing a for a ter-punch to the leader's gut.

  WHIFF.

  Jack's fist barely grazed the kid's stomach.

  The leader didn't even flinch.

  Jack blinked. "Huh."

  Then a fist clocked him across the jaw.

  Pain exploded through his face, and Jack stumbled back, toug his cheek in shock.

  I… just got punched by a kid. And it actually hurt.

  The leader ughed. "What's wrong, Bob? You finally get tired of being a pung bag?"

  Jack licked the inside of his cheek, tasting a bit of blood.

  He took a deep breath.

  "Okay."

  "Okay."

  "New body. Weak as shit. Noted."

  The sed kid rushed him, throwing a sloppy but aggressive punch.

  Jack caught the wrist and twisted, but instead of flipping the kid easily like he was used to—

  The kid barely moved.

  Jack had to use more effort, and evehe kid just stumbled, not fell.

  "Oh, you gotta be kidding me."

  Jack had spent years training in street fights, gang brawls, underground arenas. He knew how to fight. But this body?

  This body wasn't built for it.

  It was weaker. Slower. Less refined.

  Jack had to throw three, four punches just to do the damage that should've taken one.

  The kids piled onto him, fists swinging. Jack tanked most of them, tering where he could, but he had to work ten times harder to nd solid hits.

  He grabbed one kid by the colr and headbutted him—only for his own skull t in pain.

  "FUCK—"

  Another punch hit his ribs, making him wheeze.

  Alright, enough pying.

  Jack adjusted, using footwork instead of brute strength.

  He bobbed and weaved, dodging just enough to keep from getting overwhelmed.

  Then he fought smarter—targeting khroats, ots.

  One kid went down clutg his shin. Aaggered back, holding his neck.

  It wasn't pretty, but after a messy, drawn-out brawl, Jack finally stood victorious, panting, hands on his knees.

  The leader groaned on the ground, clutg his stomach.

  Jack wiped sweat from his forehead, exhaling. "Shit. That was embarrassing."

  The leader gritted his teeth. "What the hell's wrong with you?!"

  Jack grinned, ign the bruises f on his arms. "Nothing. Just gotta get used to this new body."

  The kids stared at him like he was insane.

  Jack stretched, rolling his shoulders.

  "Alright, that was fun. But ime, if you wanna jump me, at least bring snacks. Fighting makes my stomach empty."

  And with that, he walked away, leaving the gang of kids in the alley, too fused aen to do anything.