It was a rather dull summer day.
Sunday, maybe? A classic setup for yet another filler episode in the slow-burning series of my life.
Except what happened next turned that quiet day into a historic event—one that would unravel everything I knew and reshape my world.
I had just wrapped up finals for my third semester. With that, my second year of high school officially came to a close.
And what followed? A recurring three-month cycle of creeping existential doom known universally as: Summer Break.
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I was the picture of average.
Sitting on a lumpy couch, legs sprawled, eyes glazed over in the dim light of the living room, I looked like every bored teenager caught in the summer-break time loop.
Dark hair, silver-lined pupils and a face even I'd struggle to pick out in a yearbook photo. The kind of kid you'd pass on the street and forget the next second.
I'd been up all night, half-buried under a stack of manga volumes I'd meant to "just skim through."
Fourteen volumes later, my eyes felt like sandpaper and my brain like mush. At this point, it was practically a summer tradition, that's what summer break was for, right?
And then, somewhere between page 561 and my fifth cup of lukewarm instant coffee, the room started to shimmer.
At first, I figured it was just sleep deprivation kicking in. I blinked hard. Once. Twice.
The shimmer grew stronger. The air rippled, like heat rising off asphalt. My silver-lined pupils caught a flicker — definitely not coming from the TV.
A sudden jolt surged through me—instinctively, I shot upright from the couch, heart pounding as if I'd just been shoved. My body tensed, every nerve screaming alert, while the air around me thickened, pressing down on my chest. A faint scent of burning incense drifted in, though nothing was lit. Time itself seemed to hesitate.
Then—pop.
A figure materialized right in front of the couch, trailing smoke and wearing what looked suspiciously like a costume straight out of an old fantasy anime.
But any thought of laughing died in my throat.
He stood tall—easily seven feet—with broad shoulders draped in flowing, dark silk robes embroidered in silver and deep red. Thick metal cuffs circled his wrists, ancient runes etched deep into their surface. A turban crowned his head, dark as midnight, with a single crimson jewel set at its center.
His skin shimmered faintly, an otherworldly ashen white that seemed to drink in the dim light of the room. And his eyes—heavens, his eyes. They were sharp, crystalline, a piercing ice-blue that locked onto me and didn't waver, no softness, no indulgence. Just the kind of gaze that made you forget how to breathe.
When he spoke, his voice wasn't loud, but it carried weight—like the words themselves bent the air around them.
"Three wishes." he intoned.
My thoughts were racing.
Sleep deprivation, caffeine, manga overdose—take your pick. My brain scrambled to explain what I was seeing, but every option came up short. Maybe this was some cruel trick of my mind, a hallucination bred from exhaustion and boredom.
The air still buzzed with that strange, static energy. The figure just stood there, towering over the room like he owned it—like he'd been here long before I was born and would still be here long after I was gone.
Those eyes. I couldn't tear mine away. Ice-blue, unblinking, ancient. They weren't asking if I understood. They were demanding it.
'Three wishes.' He said.
I swallowed. My mouth had gone dry. Somewhere in the back of my mind, the sarcastic part of me wanted to say something clever, something flippant—standard defense mechanism.
But for once, the words refused to come.
And this genie? He didn't appear the joyful type.
I had to think—was this real?
Because deep down, past the haze of exhaustion and denial, one truth was settling in, cold and undeniable:
This was real.
But I knew, if I didn't answer him, I'd be swallowed by the silence—lost in the emptiness his presence had carved into the room.
I opened my mouth, desperate to break it—
But before a word could form, he spoke first, as if claiming the moment before I could.
"Choose wisely."
His voice was calm but carried the weight of centuries. The room seemed to grow colder, heavier, as if time itself paused to listen.
I swallowed hard, heart pounding. Three wishes. The power to reshape my world—or destroy it.
But I wasn't ready. Not yet. Because once I spoke, there was no turning back.
I hesitated, searching for the right words, the right wish, but my mind spun in a whirlpool of doubt.
The genie's gaze didn't soften. Instead, his voice cut through the thick silence again.
"There is no limit. Take all the time you need."
His words settled over me like a warning and a promise. No rush. But no escape.
I sank back into the couch, the weight of infinite possibilities pressing down on me. This wasn't some fleeting fantasy. This was real.
And the choices I made next would change everything.
And so, I began thinking.
The first question wasn't what to wish for — it was, _could_ I trust this? Could this be real, or was I still trapped in some twisted fever dream?
My mind raced, grappling with skepticism and disbelief. Was this some cruel trick of my exhausted brain, a hallucination born of sleepless nights and caffeine-fueled manga binges? Or had the impossible just stepped into my reality?
But every instinct screamed otherwise. The chill hanging in the air pressed down on my chest, colder than the summer heat outside. The weight of the moment settled heavy, like an anchor pulling me down. The impossible presence, the way time seemed to slow — it all screamed undeniable reality.
I couldn't afford to doubt. Not now. So I forced myself to push those nagging shadows aside, to entertain the possibility that this was real.
What did I really want? What could I ask for that would actually matter — something that could change the course of everything?
Strength? Power? Money? Immortality? The possibilities whirled through my mind in a chaotic storm, spinning faster and faster with no clear direction.
If I chose something shallow, something meaningless — would I regret it later? Would I waste the rarest of chances, this miracle laid bare before me?
No. I had to be smarter than that. I had to be strategic.
With firm resolve, my thoughts spiraled even deeper.
If I could rewrite the code etched deep into my body — my genetics — I could reshape myself from the very foundation.
Stronger muscles that never tired. Reflexes sharp as a blade's edge. A mind that soaked knowledge like a sponge, learning with impossible speed. Resilience that defied sickness, pain, and age —
this had to be the bedrock, the first and most crucial wish. Without this, nothing else would hold meaning or value.
To control my own flesh and blood, to unlock the hidden potential locked deep inside — that had to come first.
But even with a godlike body, I would still be at fate's mercy. The world was chaos, an endless dance of chance and unpredictability.
What good was power, if luck could betray me? What use was strength, if disaster could strike without warning?
If only I could manipulate probability itself — the invisible threads weaving through reality, guiding the tides of fortune and disaster —
to subtly bend those threads in my favor.
To turn risky gambles into sure wins.
To dodge calamities before they even had a chance to fall.
To summon opportunities from thin air, as if the universe itself was aligned to my will.
Then I wouldn't just be powerful; I'd be untouchable.
That had to be the second wish: power over chance, the ability to make the improbable inevitable.
Two wishes, perfectly intertwined, fitting together like pieces of a complex puzzle —
first, to transform myself into something greater, something beyond human limits.
Then, to master the chaos of the world itself, steering fate's currents so they flowed only in my favor.
But the third wish — that silent shadow hanging over everything —
remained a mystery, a looming question mark that I wasn't ready to face.
Maybe I never would be.
For now, the first two had to be sufficient.
The weight of those infinite possibilities pressed down on me like a storm waiting to break.
This wasn't some childish fantasy or a fleeting dream. This was the turning point.
The moment everything would change.
Normally, I'd scoff at the idea of this being real. I'd spun countless fake scenarios like this in my head—never in my wildest dreams did I think any of it would come true.
And yet, a smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth—not from pride or confidence, but from a quiet acknowledgment of how absurdly surreal the whole situation was.
Because even when everything's on the line, some part of me clings to that small, stubborn spark—the part that's just human. Just me.
Even in the face of fate, power, and destiny, I was still me.
Still the one who chose.
And so, with that quiet defiance tucked behind my grin, I spoke—