Synopsis:
Carlos, an ordinary middle-class young man, dies during a failed robbery attempt in which he does not even try to resist. However, instead of passing on to the afterlife, he awakens in the body of Benedito, a young man born to northeastern migrants who lives in a tenement in the city of São Paulo in the year 1887.
Confused and frightened, Carlos — now Benedito — begins to wander through a Brazil on the brink of Abolition and the collapse of the monarchy, during one of the most unstable and dangerous periods in its history. Struggling not only to survive, but to escape the fate reserved for the invisible, he decides to change his own life… and, little by little, History itself.
P.S.: Do not expect much R-18 content; I may not even include it. Although it can be fun to write, it becomes an obstacle in certain stories. I do not believe in my ability to write something truly interesting if I keep inserting explicit content in the middle of it, so if I add anything of that sort, it will be much further down the line.
P.S.2.:This story will also be published in Brazilian Portuguese.
Chapter 1 – Just Another Silva I
While other countries cultivate their geniuses, we prune ours.
A simple phrase, but a true one.
Brazil is a land where effort is ignored and mediocrity is applauded.
Cases such as Carlos Chagas, Oswaldo Cruz, João Gurgel, and many others are proof of this.
Illustrious figures, exemplary professionals, and most importantly, real people who lived in our world and made a difference — yet who now live forgotten by much of the population.
From exceptional individuals to ignoble figures left on the margins of history like just anyone else.
Does this mean that Brazilians are a frivolous people? No, merely disillusioned, clinging to a vain hope of unattainable change.
A country where even basic dignity is denied.
A country rich in abundant natural resources, yet controlled by a false, arrogant, and autocratic elite that pretends to be intellectuals, and by politicians who distribute crumbs as if they were doing a favor.
In a country like this, living in ignorance is not stupidity — it is survival.
After all… ignorance is a blessing.
But what happens when the blessing becomes a curse?
Disillusionment in Brazil has become more than an escape; it has become a way of life.
Much is said about the "lost generation," a generation of young people devastated by the Spanish flu and the Great War at the beginning of the 20th century.
Now, at the beginning of the 21st century, the same seems to be happening again. However, instead of war or a pandemic, it is the lack of prospects that is responsible for destroying the current generation.
More and more young people with higher education find themselves unable to access the job market in the fields they worked so hard to pursue.
Of course, this is a global problem. From Asian countries such as China, South Korea, and Japan, to European nations like France, Portugal, and Spain — all report the same issue: a generation that seems to be drowning, working more and more and dreaming less and less.
But in Brazil, the problem runs much deeper.
Brazil suffers from poor basic education.
Healthcare is inaccessible to the poorest and of terrible quality even for those with some financial stability.
Laws are poorly written and intentionally vague, leaving room to be interpreted however a judge sees fit.
A weak yet bloated state, where rights are for a few, but duties are for many.
In a country like this, people abandon reality and embrace ignorance as if it were their only salvation.
From time to time, a "prophet," a "chosen one," a… "messiah" emerges.
Someone who promises change, but in the end it is always more of the same. One man alone against a system would never be capable of producing real change.
Even so, ignorance drives Brazilians toward blind idolatry of these figures, feeding an intermittent cycle that seems to have no end.
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In a dark room, a soft snore echoed beneath the blankets of a bed where a young man slept peacefully. He was at ease, drifting through a perfect world in his dreams, until the shrill sound of a siren rang out.
"Mmnh…" With a groan, the young man extended his hand beneath the covers and fumbled along the nightstand, only to find nothing.
"Where is it?" Confused, he opened his puffy eyes and looked around, trying to identify the source of the noise and the reason for his immediate suffering, only to notice the faint glow of his phone coming from the desk.
"Fuck." Resting his head back on the pillow, the young man thought about ignoring the noise and simply going back to sleep, but that was impossible. After a few seconds, he angrily threw the blankets aside and got out of bed to turn off the alarm.
"I hate Fridays." Looking at the time on his phone screen — 4:30 a.m. — the young man muttered, but instead of returning to bed, he headed straight to the bathroom before he could change his mind and stepped under the cold shower, summoning every bit of willpower he had.
Ten minutes later, the young man stepped out of the shower, shivering slightly and wrapped in a towel. "I hate Fridays," he muttered again as he walked back to the bedroom.
Minutes later, he emerged dressed in simple jeans, a gray dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, black sneakers, and a plain watch on his left wrist. He headed to the small, cramped kitchen and began preparing his breakfast.
The process was quick, and ten minutes later the table was set: two boiled eggs, coffee with milk, and a ham and cheese sandwich.
Sitting down, he closed his eyes for a brief prayer before starting to eat.
He did not turn on the television, and his phone lay silent with the screen facing down. The silence of the apartment was absolute, broken only by the sound of the coffee cup touching the table, allowing his mind a moment of peace to savor the warmth of the coffee as it chased away the last remnants of sleep still lingering on his face.
***
At 5:15 a.m., the young man stopped in front of a mirror and stared at himself.
"Pants, okay. Shirt, okay. Tie…" He thought about it for a moment and decided it was unnecessary.
He then grabbed his backpack and checked to make sure everything was inside.
"Documents, laptop, planner, lunch box…" Closing the backpack, he patted his pockets. "Wallet, phone, keys."
Seeing that he had everything, the young man took a small ID badge with his name and photo that hung on the mirror.
"Another day, Carlos. Just another day," he said with a sigh, slipping the badge under his shirt before leaving the small 40-square-meter apartment and heading down two flights of stairs.
"Good morning, Mr. Edmar." Carlos waved to the building's doorman, who was helping himself to some coffee.
"Morning, Mr. Carlos. Taking the bus today?"
"What choice do I have? License plate restriction, right?" Carlos sighed as he left the building.
Carlos hated taking the bus. That was why, after a lot of work, he had bought an old 2018 HB20 at a reasonable price. The car wasn't new, but it was well maintained and far better than riding around in a packed bus.
Unfortunately, he lived in the only city in the country with a vehicle restriction system, a project meant to reduce traffic during certain hours and cut carbon emissions.
In simple terms, it meant that on Fridays he couldn't drive through certain parts of the city.
A complete joke meant to cover up poor management and terrible planning during the city's construction and development.
Even more irritated than when he had woken up, Carlos walked out of the parking area and headed toward the bus stop.
With calm movements, he put on his headphones, randomly selected a song from his early-2000s classics playlist, and started walking, resigning himself to a miserable commute to work.
An hour later, Carlos got off the bus and headed toward a large mirrored-glass building in the center of Itaim Bibi.
The trip had gone without major issues, although standing for over an hour, crushed among a crowd, had been anything but pleasant.
Checking his watch, Carlos saw that it was still early — 6:40 a.m., almost an hour before his workday officially began. He walked toward the building with a resigned posture, pulling his badge out from under his shirt and offering a brief greeting to the security guard before entering.
In the building's lobby, a few people were already heading toward the elevators, hurried footsteps and ongoing conversations filling the space.
Carlos didn't worry about any of that. His work hours hadn't officially started yet, so why bother? Walking calmly to a random elevator, he pressed the button for the 13th floor and began the ascent.
The 13th floor was a standard corporate space.
Carlos stepped out of the elevator and greeted the receptionist before entering through a side door.
The moment he walked in, his view was filled with a group of energetic and hardworking young people moving among the many cubicles of the department, handing out documents.
The smell of printer ink and stale coffee lingered throughout the area, and the sound of discussions and clacking keyboards was everywhere.
Carlos greeted a few people as he made his way to his own cubicle. Most were around his age, with a few slightly older.
"Carlos, good morning. These are the documents from the Urban Development Department that need to be reviewed." Before he could even sit down, a younger woman spoke to him and handed him a stack of papers.
"Thanks, Luana," Carlos said, and the woman smiled briefly before continuing her work distributing documents.
Carlos watched her for a moment before looking around at the other employees.
Contrary to appearances, many of them were not interns or people without degrees, but fully qualified professionals.
Luana, for example, had graduated in law nearly two years earlier and was preparing to take the Brazilian Bar Exam (OAB) once again.
Júlio, the man at the neighboring desk, held a degree in economics with a specialization in something Carlos didn't even know.
As for Carlos himself, he had a degree in Business Administration, with specializations in Contract Management, Compliance, and Corporate Governance.
Most members of that department held college degrees, and a large portion had some form of specialization.
Even so, they spent their days doing basic messenger work or, like Carlos, working as contract analysts.
Carlos didn't dwell on it and immediately began reviewing the documents he had received.
He knew that the current situation wasn't his fault, nor that of his colleagues, for lack of effort. The simple fact that they were in that department already indicated that they were excellent professionals — or at the very least, that they stood out among the many fighting for space in the job market.
But if they were so good in their fields, why would they accept jobs so far below their capabilities?
Simple. Because the market was saturated.
For a long time, professions of great importance — such as doctors, lawyers, engineers, journalists, and many others — were occupied only by members of the elite.
Public universities had their most sought-after programs filled by the children of people who could provide a strong educational foundation and who were able to pass rigorous entrance exams.
Those who failed to gain admission to public universities could still rely on private institutions.
However, despite offering quality education and elite-level management, private higher education institutions carried the stigma of admitting only those who couldn't get into public universities. As a result, they were viewed with a certain level of disdain by the academic elite within public universities and by society at large.
During the period of the dictatorship, however, growing dissatisfaction with the government and the "revolutionary" ideals present among part of the elite — specifically professors and students from the public higher education system — led to an increase in the number of private institutions.
This was because, in order to prevent "communist" thought from spreading from the elite to the middle classes and, consequently, to the poor, the government decided to create an educational credit program. Its goal was to select academically competent individuals from more humble backgrounds and provide them with the financial assistance necessary to enter higher education institutions.
On paper, the idea was to replace the intellectual elite of the time — which held views opposed to the government — with a new elite that was more patriotic and conservative, or at least less radical and less opposed to the regime.
Naturally, in response to the inclusion of marginalized individuals in academic spaces, the rivalry between public and private universities grew even stronger. For a long time, this rivalry became a topic of debate and validation when it came to securing a job, with graduates from public institutions having better chances of landing good positions and achieving social mobility, as they were seen as truly intelligent and talented individuals — unlike those from private institutions, who were viewed as unqualified people relying on money to secure a diploma.
Unfortunately for the government of the time, the plan to replace the country's intellectual elite was a failure, but as a partial compensation the project ended up opening the door for humble people to enter higher education.
After the end of the dictatorship and the reestablishment of democracy in Brazil, the program was modified and greatly expanded.
What had once been a program that selected only competent individuals from the lower classes became a nationwide initiative that allowed broad access to private universities for poor and working-class people, inadvertently leading to an explosive growth in the number of private universities.
By the time Carlos finished high school, the job market in business administration had been saturated for nearly two decades. That was because the course had long been sold as an "easy route" to success.
It was more accessible and practical than courses like law or others of the same nature, and highly attractive to those with great ambition and a desire for quick wealth. As a result, many naïve and greedy young people were pushed down a one-way path.
This led to a true educational and economic catastrophe: countless newly graduated professionals competing for very few job openings, which in turn caused a depreciation of the base salary of professionals already in the market.
"So you're unhappy with what I pay you? No problem. There's a fresh graduate who'll take your spot for a lot less—and still wash my car."
On top of that, resource management is vital for any company and for sectors of public administration. Many employers were unwilling to hire fresh graduates for such critical positions, preferring instead to give access to professionals already established in the market, or to trusted acquaintances and relatives.
The same could be said about many other degrees. Law? Plenty of lawyers end up settling for legal analyst positions, either because they can't pass the bar exam or because they can't stabilize themselves in the field.
Engineering? If you have a car, you can become an Uber driver.
Carlos closed a document and placed it on a pile before standing up to get some coffee.
In the end, there was no point in dwelling on these things. Say whatever you want about private universities—their admission criteria and the quality of education they provide. At the very least, the opportunity to earn a diploma had been given.
Of course, for every decent professional trained at some corner-store university, how many incompetent ones were there? That would clearly bring more harm than benefit to society, but that didn't matter to the government.
After all, as one former president once said: if the people are miserable, they'll keep voting for us.
Pouring himself a cup of coffee, Carlos leaned against the counter and allowed himself a moment to breathe.
He didn't need to think about that. It wasn't his problem. He was doing fine—he had a job, he was studying to become a programmer, and he planned to leave that job and that country behind.
Whatever happened to other people had nothing to do with him.
"Hey, Carlos, morning."
A young man about Carlos's age walked into the break room and poured himself some coffee.
"What's up, Lucas. Morning," Carlos replied as he took a sip, grimacing at the excessive sugar. Who made this shit? Fuck, Rogério must be back from vacation.
"Hey, Mari's birthday is tomorrow. You going?" Lucas asked out of nowhere.
"What?"
"Mari's birthday. Tomorrow," Lucas repeated.
"Tomorrow? Shit… I forgot," Carlos said without much conviction. "Man, I'm swamped with work this week, and I wanted to use Saturday to study a bit."
"Come on, man, you need to rest. Taking one day to relax won't kill you."
"Easy for you to say—you've got a safe job waiting for you at your cousin's company if things go south. I'm the one walking on thin ice here," Carlos complained lightly, already thinking about the pile of documents he still had to deal with that day.
"Yeah, well, why don't you come with me then?" Lucas said, giving Carlos a pat on the shoulder. "I'm sure he's already forgiven you."
"Oh sure. I only hooked up with Júlia. No big deal," Carlos said sarcastically.
"In high school. He needs to get over that shit," Lucas replied.
Carlos shook his head. Jorge—Lucas's cousin—was unhinged.
The three of them had grown up together in the same condominium, studied at the same school, and when it came time to choose a college major, Carlos and Lucas went for business administration—which, looking back, had been pretty stupid—while Jorge moved to the countryside.
After graduation, seeing how rough the job market was, Lucas and Carlos decided to pursue a specialization to increase their chances of landing a job.
Jorge, on the other hand, started his own company—a small business, but one that had become quite profitable over time and was now expanding.
Jorge had invited Lucas several times to come work with him, but Lucas always turned it down. He didn't want to move to the countryside and was comfortable where he was.
As for Carlos… well, back in high school he had hooked up with a girl named Júlia, whom Jorge was apparently in love with—and who, in Jorge's mind, was also crazy about him.
Carlos hadn't known that and ended up dating her for a while. Well, actually, for almost six years, before they broke up. And apparently Jorge had never handled that very well.
"Alright. Forget Jorge and Júlia. That's not the point," Lucas said. "The point is, you really need to get out more, clear your head. Weren't you into that lawyer friend of Mari's from work? Luana?"
"Yeah… but honestly? I don't know if I'm ready for a relationship right now."
"This again?" Lucas said, slightly irritated. "Man, I know Júlia was a bitch, but you need to move on. Fuck, look at you—a good-looking guy, a job that pays well, a car, your own apartment—"
"That I'll be paying off until I'm eighty."
"Still, it's yours. Just having a car and an apartment already puts you ahead of most guys out there. How long are you gonna keep moping over her? It was just a pair of horns. A man without horns is a defenseless man."
"Lucas…"
"No. You're gonna listen now," Lucas cut him off. "I'm sick of this shit. You broke up with Júlia almost two years ago and haven't had a real relationship since. Fine. Don't want anything serious? Cool. But skipping a chance with a nice girl just to keep fucking hookers? Nah, man. That's bullshit."
Carlos frowned and looked around. Luckily, no one seemed to be listening.
"No need to look around, nobody heard. And it's not like it'd make a difference anyway—people here kind of already know you like to go out with one every now and then."
"What?" Carlos looked horrified at his friend, who just smiled.
"I'm kidding. But seriously—if you don't go, I'll tell everyone you bang hookers. I'll even give them the contact of that Japanese girl you like, so they can hit her up too."
"Son of a bitch," Carlos glared at Lucas, genuinely tempted to punch him. But he paused, sighed, and relented. "Alright, I get it. I'll go to the party. I'll just need to buy Mari a birthday gift on the way out. Can you give me a ride? I need to hit the mall and I don't have my car today."
"That's what I wanted to hear," Lucas grinned. "No problem, I'll take you. But now let's get back—if Rodrigo sees us chatting here, we're fucked."
Carlos watched Lucas leave the break room and sighed as he walked back to his desk, thinking about his friend's threat.
It wasn't that Carlos liked hookers—who the hell does? He wanted a normal relationship with a nice girl. But after the toxic relationship with his last—and only—girlfriend, he felt hesitant, even afraid, to get involved again.
Especially after seeing how society had turned men into an enemy, an oppressive force. Was that an irrational fear, or was he letting the internet influence him too much?
Fuck it.
Sitting down at his desk, Carlos opened another document and began to read. His thoughts were pushed aside as he focused on the task at hand, ready for yet another round.