Ayesha woke with a gasp that cracked through the stillness of morning like a whip. Her small chest heaved, lungs filling with unfamiliar air—thinner, crisper, almost too light. The light flooding in from the window was softer, paler than anything she'd seen in Mumbai. The ceiling above her was white, smooth, unfamiliar. Her fingers—tiny, delicate, trembling—clutched the edge of a floral bedsheet, and it took her a long minute before she realized they weren't the same hands she'd known all her life.
She threw the sheet off her with wild panic and sat up.
No... this couldn't be. These arms—so small. Her legs, barely the length of her past thighs. The room was pastel-painted, childlike. Stuffed animals, a shelf full of early-reader books, and a short desk with crayons and stickers lined up.
Her heart began to pound, fast and feral.
She stumbled out of the bed, her balance unsteady. Her feet hit the floor—cold, wooden—and she wobbled toward a wall-mounted mirror. What stared back at her made her knees go weak.
A child. Six, maybe younger. Large brown eyes, confused and glistening. Long brown hair in slight curls that framed her baby-round cheeks. A face so similar to her own, yet stripped of every inch of maturity.
"No," she whispered, then screamed it, the sound raw. "No, no, no!"
The memories of her death came back in waves—blistering pain, fear, helplessness. The pressure of rough hands. The feeling of her body collapsing. The echo of her favorite songs playing in her head like a cruel goodbye.
Tears spilled down her cheeks. She screamed until her throat burned. She beat her fists against the mirror, then the wall, but her little hands could do no damage. The world felt too big, too strange, too wrong.
She bolted from the room.
The house was unfamiliar but oddly nostalgic—cushioned with a softness of old curtains and wooden cupboards, a faint smell of turmeric and detergent in the air. But it wasn't hers. It wasn't her flat in Varanasi, with Amma's dupattas drying over the railing and the sound of her brother watching cartoons.
It wasn't home.
"Amma?" she screamed, racing down the hall. "Papa? Arjun bhaiya?"
No answer.
Only a slightly older woman in a cotton saree who emerged from the kitchen, startled. "Ayesha? Kya hua? Beta?"
Ayesha blinked at her. It wasn't her mother. It wasn't anyone.
She backed away.
"No! Who are you? Where is my mummy?" she yelled, her voice shrill. "Where is my house? Where is my brother?!"
The woman looked deeply confused and started to approach. Ayesha darted past her and flung the main door open.
The world outside hit her like a slap. Narrower streets. Older cars. No familiar signboards. No delivery bikes. No shops with LEDs blinking discounts. No kids with smartphones in their hands.
She ran barefoot into the lane, tears flying from her eyes, heart pounding like a caged thing. Her brain screamed—where was she? When was she?
A man on a cycle almost collided with her and shouted in surprise. Someone else called her name from behind. The maid, maybe, or whoever that lady was. None of it mattered. She ran until her little legs gave out.
She collapsed against a bench at the corner of the street, heaving, sobbing.
Her parents were gone. Her dreams—gone. Her university life. Her dance. Her future. All ripped away. All because she had been in the wrong place, at the wrong time.
Or... the right place? That voice... the system. It had said this was a second chance.
She gritted her teeth, rage and pain mixing like acid in her throat.
Eventually, someone must've carried her back. She didn't remember. The next thing she knew, she was wrapped in a blanket and shivering. The lady—her supposed caretaker—brought her warm milk and held her, softly humming a lullaby.
But the damage was done. Ayesha curled in on herself, biting her lip so hard she tasted blood.
Later that day, still dazed, she managed to find the home's old box-like computer. Windows XP. Internet Explorer. She clicked open a browser. It took almost five minutes to load a single page.
She searched: "TXT debut date."
Nothing.
She searched: "Stray Kids."
Page not found.
She searched again, tears trembling in her lashes.
There were no results for ENHYPEN. No results for even the newer generation groups she loved. It was like they hadn't existed yet. The only ones she saw were TVXQ, Super Junior, Girls' Generation—names her older cousins once mentioned. Her mind reeled.
Only one truth settled in her like a stone.
She was in the past.
April 2006.
She had been reborn not just into another body, but into another time. Into a world that had not yet caught up with hers.
She shut off the computer in a daze. The system hadn't lied. This was a second chance—but one that came with chains of fate, a ticking clock, and an entirely new battleground.
She sat still for a long time, hands curled in her lap, gaze empty.
Then finally, she whispered to the quiet air around her:
"Fine. If I have to start from scratch, I will. But I'll do it my way."
And somewhere deep within her, like the faintest echo, the system whispered back:
'Training modules unlocked.'
---
[System: Resurgence Initiated]
> "Welcome, Candidate 0001-Ayesha Singh.
You have been successfully transferred.
Resurrection System v.4.18 online."
The darkness was heavy. Not cold, not suffocating — just… still. A digital hum pulsed in the distance, like the soft whir of a motherboard starting up. Then, a glimmer of light formed before her, and data trickled across the blackness like threads of code being woven into fabric.
Ayesha stirred.
She wasn't in pain anymore.
No screaming, no concrete against her skull, no stench of blood or sweat. Just silence, and then —
> "Initiating System Awakening Protocol."
A chime. Pleasant, artificial. Then a voice — smooth, neutral, neither male nor female, like something designed to be just familiar enough to put a human at ease.
> "You have been selected for the Resurrection System due to a strong final-life wish and statistical compatibility with Project Aegis."
Ayesha blinked. She couldn't see her body. It felt like she was floating in a black space between dreams and data streams. The name Resurrection System tickled her ears.
"What... is this?" she managed to say.
> "You died on April 3rd, 2025, at 8:41 PM. Final memory logs confirmed physical trauma and fatal cerebral hemorrhage. However, your last thought — marked by heightened emotional and neurological activity — has qualified you for this instance."
"What last thought?" she whispered.
> "You expressed extreme regret over missing the comeback of three idol groups: Stray Kids, TXT, and Enhypen."
Ayesha gasped. Of all the things…
"That was real?"
> "Affirmative. Based on that signal and system matching, your new objective is clear:
Become the greatest K-pop idol of your generation.
Debut before December 31st, 2019.
Win global recognition as part of the 'FOR:GE' Co-Ed Debut Program.
You have been granted a second life. In return, you must fulfill this dream."
She was silent.
Then she laughed — hysterically at first, then bitterly, then not at all.
> "System initializing personal modules."
A digital chime followed.
> [Candidate 0001-Ayesha Singh – SYSTEM DASHBOARD OPENED]
---
SYSTEM CORE INTERFACE
The moment those words echoed in her mind, her world changed.
Everything turned crystalline white, like a minimalist data hub. Panels hovered around her in thin, translucent windows. One projected her current stats:
---
[SYSTEM STATS]
Vocal Ability: 17 / 100
Dance Technique: 33 / 100
Stage Charisma: 11 / 100
Visual Impact: 43 / 100
Stamina: 29 / 100
Social Intelligence: 38 / 100
Language Proficiency (Korean): 22 / 100
Mental Fortitude: 61 / 100
System Synchronization: 72%
Skill Points Available: 5
---
Another panel opened with icons.
---
[CORE FUNCTIONS]
1. Skill Progression Tracker
Monitors advancement in music, dance, fitness, language, and social aptitude.
Experience points granted per session.
Skills level up in real time with visible progression.
2. Daily Missions
Small routine tasks to build consistent habits.
Completion earns XP, bonus stats, and Favor Points.
Failure results in minor penalties (exhaustion, stat stagnation).
3. Training Modules
AI-guided simulations in vocal scales, muscle memory drills, rhythmic balance, and live-stage imitation.
Can compress 4 hours of real-life training into 1 hour of high-efficiency practice in System Mode.
4. Quests & Milestones
Long-term achievements (e.g., "First Solo Stage," "Language Certification," "Top 100 Online Dance Challenge").
Reward: stat boosts, new unlocked training tiers, and system evolution.
5. Visual Diary
Memory archive with digital video playback of all System-mode training.
Enables self-review and automatic improvement suggestions.
6. System Marketplace (Locked)
Unlocks at Level 10.
Use Favor Points to purchase outfits, vocal supplements, performance tools, even temporary buffs.
7. Favor Points & Buff Cards
Earned through performance and viewer reactions (once in the contest).
Buff Cards include "Perfect Stage," "Double XP Day," "Confidence Boost," and more.
8. World Overlay (AR Mode) (Locked)
Allows real-world analysis: judges expressions, crowd interest, other idols' stats during contests.
9. Emotional Tracker
Tracks her emotional state during routines.
Helps reduce performance anxiety and triggers stress training when thresholds are reached.
---
DAILY TASK SAMPLE (Age 6-7)
> [Daily Tasks – April 8, 2006]
20 mins pronunciation practice (Korean): +15 XP
30 mins basic warm-up dance: +20 XP
Watch 1 music video and analyze formations: +10 XP
Memorize 10 Hangul words: +10 XP
Maintain good diet: +5 XP
Bonus: Complete all by 5 PM – "Tiny Dancer" Buff Card awarded (Agility +2 for 24 hours)
---
Ayesha absorbed everything like a sponge. The system was clean. Clear. Ruthlessly efficient. It even had tutorial prompts that explained how her mind would auto-adjust to handle language data faster, how she'd eventually hear pitches with greater sensitivity, how muscle fiber would adapt more smoothly due to subconscious neural training. It wasn't magic — just hyper-accelerated biofeedback.
There was even a projected Level System.
> [LEVEL: 2]
Each level unlocks new modules and performance potential.
You need 250 XP to reach Level 3.
Your current progress: 178 / 250 XP
---
Ayesha exhaled. The surreal space faded into white light, and the system's voice softened again.
> "From this moment on, your path begins.
Rise.
Dream.
Dance until the world watches.
Welcome to your second life, Ayesha Singh."
---