"Do you want to use the life simulator?"
"Yes," Tony Snow thought.
"You are twenty-one years old and preparing for postgraduate entrance exams, aiming for MIT."
"At twenty-two, despite your hard work, you didn't get into MIT. You were instead admitted to a mid-tier graduate school, becoming a struggling master's student."
"At twenty-four, in your second year of postgraduate studies, you finally found a partner. Using knowledge you had acquired in past simulations, you designed an experiment and tried to publish a paper. Your advisor stole your work. You reported them, and in retaliation, were expelled."
"At twenty-five, you took the exams again and were admitted to a top-tier university, majoring in biomedical sciences."
"At twenty-six, you successfully used your knowledge to run a new experiment and published an SCI-indexed paper."
"At twenty-seven, you died from an illness."
"…Again?" Tony frowned. "Why do I always die before thirty? This time from an illness? Could it be that after switching to biomedical research, I exposed myself to more biological risks?"
The simulation ended, and the familiar selection screen appeared:
Simulation complete. Choose one to keep:
Knowledge at age twenty-seven.
Experience at age twenty-seven.
Skills at age twenty-seven.
"I'll take Option One," Tony decided again, prioritizing accumulated knowledge over hands-on skills.
As the flood of memories filled his mind, Tony considered: "Maybe next time I'll try the skill option and test my theory."
Then he gave the simulator another command. "Run another simulation."
Do you want to use the life simulator? This run costs $1,000.
Tony froze. That was more money than he had at the moment.
He checked his wallet, accounts, and mental budget. He'd already spent a hundred last time, bought English prep materials, and it was the middle of the month. Even with the part-time income from tutoring and the one-time flyer job, he was still short.
"Damn. Isn't there anything I've gained from these simulations that can be monetized right now?" he muttered.
In theory, Tony held knowledge from several future lives. Some of that was locked inside research papers he hadn't yet written. But unlike theoretical math or coding, biology papers weren't something you could churn out overnight. They required lab access, equipment, months of data, and institutional support.
Tony was still just an undergrad. No lab was going to hand him a high-end centrifuge or PCR machine just because he said he had a great idea.
He mentally flipped through all the simulations he'd been through. "Maybe I've just been too specialized," he muttered. "If I had tried to be a generalist, I'd have some quick-use skills. But then I'd probably be average at everything."
A new strategy started to form in his mind: live long in the simulation. Not just into his thirties, but to seventy or beyond. With that much time, even an average person could become an expert in a discipline—or maybe several.
"If I live long enough, I can specialize in one subject per simulation. A few cycles in, I'd be a walking encyclopedia. A true polymath."
Tony chuckled to himself at the thought. "Now I just have to figure out how to survive longer in the sim…"
Then another thought occurred to him.
"Wait, where does the money I send to you even go?" he asked the life simulator silently. "You're not even part of this world. Are you deleting that money from existence? If I ever get rich and start paying you in millions… or billions… that could seriously mess up the economy."
The simulator responded promptly.
The money is not deleted. It is anonymously donated to those in need—anywhere in the world. It may be given directly as cash, food, medicine, or education grants. You will not be able to trace it.
Tony relaxed slightly. "So at least I'm not just tossing money into the void. That's… noble, I guess."
Evening, library.
Tony was flipping through Cell Biology, but something felt off.
He couldn't stay focused. The concepts felt too familiar—almost outdated. Compared to what he remembered from the last simulation, the book's contents were shallow.
He sighed. "I've outgrown this book already. Might as well return it."
As he got up and walked toward the return desk with the book in hand, a girl suddenly darted in front of him.
She was tall—easily five-foot-eight—and she pointed at the book in his hand with wide, hopeful eyes. "Are you returning that?"
"Yes," Tony said, startled. "I've finished it. Are you looking for this one too?"
He recognized her immediately. Her name was Clara Quinn, and she was in the same program as him. But they had barely spoken before. Academically, they were worlds apart.
Clara had been top of their class since freshman year. She was a recipient of the university's top entrance scholarship—$10,000. On top of that, she had received national and corporate scholarships, and Tony had heard rumors that she also received need-based aid due to family circumstances. Something about her parents passing away when she was young. He didn't know the full story.
"Wait…" Tony's mind suddenly sparked. "Is she the girl the simulator mentioned? The one who approached me at twenty-one while I was studying in the library?"
In that simulation, he remembered rejecting her bluntly because he didn't like her appearance. But now that he saw her in person, he took a moment to really look.
She had an air of quiet determination. Her eyes were sharp, the kind that absorbed everything around them. Even in casual clothing, she carried herself with quiet dignity. She wasn't wearing makeup, but she didn't need it—there was something honest and striking about her features.
Tony frowned slightly. "What the hell was I thinking, ignoring her back then?"
He handed her the book. "Here. All yours."
Clara smiled warmly. "Thanks, I've been waiting for this one. It's impossible to find."
Tony gave her a small nod, unsure whether to say more. But Clara spoke first.
"You've been coming to the library a lot lately. Studying for grad school?"
Tony blinked, surprised that she'd noticed.
"Yeah," he admitted. "Trying to apply for MIT. Biology track."
Clara raised an eyebrow. "Ambitious. I like that."
Before he could respond, she turned toward the checkout counter, book in hand.
Tony stood there for a moment, watching her walk away.
"Well then," he muttered under his breath. "Guess I really did screw that up the first time around."