There's a saying that the multiverse theory is true—but not many people believe it.
For me, it's not a theory.
It's my reality.
A vast forest stretched endlessly, its trees piercing the sky like nature's own skyscrapers. Wild animals darted through the undergrowth, free and chaotic in their rhythm. Birds, perched high on branches, tilted their heads curiously at the sight of a white-haired boy sprinting furiously after a man who looked like he'd stepped straight out of the Stone Age.
"Stop running, you MOTHERF#CKER!" the white-haired boy screamed, his voice raw with fury and breathlessness. Sweat mixed with dirt and smeared his face, turning it into a muddy canvas of exhaustion and grit.
Yes—this was the Stone Age.
And that white-haired boy?
He's no one else but our protagonist, Alen Hampson.
But who exactly is he chasing?
"Stop... stop..." Alen gasped, each word choked with effort. His legs trembled, on the verge of collapsing beneath him. Countless scrapes and cuts marred his body—souvenirs of an unforgiving chase through woods and rivers. "Why the hell don't I have an Emo..." he muttered bitterly.
His foot caught on a stone, sending him tumbling face-first into a mud puddle with a loud squelch. "The hell..."
The primitive man ahead paused at the noise, glancing back. Curiosity flickered in his dark, wild eyes—untouched by exhaustion. There wasn't a trace of panic in his expression.
"Au... auu!" the man grunted, waving his fists like an infant throwing a tantrum.
'Finally. This is my chance.'
'Looks like he's checking if I'm dead', Alen thought, the corner of his lips twitching into a sly smirk even as mud slid down his cheeks. 'Heheheh...' he laughed inwardly and went limp, playing dead.
For a moment, it seemed like his plan had failed. The man didn't move closer. Instead, he began tossing small stones and branches at Alen's body, testing.
'He really wants to make sure I'm dead', Alen thought, cracking one eye open.
His soul nearly left his body when he caught the shadow of a huge rock looming in the man's hand.
Yes—this deer-skin-wearing caveman was about to murder our protagonist.
In the first chapter.
So sad. Please do mourn for him.
"STOP TIME!" Alen shouted suddenly, thrusting his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket. His fingers closed around a small stopwatch and slammed the button.
Time froze.
The man stood there, rock raised high in mid-swing. Birds were suspended mid-flight. A monkey was scratching its head looking down.
The stopwatch could halt time—but only briefly, and only within a limited radius. Because Alen's rank in the Bureau of Time Police(BTP) was pathetically low, his watch was a cheap model.
Alen sighed, slipping the device back into his pocket. He quickly pulled out a pair of handcuffs and snapped them onto the man's wrists. A chain followed, glowing faintly.
Ten seconds passed. Time resumed.
The caveman blinked, startled. His eyes flared with rage as he lunged forward—but before he could leap, the chains crackled with electricity, sending a jolt through his body. He collapsed, twitching and stunned.
Mission: stabilized.
Two days and two nights passed. Alen trudged through the wild terrain, his energy dwindling with every step. They finally arrived at a small cave tucked deep in the forest. From its mouth, a woman emerged. Her hair was matted with dirt, and mud streaked across her body, but her eyes lit up when they landed on the man Alen had brought.
"There you go," Alen muttered weakly. His face was pale from the journey, sustained only by wild fruit and river water. His clothes were torn in several places, revealing gashes and bruises beneath.
He slowly released the cuffs.
The man staggered forward, mesmerized as he laid eyes on the woman. His steps were hesitant, like he was beholding a miracle. A faint recognition passed between them, and though Alen couldn't understand their language, he felt the deep emotion in their reunion.
Alen stood off to the side, watching silently. He hung the cuffs back on his belt and gave a weary smile.
"Mission complete. Now I just need to write a report."
From a small golden box, he pulled out a tiny purple ball. Only three remained. With a gentle tap of his index finger, the ball floated into the air and exploded—forming a glowing portal.
He looked back at the couple. They were laughing, talking, finding joy in each other for the first time.
Then Alen jumped into the portal.
He tumbled out, landing hard on a solid floor in a roll. Bright lights flooded his eyes. He stood and brushed himself off, scanning his surroundings.
It was a vast hall bustling with activity. Counters lined the space. People chatted, laughed, worked. Flying trains zipped overhead. Round floating marble platforms carried people across short distances.
"Yo, Alen! You completed your task!" an old man called out, patting his shoulder as he passed with a steaming cup of coffee.
"Good job, Alen," a woman with thick glasses said from behind her counter.
"Yo man, long time no see!" a boy riding a flying round marble surface with big honeybee-like creature Emo shouted, giving him a high five.
This place?
It's the SUPREME TIMELINE.
Unlike any other universe, it existed to govern and oversee the functioning of every other universe and timeline.
At the age of sixteen, every boy and girl in this world received citizenship and joined the TIME KEEPING AGENCY(TKA), receiving posts in various departments dedicated to preserving interdimensional harmony.
Alen's mission had been critical. The timeline he visited had just begun. A deadly fever had wiped out both the man's and the woman's families. Without each other, both would've died alone in the coming years—leading to the extinction of early humanity on that timeline.
And humanity's extinction would've meant a delay of decades before another species evolved enough to take their place.
Alen had ensured their survival.
He had saved a future.
But his victories?
Often unnoticed.
Alen wiped his face and made his way toward the floating staircase—steps that hovered midair, slowly ascending. His fingers fidgeted as he walked, only to pause when two boys stepped in front of him.
Jack and Ray.
Each with their Emos—Jack's a ghostly wraith swirling behind him, Ray's a translucent purple octopus coiled lazily around his arm.
Alen's eyes landed on them. His chest tightened. His face went pale.
Their smirks widened when they saw his torn clothes, the mud caking his face, and the dried cuts running along his arms.
Jack scoffed, tossing a sleek black card into the air and catching it. "So, off to collect points for that 'mission' of yours?"
He nudged Ray, who sneered. "What was his task again? Oh, right—making two monkeys meet so they can make babies."
Both burst into laughter, slapping his shoulder like it was some inside joke. Their voices echoed down the hall as they walked away, still chuckling.
"Keep it up, man! I'm sure one day they'll send you to scrub a villain's toilet... you know, the one who wants to destroy a country because it wasn't clean enough."
Their laughter faded, but the silence left in their wake lingered. Counters nearby went quiet—not out of shock, but routine.
This wasn't new.
Alen pressed his lips together and moved up the floating stairs. He stopped before a large office door and raised his hand to knock—only to pause at a voice from within.
"Please wait outside."
'It's okay,' Alen told himself, sitting down on the bench beside the door. He took a deep breath and leaned back, head resting against the wall.
Minutes passed. Then hours.
Exhaustion finally took over. His body relaxed, and his eyelids drooped. Before long, Alen was fast asleep, slouched against the wall, chest gently rising and falling.
The door creaked open.
A woman in a sharp red suit stood at the entrance, arms folded, her gaze falling on him. Her sigh was soft but audible.
"Alen Hampson?"
Alen jolted awake, rubbing his eyes. "Mrs. Broody," he said, still half-dazed. "Actually, I came to get the points."
He fumbled for his badge—a small metal insignia—and clicked it. A transparent screen hovered in the air. It displayed Alen's full name, his rank, a record of completed and failed tasks, and a golden box showing his total points—the real currency of this world.
"Alen…" Mrs. Broody sighed, voice low and stern. "You still have time. I'm asking you again—change departments. You don't even have an Emo, and every minor task we assign you nearly gets you killed."
Her eyes scanned his bruised arms and battered clothes. Alen instinctively shrank back.
He knew what she meant.
She knew how he'd respond.
She didn't wait for an answer. With a final glance, she turned and walked back into her office. "Think it through, Alen."
After receiving the points for his mission, Alen exited the building—a grand structure shaped like a giant mechanical lotus. Its petals rotated slowly in the air, humming with energy.
Flying trains whooshed overhead, carrying people and their Emos. Alen stepped onto a square marble platform embedded in the ground. As he scanned his green ID card, it deducted three points, causing the square to rise and round into a floating transport disk.
The disk took off, gliding gently through the air.
These air-pathways were like floating streets. You didn't need to walk—just stand, and the disk would carry you wherever you needed to go.
Alen's dorm sat nestled in a quiet section of the city, a sleek building outfitted with the latest tech and clean design. It was modest, but better than the place he once lived—a crumbling room in a building on the verge of collapse.
Joining the Time Police had changed his life.
But not entirely.
Now it was filled with hardship.
And humiliation.
People stepped on him just because he didn't have an Emo.
Emos—spiritual beast companions—were bonded to their users, enhancing strength, endurance, and tactical efficiency. Everyone had one.
Everyone except Alen.
Still, he never cursed his fate. He accepted it. Even liked the quiet.
But sometimes... it was exhausting.
Because no matter how hard he worked, risking life and limb—his efforts were always just a joke to the others.
That night, he cooked a simple meal and sat quietly in his small room. The walls were white, the ceiling marked with glowing blue carvings—energy veins of the structure.
He flopped onto his narrow bed, tired beyond belief.
"Tomorrow I need to charge my watch," he muttered, staring at the old stopwatch clutched in his hand. He let it rest on his chest.
"It's fine," he whispered.
Time passed.
Moonlight filtered through the window. A breeze rustled faintly through the air vents.
Alen slept soundly.
Sharp knocking shattered the silence.
Alen stirred, eyes still heavy with sleep. "Ugh... don't tell me they're here to make me clean their toilet again."
It wouldn't be the first time. Probably wouldn't be the last.
He dragged himself to the door and peeked through the hole.
No one.
Just a flickering shadow, disappearing into the corridor.
A prank?
Likely.
He could've ignored it. Should've. But that never worked. If he didn't answer, they'd just get more creative—and crueler.
So, with a resigned breath, he unlatched the door and pulled it open.
Nothing.
The hallway was silent.
He looked left. Then right.
Still nothing.
Thud.
Something nudged his foot.
Alen glanced down to see a worn-out box, its corners bent, edges stained and crumpled like it had been kicked around too many times.
His stomach dropped.
Great. Probably full of rats. Or some half-rotted organ. Maybe something worse. He looked around again—someone had to be watching, waiting to laugh when he screamed and fell on his butt.
He crouched, fingers hesitant, and slowly lifted the lid.
His eyes widened.
Inside... was a single silver bracelet.
That was it.
No blood, no stink, no traps.
Alen stared, waiting—bracing—for something. An explosion. A poison dart. Maybe a flash that'd leave him bald.
Nothing.
Finally, cautiously, he reached in and picked it up.
The moment his fingers touched the metal, it pulsed—silver light sparking along its edges—and then, before he could even flinch, the bracelet snapped onto his wrist.
Click.
It adjusted instantly, tightening like it had always belonged there. The metal warmed against his skin, as if syncing with him.
"What the hell?!"
Alen yanked at it, twisted, tugged—but it didn't budge. It wasn't just clasped—it was fused, molded to his wrist like it had been melted there.
"Let go of me!"
He stumbled backward as a strange sensation washed over him—his body turning light, almost weightless. His vision blurred, and his head snapped side to side as if yanked by invisible strings.
Then came the pain.
A pressure like mountains collapsing onto his chest. A scream ripped from his throat, then was cut short as darkness took over.
His body dropped to the corridor floor.
Silence.
Hours passed...
When he came to conciousness, everything still ached—his muscles screamed, and his brain throbbed like it was on fire.
"Shit…" Alen groaned, trying to sit up.
His limbs felt like jelly. He was drenched in sweat, and the corridor light above him flickered gently, casting faint shadows.
It was still early—people wouldn't be up yet.
But that pain… it had ripped through him like lightning.
He gritted his teeth and pushed himself upright, holding his head.
And then—
"MoMo!"
A soft, high-pitched voice chirped in front of him.
Alen's eyes shot open.
A small white furball, about the size of a basketball, bounced into view. It has tiny feet, and huge, sparkling black eyes that shimmered like the night sky.
He blinked.
Wait... what?
He looked around—expecting an owner. Maybe someone had lost their Emo.
But the hallway was empty.
"MoMo?" the furball repeated, waddling closer.
It stared at him with unwavering focus.
It wasn't the end. It was the beginning of something Alen would've never expected. It's going to be journey full of unexpected.