October 2018.


Lancaster High, Class Sixteen.


Lucas Lane sat at his desk, frozen like a statue.


He couldn't count how many times he'd fantasized about this exact scenario: falling asleep and waking up back in his old high school classroom. But now that it had actually happened, it was taking Lucas a hot minute to process it.


He had actually done it. He was reborn. He was back in high school!


If the novels were right, this was the part where he used his future knowledge to become a billionaire, ace every test, and reach the peak of life, right?


But just as Lucas was mentally spending his first million, the train of thought was derailed by the heavy-set kid sitting in front of him.


"Check it out," the kid bragged, holding up a clear display case. "My dad dropped a fortune on this Combat Art Card!"


The kid's name was Wayne Dunn. Rumor had it his family owned mines or something—total nouveau riche energy. He was currently shoving the box in the face of his desk mate, Tom Johnson.


Inside the box sat a cyan-colored card, about the size of a standard poker card.


"Whoa..." Tom stared at the box, practically drooling. "I heard the cheapest Combat Art Cards start at a hundred grand."


A hundred grand? Lucas blinked. Is this some new nerdy trading card game I missed? He was completely lost.


"Please," a voice scoffed from the side. "You aren't even a Martial Warrior yet. Buying a Combat Art Card now is just buying an expensive paperweight to gather dust."


Wayne, who had been basking in Tom's adoration, scowled.


Lucas glanced over. The speaker had a buzz cut and looked way too energetic for a school day.


"Hmph! I'll definitely become a Martial Warrior," Wayne shot back, though he didn't sound very convinced.


"Lucas," Buzz-cut ignored Wayne and turned to Lucas. "You wanna go test your Combat Strength again this afternoon?"


Lucas felt like his brain was buffering. Combat Art Card? Martial Warrior? What is going on?


"Hahaha!" Wayne laughed, sensing an opportunity to strike. "Didn't he only score a '5' on the combat strength test last week? He'll probably max out at a '6' this time. Don't waste your time."


Lucas's desk mate, Keith Lee, shot Lucas a sympathetic look.


"Hold on," Lucas finally snapped. "What exactly are you guys talking about?"


The conversation was gibberish. And it wasn't just them—the room was wrong. Lucas looked around. The bulletin boards were covered in info about 'Martial Warriors.' A huge banner hung above the whiteboard: STRIVE FOR THE WARRIOR ACADEMY!


"Never mind. We can test later," the buzz-cut kid, Reece, said. He probably thought Lucas was having a mental breakdown from the stress.


"Lucas," Keith whispered, trying to be comforting. "There's still time before The Grand Selection. Even if you don't get into a Warrior Academy, your grades are good enough for a regular university."


"Yeah, whatever," Wayne muttered, shaking his head, deciding not to kick Lucas while he was down.


Seriously, what are you people saying?!


Lucas wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Traveling back to senior year was supposed to be the ultimate cheat code. Why did everything feel like a glitch?


Phone. I need my phone.


Lucas frantically dug through his backpack and fished out his generic Android smartphone. He unlocked the screen and started scrolling.


"..."


He stared at the news feed, his jaw practically hitting the desk. He sat there, paralyzed.


Keith assumed Lucas was still depressed about his low combat score, so he sighed and went back to his workbook.


"A Martial Warrior world..." Lucas muttered under his breath.


The world was mostly the same as he remembered. Lancaster was still Lancaster. But history had taken a sharp left turn.


Thirty years ago, the Dimensional Rifts opened.


Monsters from 'The Otherworld' poured out, invading Earth. Conventional weapons? Useless. And the governments couldn't just nuke the planet into oblivion without killing everyone they were trying to save.


Humanity fought a bitter war for years. Eventually, they managed to push back the invasion and even entered the Rifts. But that was a disaster.


Turns out, electronics don't work in The Otherworld. Something about magnetic fields or weird physics. So, humanity had to adapt. They couldn't rely on tech. They had to rely on themselves. They had to evolve.


And then, the Martial Warriors started showing up.


We're talking about guys powerful enough to bounce bullets off their chests and punch through skyscrapers like they were made of wet cardboard.


Lucas had figured it out pretty quickly: in this world, Martial Warriors were the rock stars. They were the gods everyone wanted to be.


The afternoon dragged on, and by the time Lucas was walking home, he couldn't help but let out a heavy sigh.


"Combat Strength  5... I'm basically a total scrub."


This world had these fancy scanners that could measure a person's potential. Lucas had gone through the whole "Origin Point" and physical assessment, and the machine had spat out his number: Combat Strength 5.


Apparently, the air here was filled with "Cosmic Energy." Everyone absorbed a little bit of this Essence naturally, just by breathing. The higher your Origin Points, the tougher your body was. And if you actually managed to become a Martial Warrior, those points were a big deal.


"Don't sweat it, Lucas. Tom and I are stuck at Combat Strength 6, remember?"


Walking next to Lucas was Tom Young. Well, technically Tom and another buddy, but they were basically a package deal of mediocrity.


"I heard the Class President is already at 36," Tom said, his voice dripping with envy. "And his Origin Points hit 25. He's gonna break 30 any day now!"


"So what?" Lucas scoffed. "The President's family is loaded. If you have money, you have power. Look at Wayne the Blob—he chugs Origin Elixirs like soda, and he's got double-digit points now."


"Whatever. We should just study, get into a decent college, and find a safe desk job," Tom said, sounding like he'd already given up on life.


Birds of a feather, right? Since the three of them had the lowest scores in the class, they naturally stuck together.


"See ya!"


They split up at the intersection. As Lucas walked away, his mood tanked.


He thought being reborn into a new life meant he was destined for greatness. He thought he'd be stepping onto the peak of existence. Instead, he woke up in a world where the rules were totally different.


Martial Warriors were the privileged elite. If you weren't one of them, you were just an NPC in their game. A lifetime of being average? What was the point?


"Hey boss, give me a pack of Spicy Sticks."


Lucas stopped at a corner store and pointed to the red packet behind the counter. The shopkeeper grinned, showing off a row of yellowed teeth.


A little elementary school kid in the corner stared at the shiny package in Lucas's hand, gulping down drool. The envy was palpable.


Lucas tore open the wrapper. He took one bite of the spicy gluten stick, and his eyes almost popped out of his skull.


It was like he'd seen a ghost.