Jason's eyes opened slowly, like they were stuck shut. His head felt heavy, and his body felt weak, as if he had slept for days. A soft light shined down on him, and when his vision cleared a little, he saw a plain white ceiling above him.
"Where… is… this?" he whispered.
Even speaking hurt. His throat felt dry, and each breath made his chest rise and fall fast, too fast. He blinked a few more times until the room around him started to make sense.
He turned his head to the left.
There was a keyboard sitting by the wall, a black electric guitar leaning beside it. Sheet music was scattered on a chair, as if someone had been practicing a song just the night before.
He turned his head to the right.
A TV.
A dresser.
A tall mirror.
None of it was familiar. None of it looked like anything from his old life.
That made panic creep up his spine.
Jason pushed himself up, but even that small move felt strange. His arms were stiff. His back ached. His muscles didn't feel like his own. It was like waking up in a new suit that was a size too small.
As he sat up, something else made his breath catch.
His hands.
He stared at them, turning them palm-up and then palm-down. They were too smooth. Too slim. Too small. His hands weren't supposed to look like this. His real hands used to be big, strong, shaped by years of hard work, fights, instruments, stunts, and six long years in prison.
These hands looked like they belonged to a young man who hadn't gone through anything yet.
Jason's heart sped up again. He couldn't stop it.
"No… no, no, no…"
He took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself. In, out. In, out. It took a long minute, but eventually his breathing steadied enough for him to think clearly.
"Okay," he whispered. "Slow down. Look around. Figure this out."
He slid off the bed and stood, though his legs wobbled so much he had to grab the wall for support. His sense of balance was off, like this body didn't know how to move the way he expected.
When he reached the mirror, he froze.
Staring back at him was not the Jason Pierce he remembered. Not the man who once held awards. Not the man who was betrayed. Not the man who died in flames.
Instead, the mirror showed a young man—early twenties, maybe twenty-one or twenty-two. Handsome. Slim. Dark skin that glowed under the room's light. Black hair that was messy in a natural way. Deep black eyes that looked sharp and full of life.
Jason reached out and touched the mirror. Then, slowly, he touched his own face.
"This… isn't me," he said softly.
Hearing those words made his stomach twist even more. His chest tightened. His breathing sped up again.
He backed away from the mirror—and that was when the pain hit.
A sharp, stabbing pain ripped through his skull. Jason grabbed his head with both hands and fell to his knees. His vision blurred. His ears rang. His screams filled the room.
Then memories—not his memories—flooded into him all at once.
They rushed in so fast he couldn't breathe.
A small boy sitting on a couch, feet not touching the floor, playing with a toy guitar. A man with tired eyes saying, "You can do it, son," while guiding the boy's fingers on real guitar strings.
A mother smiling as she cooked in a tiny kitchen.
School halls.
Music classes.
Graduation photos.
Friends laughing.
Nights spent writing songs while sitting on the floor.
A father crying quietly over bills and letters from banks.
A collapsing company.
A young Jason Pierce trying his best to help his father's business stay alive.
Then—
A sharp pain in the chest.
A fall to the ground.
Darkness.
Then nothing.
Jason screamed again, louder. He curled up on the floor, hands over his ears, trying to block the flood of thoughts and memories that weren't his.
Two minutes felt like two hours.
Then the pain stopped.
Just like that.
Jason lay on the floor, panting. Sweat covered his forehead. His heart raced. His entire body shook as if he had just run for miles.
But now he understood.
He wasn't dreaming.
He wasn't hallucinating.
This wasn't heaven or hell.
He was in a different world—an alternate Earth.
"How… how is this possible?" he whispered.
He pushed himself up slowly and leaned his back against the side of the bed. The world finally stopped spinning, and he could think clearly again.
He closed his eyes and went through the new memories at his own pace this time.
This world's entertainment industry was a hugely different from his old one. Music companies had new names. No familiar singers, all new faces, new voices, new songs.
This world's Jason Pierce had the same name as him. He had just finished college with a music degree and planned to help his father's small entertainment company, which was almost out of money. Most of the staff had left to join stronger companies. Famous singers ignored the company. The father didn't have much time left before everything fell apart.
The young man had died from a sudden heart attack in this very room.
Jason took all this in bit by bit.
"So the other Jason… really died," he said softly.
He felt sad. He didn't even know the boy, but he had seen his memories, felt his hopes, and watched his dreams fade in the last seconds of his life. It hurt to think about someone so young dying alone.
Jason looked up at the mirror again.
Two souls had been in this body for a moment.
Now only one was left.
"Thank you," Jason whispered gently, "for giving me this chance. I promise I'll take care of your father's company. I'll live the life you couldn't finish."
As soon as he spoke, a warm feeling spread through his chest. It felt calm, soft, peaceful. Then it faded.
The other soul—the original Jason—was gone.
Jason stood up and walked slowly around the room. His legs still shook a little, but he was getting used to it. He touched the keyboard, ran his fingers over the guitar strings, and opened drawers to see what was inside.
It was a simple room.
Small bed.
Plain desk.
Old chair.
A window with half-open curtains.
Music posters on the wall.
It felt like a normal young adult's room, but to Jason, it felt like the door to a new beginning.
He walked to the window and pushed the curtains aside.
The city outside looked older. Smaller. Almost like a city from his world twenty years ago. The buildings were shorter, the cars simpler, the signs less bright. A few people walked the sidewalks, talking, laughing, carrying groceries.
This place felt peaceful.
It also felt full of chances.
"This world has no idea what I know," Jason whispered.
He wasn't bragging. It was simply true.
He had written hit songs. He had acted in movies that made millions. He had directed shows, produced records, and built an entire empire from nothing.
If he could do it once in a world full of tough competition…
He could do it again here, where everything was easier.
Of course, he wasn't going to rush. He needed to learn how this world worked. He needed to understand money, laws, people, and culture here. But one thing was already sure:
He had been given a second life.
And he would use it well.
Jason let out a small laugh—soft and tired, but real.
"I guess I'm… alive again," he said. "Who would've thought?"
His stomach growled loudly.
"…And hungry."
He turned away from the window and walked toward the door. Every step felt more steady now. His new body was slowly becoming his own.
He opened the door and stepped into the hallway.
A new world waited for him.
A new life.
A new name, even though it was the same name.
Jason Pierce—reborn.
He touched his chest again, feeling the heartbeat of the young man who once lived here.
"I won't waste this chance," he whispered.
And with that, he walked forward, ready to face whatever this world had in store for him.