Those who awaken their abilities are transported to another world, and can return to Earth by fulfilling certain conditions. It was the defining phrase of the modern era, and the fundamental cause of society's slow-motion collapse.
On the television, a news anchor spoke in a grave tone. “—a fire has broken out in a commercial building in Jeonnam. Firefighting operations are currently underway.” The screen cut to B-roll of smoke billowing into the sky. “The arsonist fled the scene, and the Bureau of Ability Management suspects the perpetrator is an unregistered Awakened, committing crimes before their transfer.”
“Tensions are running especially high these days,” I muttered, turning my head away from the screen. It felt like incidents and accidents were a constant, churning storm on the horizon. Not that it mattered to me, holed up in my corner of the world.
A panelist on the TV show was saying, “The low survival rate of the initial transfer is what drives these selfish crimes. And then there’s the chaos that ensues when they return…”
The world hadn’t ended in the year 2000, despite all the predictions. More than twenty years had passed, and the planet was still spinning. No, not intact, I thought. It’s a mess. The world didn’t end, but humanity was forced to adapt to a terrifying new reality. I was just one of the casualties of that transition.
The sharp chime of the doorbell cut through the noise. I limped toward the intercom, my bad leg throbbing with a familiar, dull ache from the old accident.
“That time of the month already…?”
Through the security camera, a man with a composed, almost bored expression stood waiting.
“Hello. I’m from the Bureau of Ability Management’s Transfer Investigation Department. Are you Mr. Pathfinder?”
I opened the door to hear the same formal, rehearsed voice in person. We’d met a few times now, but his tone never changed.
“Yes. I assume you can tell.”
My bluntness didn’t faze the investigator. He simply scanned my face with a data pad, which beeped softly, and then offered a brisk farewell.
“Identity confirmed. Please remember to report to the Bureau of Ability Management if you awaken. Have a good day.”
Click.
My only interaction with an outsider in the last six months was over in less than a minute.
“These random awakenings and transfers make it impossible to know who’s vanished and when,” a voice from the TV panel argued. “That’s the root of the problem!”
“Legally, reporting upon awakening is mandatory, but when has this world ever run according to the rules? We need a more systematic, fundamental solution!”
I left the talking heads behind and hobbled to the kitchen.
“Oh, right. We’re out of food, aren’t we?”
Still, I opened the cupboard on a sliver of hope, only to be greeted by bare shelves.
I picked up my smartphone to order groceries, then set it back down.
“…Forget it. I’ll just order some takeout later.”
The accident had taken my family, my leg, and my courage. Since that day, my home had become my prison, my only links to the outside world a single friend and an internet connection. It was why I had to endure the bureau’s monthly calls and biannual check-ins.
“So, this transfer investigation is completely ineffective! It’s just bureaucratic nonsense…”
“But we can’t just sit idly by…”
Back in the living room, I let the television’s noise fade into the background and started the routine I’d followed for the past two years.
A collection of exercise equipment was crammed into one corner of the room. I worked through my rehabilitation exercises, the familiar strain a constant companion.
“…It’s all been for nothing.”
My body had grown stronger, healthier, but that was it. My true goal—to fully recover the use of my leg—remained as distant as ever.
Even knowing it was futile, I couldn't stop. The habit was ingrained. I’d told myself that if I could overcome this disability, I could conquer the trauma that came with it. If I gave up on this, it felt like there would be nothing left of me at all.
“Phew…”
A sudden wave of self-doubt washed over me. I set down a dumbbell and stared blankly at the ceiling. How did my life come to this? Surely there were others in the world just as unlucky as me. Why couldn’t I bear it? Why did the mere thought of stepping outside make my entire body tremble with fear?
If I’d had more courage, would things be different? If I had just forced myself out of this cage…
And just like that, I was drowning in the familiar tide of self-blame.
That was when the text appeared, hovering in the air before my eyes.
<Detection of a dimensional turning point. Accessing the Celestial Record.>
I shot up from my seat, my heart hammering against my ribs.
“What… what the hell is happening?”
Panic seized me in its icy grip. The awakening of an ability was synonymous with being transferred to another world. How was I supposed to survive out there when I couldn’t even step out my own front door?
But my circumstances were clearly irrelevant. The text continued to scroll, indifferent to my terror.
<Awakening complete. Unique skill ‘Avatar’ has been awakened.>
<24 hours left until transfer.>
With that final message, the world went black.
“Ugh… my head…”
A throbbing pain pulsed behind my eyes. When I came to, darkness had fallen outside. A parching thirst drove me to my feet. I stumbled to the kitchen and gulped down a glass of water, and it was only then that I realized something was different.
“Huh? My leg…”
I slowly moved the limb back and forth. The pain was gone. It wasn’t a complete recovery, but it felt significantly better than it had in years.
“Physical enhancement after awakening? If this keeps up, maybe I could actually heal all the way?”
The brief spark of hope died as reality crashed back in. A slightly better leg didn’t change the fact that I was a shut-in. What were the odds of surviving, growing stronger, and returning from another world?
“Who am I kidding? I’ll probably be dead within a week.”
Countless professional athletes and special forces soldiers had been transferred and never came back. What chance did I have?
Of course, that didn’t mean I was ready to lie down and die.
“Avatar… The system isn’t very helpful, is it?”
I already knew how it worked from what I’d read online. There were no intuitive, game-like status screens or detailed skill descriptions. You had to learn your own limits by pushing your body, and the only information you got on your skills was a basic concept imprinted directly into your mind. Your path was your own to forge.
“Might as well try it. Let’s see what this ‘clone’ can do.”
Activating the ability was surprisingly easy. I just had to focus, to will it, following the instinct that had been branded onto my consciousness.
I felt a strange sense of separation, a confirmation that my unique skill had worked.
Slowly, I opened my eyes.
Standing in front of me was myself. Clad in the same loose workout clothes, hair a mess, eyes wide with the same look of cautious observation as my own.
I checked myself for any changes. Nothing. I looked back at the clone. It was undeniably me. When it tilted its head, it felt like I was looking in a mirror.
We both extended our right hands. As they clasped, I felt the warmth of skin, a clear sign that this was no illusion but a tangible, physical entity.
Then, a wave of vertigo hit me.
We had been staring at each other, but I hadn’t realized our vision was overlapping. The effect was jarring when we stood face-to-face. I could see what was in front of me and, simultaneously, what was behind me.
With a second body to control, movement became a nightmare. My brain, trying to pilot two sets of limbs at once, kept getting the signals crossed. My arms and legs tangled. The extended field of vision was dizzying and alien, as if a new part of my brain had been grafted on to share a separate body.
It felt like my mind had been split in two.
But I had to get used to it. This was my only key to survival.
Grooowl…
…Come to think of it, I’d passed out without eating a thing.
First things first. Time for some chicken. You have to eat to live, after all.
A few hours later.
“This is impossible.”
As expected, it was too much. I had gotten the hang of it, somewhat. I could now summon and dismiss the avatar with ease, and as long as one body remained stationary, the other could move normally. But trying to move both at once was still a disaster. I stumbled constantly, and even then, I could only manage a slow, shuffling walk.
How was I supposed to survive out there when I could barely walk straight in here?
If I had more time, I might master it. But time was the one thing I didn't have.
“Right. Time to prepare for the transfer.”
I gathered the supplies I’d ordered and stored away long ago, just in case. Into a large pack went survival gear like a fire steel and a multi-tool, a sturdy utility knife, and easy-to-carry rations and water bottles. No real weapons were allowed; I knew from news reports that attempts to bring firearms through the transfer had failed, and even a simple knife was pushing the limits of what the system permitted.
Next came the protective gear: an open-face motorcycle helmet that wouldn’t block my vision, knee and elbow pads, and a reinforced vest. My parents had bought them before they passed, things I’d packed away in the warehouse, never thinking I’d actually use them.
“I can’t believe this is happening.”
I realized I hadn’t called my only friend. I tried his number, but it went straight to voicemail. He had mentioned being busy for a while, so it wasn't a complete surprise. A pang of disappointment hit me, but I pushed it down and sent him a text, trying to put all my gratitude into a few short lines, before putting the phone away.
Finally, I sat down and scrolled through the information I’d saved on the other worlds. The destination was random, and over a hundred different worlds had been discovered so far. There was no way to know where I would end up, but knowing something was better than knowing nothing.
The gnawing uncertainty about my unmastered ability, the fear of whether I could adapt to a hostile dimension—it all churned in my gut. But beneath the fear was a flicker of resolve, a stubborn determination to survive.
As I was trying to steady myself with a deep breath, a pale blue light bloomed on the floor beneath my feet.
<10 minutes left until transfer.>
I looked down at the glowing circle of the transfer marker. In ten minutes, I would stand on that spot and be thrown into another world, a place I didn't know, to fight for my life.
“They say your body doesn’t age by Earth’s clock while you’re over there, right? If I can just survive, that’s a huge advantage.”
The flow of time varied from world to world, but the average ratio was about ten to one.
“The standard return conditions take about a year on Earth to meet. That means surviving for ten years on the other side. Ten years… that’s no joke.”
The thought was so overwhelming that I instinctively took a step back, my foot leaving the glowing circle. Instantly, the blue light flared, turning a menacing red. The red glow was a clear warning: if the timer ran out like this, I’d be transferred forcibly, without any of my carefully packed gear. Sent there with nothing but the clothes on my back. As the reality of it hit me, my mind started to race again.
I suddenly remembered I hadn't reported my awakening to the Bureau of Ability Management, but it was far too late for that now. I pushed the thought away.
“Ah… if only someone else could go instead of me…”
It was a meaningless fantasy. In the twenty-odd years since the transfers began, people had tried everything. Even if someone else stood on the marker, it would stay red, ignoring them completely before forcibly teleporting the actual Awakened. The transfer marker only recognized its target.
Then, an idea flickered through my mind.
Wait. What if…? No, that’s impossible. But still…
I immediately summoned my Avatar. It appeared beside me, wearing the same loose clothes I had on, a stark contrast to the fully armed and packed version of myself I was picturing. Recalling the sensations from my practice, I clumsily directed the clone onto the transfer marker. As it stepped into the circle, the light began to change.
“It’s working! It’s—huh?”
The red light was indeed shifting back to blue, but it stopped halfway, settling into an unsettling violet. A sigh of disappointment escaped me as I stared at the strange glow.
“Well, I guess so. It was never going to be that easy.”
I was curious what would happen if the timer ran out while the light was violet, but I had no intention of experimenting. If I messed this up, my already minuscule chances of survival would drop to zero. It was a long shot, a 'try it and see' gambit, but I realized a part of me had been desperately hoping it would work.
Overwhelmed with disappointment, my legs gave out, and I slumped to the floor, glancing at the clock. Five minutes left. There was no more time for tricks. I had to face this.
I squeezed my eyes shut, taking one last, deep breath to steel myself. The world behind my eyelids vanished, replaced by a different view: the sight of my other self, heavily armed, sitting on the floor with its eyes closed. With one half of my perception now dark, my focus naturally drifted to the other. Without meaning to, my consciousness poured into the avatar.
And on the floor, the violet light of the transfer marker finally shifted, shining with a pure, brilliant blue.