Adam

"Another boring day is starting." Adam opened his sleepy eyes, yawning and stretching his limbs as usual... or so he thought.

A deep furrow creased his brows. Something was wrong... incredibly wrong...

"What the heck is happening? Why can't I sense my body?"

His voice thundered in the dimly lit room, and his pupils constricted.

Terror gripped his heart as he imagined the worst. Was sleep paralysis plaguing him or did he die in bed? He didn't know. But he couldn't remain motionless. His brain refused to accept it.

Clenching his teeth, he exerted his mental strength despite his insecurities, gradually feeling the faint nervous connection linking his limbs to his brain... or so he thought.

Focusing even harder, a subtle movement came from his head. Well… what he perceived as his head.

With some effort, he finally lowered it, only to shudder like a leaf battered by a storm of pure shock and horror. He saw his transparent frame float weakly above the ground as if it had no consistency. Smoke swirled from his limbs in a mystical yet unsettling dance as his mouth opened and closed a few times before his voice came out in disbelieving mutters.

"I hope I'm still dreaming. It's not fun at all. Oho, wake up..." 

"..." "..." "..."

"AHHH! Did I become a ghost? Is this for real? Why, just why?" He screamed, his features distorting into a panicked grimace.

"Waaaaah! Waaaaaah!" 

Sudden cries startled him from his dread. He snapped his gaze towards the source, a pensive frown creasing his brows as he saw a toddler flailing his rotund arms in an impoverished crib.

'Did my screams awaken him?'

Well, he'd return to sleep soon enough and mattered less than his own condition. So the baby would have to excuse him, but he would ignore him... He paused, his eyes lighting up the next second.

Human folklore about ghosts and supernatural existences didn't lack. They were typically invisible and intangible and people weren't supposed to hear them, except for those big, evil ones. So, didn't that mean... he could confirm his condition by touching the baby?

His soul shuddered as he reached for him, praying he would feel his round cheeks and the warmth of his skin—he did!

He raised his arms in triumph, his luminous eyes sparkling in delight as his tensed nerves relaxed slightly.

"Yes! I can feel his hot skin! Sorry for scaring you! Where am I, though? Where's my apartment? And what is that red blinking light in the corner of my field of view?"

Confused by the mysteries, his eyes darted to his surroundings.

Soon, he realised he stood... floated inside a living room even if it looked more like a derelict ruin to him. How could it not when green patches of spreading rot covered the old, fissured walls?

Dust covered the dirty room's floor and scant furniture in a gray blanket that suggested no one had cleaned them for months, a feeling intensified by the dense spiderwebs connecting the room's corners like intricate bridges.

A lonely table, two chairs, and the cradle were the only decorations adding something to the wretched habitat. And with the dim lighting filtering through curtains old enough for their colors to have faded into a murky gray, the place met all the criteria to be deemed ominous and filthy in his book.

But the worst was the stench. Pungent, gripping his nose as if he stood in a Camembert cheese refinery, it caused his nose to scrunch in pure disgust.

'I must leave!'

The idea boomed in his head, compelling him into action. He floated towards the door unsteadily, then reached for the cracked handle.

Contrary to his expectations, his fingers phased right through it. "Nothing makes sense! Am I still a ghost in the end?"

Faced with the irrefutable truth, his mind subconsciously tried to adapt and accept this new reality. Even if he consciously denied it with all his strength.

"I can try to phase through it, then."

Acting on his idea, he lunged forward like a pouncing cat. 

BAM!

The disturbing noise of wood cracking echoed in the living room as he crashed onto it nose-first.

"ARGH!" He crashed on the ground, rising dust as he clutched his painful nose and yelled his outrage. "How the heck can I feel pain as a ghost? How can my fingers go through the handle, but my body can't pass through the door? What kind of flawed logic is that? Stop messing with me!"

But anger wouldn't help—he knew it. He had to stay rational to figure things out. Or, at least, as lucid as possible after his inexplicable transformation.

He took a deep breath that made him grimace as he tried to phase through the walls and ceiling—in vain. His shoulder slumped in defeat. Perhaps the blinking dot he had ignored until now would provide an answer.

'How do I make it stop its exasperating blinking? Maybe verbal control?' He remembered stories he used to read during his free time.

"Stop blinking. Turn off. Eteins. Ugh, even foreign languages aren't working. Let's try a few more random words." 

After a few minutes of unsuccessful attempts and some curses to vent, he finally triggered a reaction.

"Interface."

An ethereal window unfurled in front of his widening eyes as soon as he pronounced the word.

It sparkled a ghostly gray, wafting ethereal mists that reflected his condition at the borders as a loading bar appeared.

Breath hastening, he watched it fill itself. Startled, hopeful... he didn't know how to feel anymore.

[Welcome summoned! This is your personal system interface. An exclusive informational tool at your disposal. Here, you can check the different paths you can tread to reach your full potential and become the strongest in the shortest time possible.]

[Loading available paths...]

His eyes narrowed in intense focus, anticipating the result with excitement. The strongest according to his potential? Could he grow to be as strong as a professional fighter? Could he even surpass them?

"What's the part about summoned, though?" He scratched his head in confusion. Another question he had no answer to.

[Error detected...]

[Individual is not thirteen yet.] 

[Protocol to forcefully seal memories initiated.]

[Error. No body detected. Sealing process interrupted.] 

[Searching for fix...] 

[Fix found. Wait thirteen years to erase and take the intended body's consciousness space instead of merging memories as planned. Become an acolyte to unlock your class.] 

[Good luck in your new life.]

"What the hell was that? What do you mean, good luck? Explain this whole mess in more detail!"

After a second of shock, he lashed out at the system, his ethereal teeth cracking. What sealing? What body?

"I knew someone was messing with me. Whoever wrote those messages: wait for me, I will find you." 

Sadly, the system remained silent. After all, it was an informative tool, not a social assistant that would listen to his outburst. Still, cursing imaginary beings helped vent his irritation and restore his ragged breathing.

Somewhat calmer, he tucked his finger around his chin, a pensive frown creasing his brows. From the pits and pieces he had understood, he was supposed to reincarnate in the crying baby, which was the intended body mentioned by the system. However, something went wrong in the process.

"I'll have to wait for it to turn thirteen… Thirteen years... I want to cry..." He lowered his face, biting his quivering lip before finding a much-needed distraction. 'I should at least check the system's information...'

Name: Adam

Talent: Unlocked at thirteen

Class: N/A

LVL (Level): 0

Exp: 0/10

HP (health point): 0/0

Vitality: 0

Strength: 0

Agility: 0

Intelligence: 0

Skills: None

Note: Soul is heavily damaged. How are you even alive? 

He glared at the sarcastic note, his fists tightening. "What part of me is alive, exactly?" Then, he sighed at his stats. "Zero everywhere. Well, at least they're balanced."

The humour attempt didn't land too well, not with the indication that his soul was damaged. How and when did it happen? Why didn't he feel discomfort? Another mystery he would need to uncover. But the present took priority. 

He focused on the stats, vague memories huddling in his mind. "It reminds me of a character sheet in role-playing games."

The Exp column made him wonder if he would need to kill monsters to level up. Health points represented his life... well, he was already dead, so he skipped to Vitality, which was related to endurance, longevity, and health.

Strength was more straightforward in its focus on muscle prowess and body strength. Finally, agility improved reaction speed and coordination.

What about intelligence, then? It made sense for his other stats to be at zero, but not this one. Or was he the most stupid human... ghost?

"Don't tell me it has nothing to do with cognitive ability but is something related to..."

The echo of his words hung in the air, interrupted by the metallic click of the door unlocking and the creaking of the dry wood opening.

The figure of a young woman draped in a plain beige dress greeted his eyes. The coarse patches stitched by amateurish fingers fluttered as she rushed to cradle and nurse the crying baby.

He estimated she was younger than twenty as he studied her long brown hair tied in a ponytail, hazel eyes, and the brown patches hiding her soft brows and gentle features under layers of dirt.

*"Don't cry, baby. Mama is here. Are you hungry? Cold? You have to sleep so Mama can work,"* she whispered, her tender eyes lingering on her son under the ghost's confused expression.

"Shit. I can't understand a single word." He massaged his forehead, his eyes glowing with irritation.

The bad news kept piling up, and he had no desire to learn a new language from scratch. How long would it take him? Ten years? Five? Let's say two to achieve rough mastery. It was still way too long.

He glanced at the duo, seeking to collect more clues before his eyes widened as the woman pulled a lace on her back. Her dress cascaded down her right chest, revealing a soft mount as her lips curled into a gentle smile. *"Eat, my baby boy. I want to see you grow into a strong and healthy young man."*

Hurriedly, he turned his head to the side, his ethereal cheeks trembling and his hand blurring to cover his eyes in embarrassment.

After five minutes of nursing and a full belly, the baby fell asleep again.

The mother sighed in relief, placed him back in the crib, and covered him in a blanket. She moved to the table next, placing a few items on it before stepping out. The lock clicked behind her as she left, not a single time looking in Adam's direction, oblivious to his presence until the very end.

The realisation struck him like a hammer, forcing him to accept this new reality. Despite his reluctance, the situation left no place for doubt. He was a ghost. Yet before despair invaded his soul entirely, he found solace in the prospect of recovering a body in the future.

He found a new distraction from the depressing thought by floating above the items left by the woman.

His eyes sparkled as he saw a pouch and a hand mirror facing the ceiling.

"I wonder if I still look the same or if I became an ugly ghost." Hope sparkled in his luminous eyes. After all, he was a firm enjoyer of stylishness. If he retained his or looked better against all odds, he felt he could accept... everything with less difficulty.

He floated above the shining piece of glass, eager to see his reflection, before cursing. On the bright side, he didn't see the ugly ghost he dreaded. However, that was only the case because he lacked any reflection whatsoever!

He lowered his head in defeat. Nothing went his way since his awakening. Did the world hold a grudge against him or was he thrown into a nightmare? The answer didn't matter for now. The only thing he wanted was for his mind to rest after the emotional roller-coaster.

He glanced at the baby. 'I can't disturb his sleep. He must grow strong if I want a healthy body.'

Somber ideas began to fill his mind as he pondered the possession process. Who or what was inside the baby in his stead? Would he be murdering someone if he reclaimed it later? But wasn't it his body in the first place? Who asked this uninvited guest to steal the temple of his soul and make him feel conflicted?

Stumped by the moral questions and his mind weary by the revelations and negative emotions, he floated to the cleaner corner he found and closed his eyes. He had to refresh his mind after everything he went through, or his thought process would be impaired.

As his thoughts blurred, a bizarre yet gentle sensation embraced him, as if someone cradled him somewhere with care.

******

Alarmed, he snapped his eyes open in confusion.

However, they lit up the next second. He recognised the familiar place this time! A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he scanned his apartment with a soft smile.

Yet, with the recent traumatic experience, he doubted everything. Afraid of the result, he stretched his limbs, then pinched his arm to confirm he was really back.

"YES!"

A wide grin stretched across his face as they moved without trouble and he felt a stinging pain. Then, he lowered his head, glancing at his arms, bursting into laughter as he saw the reddened skin.

"Hahaha. I knew it—just a bad dream!"

He took a triumphant pose, his arms raised and fists clenched tightly. Memories of the silly dream flooded his mind as a mocking smirk stretched his lips. How could he have been so engrossed in it?

Amused, he walked to his mirror. Instead of nothing, he saw a thirty-year-old man with short, dark brown hair and eyes. 

He gazed at his well-maintained body, noticing his defined muscles. Since he exercised daily, his physique was fit and attractive despite his 82 kg for 1.8 meters. He placed a finger on his jaw and raised his grinning face. Not the most attractive man according to Holywood standards, but still manly and handsome with his broad, expressive brows, high cheeks, and thin lips.

After his quick inspection, he scanned his well-organised apartment, sparkling ground, and neat shelves with a sense of pride. He hated nothing more than to live in a messy place. If not for his bizarre condition, he didn't doubt the house from his dream would have given him a heart attack.

Then, he glanced at his library in approbation. Born in an age of technology and virtual entertainment, he enjoyed reading mangas and novels, especially those about cultivators fighting against fate.

Their initial weakness, struggles, and courage had always inspired him, even if he couldn't put himself in their shoes. After all, they became cosmic entities capable of erasing worlds with a snap of their fingers, altering the flow of time with a wave of their hands, or travelling to the depth of space with a single step. If anything, his eyes could only sparkle, hoping those abilities existed.

Well, didn't the system talk about paths to power? "Even if it was a dream, what if that thing was real? How cool would it be to become stronger with the help of an interf..." 

His eyes widened in shock and his shoulders trembled in horror the moment he said interface. There! Hovering before him! The ethereal status window had appeared in a burst of ghostly fog as if summoned by his word.

"So this is the dream..."

As he muttered, the baby's cries resounded in his ears, forcing him awake.

"Oh shit, here we go again."