After his outburst, Alexander froze for a single, stretched second, then he moved.
He practically launched himself off the bed, the sudden motion sending the sheets into a soft ripple behind him as his bare feet hit the floor.
He didn't even register the comfort this time. His mind was already racing too fast for that as he muttered, "Shit! Shit, shit, fucking shit—this is not happening. My cheat... My only chance at survival in this freaky reality... It can't end like this..."
He started pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth. Sharp turns. Quick steps.
His hands dragged through his hair, then dropped, then clenched, then lifted again as if trying to physically grab a solution out of the air, "Think. Think. There's got to be something I can do. There's always something…"
He was nine years too early. Nine years without a game that didn't even exist yet. No cards to play the game. No duels to engage. No energy to harvest and use. No system progress. All of which leads to a single, merciless conclusion: no survival.
At that thought, Alexander's panic started to surge once more as he muttered, "This is bullshit..."
He turned again, faster this time, and suddenly, he stopped as he took notice of something, a glimmer of hope.
There, against the wall, sitting neatly on a polished desk, was something that hadn't been there before in his thoughts: a computer.
Alexander blinked, then his eyes narrowed as he realised, "…Right."
Of course. Information. If he couldn't rely on the game, then he could at least rely on knowledge. The internet alone would have all he needs, maybe he could even find a solution for his current problem.
With that thought in his mind, Alexander took a deep breath to calm his racing heart and stepped closer to the desk, then slowed a little as he started to observe it with more attention, making him comment, "Why does that look… wrong?"
The monitor wasn't flat or sleek like he was used to in the other set of memories. It was bulky. Thick. The screen itself had a faint curvature, and the display, for what little he could see of it, felt very crude, very blocky and definitely outdated.
Alexander frowned, but pushed the thought aside. "It doesn't matter if it is an old model. As long as it works, it will be fine."
He reached forward and pressed the power button on the cumbersome case. The machine responded very slowly.
A low mechanical hum filled the room as the system came to life, followed by a loud beep and the distinct, almost aggressive whirring of the internal fan. It wasn't subtle, nor was it quiet. It sounded like the thing was actively struggling just to exist.
Alexander stared at the screen, waiting, and waiting, making him whisper anxiously, "Come on."
Undeterred by his plea, the startup process crawled forward. Line by line. Screen by screen. Painfully slow.
Alexander crossed his arms, then uncrossed them, then tapped his foot, then stopped, then sighed while lamenting, "…I miss SSDs already."
After what seemed like an eternity, the system finally loaded.
Alexander leaned forward slightly, his focus sharpening as the desktop appeared, and then he stared as the silence in the room stretched; only the jarring sound of the internal fan could be heard until Alexander muttered in disbelief, "That's it...?"
Two icons, just two. Microsoft Word. Microsoft Excel. Nothing else, no browser, no shortcuts, nothing.
Alexander didn't move for a long moment, then, very slowly, his face went blank as he realised, "…Ah."
It came back to him, not as a sudden realisation, but as a quiet, creeping certainty that made everything even worse.
The internet wasn't what he knew. It wasn't everywhere. It wasn't accessible. It wasn't something you just opened whenever and wherever you wanted. It was limited. Restricted. Academic. Governmental. Not for random teenagers sitting in their rooms.
Alexander inhaled slowly as he muttered in a resigned tone, "Of course it is..."
He dragged a hand down his face, barely holding back the building rage and frustration, "Perfect. Just... perfect..."
No matter how much he tried to control himself, Alexander was unable to hold back the feeling building up in him, so he opened his mouth to vent.
But, right at that moment, a very clear sound broke the building momentum.
Knock. Knock.
Alexander froze as a strangely familiar voice followed the two knocks, asking, "Master Alexander? I heard screaming... Is everything alright? Do you require assistance?"
The voice was calm, measured, but one that still carried a firm edge and that Alexander found very reassuring.
Hearing that voice, Alexander blinked for a moment, then exhaled quietly as something clicked in his mind, "…Right."
Roland Cooper. The butler hired by Alexander's adoptive father, who had taken care of him since he was little. The man who had been there since the beginning.
Alexander turned, quickly composing himself as he walked toward the door. By the time his hand reached the handle, his expression had already smoothed out.
He opened it and took a quick look at the person on the other side.
It was a Caucasian man who carried himself with quiet precision, the kind that came from years of discipline rather than natural ease. His hair, neatly combed back, was a careful blend of black and silver, the strands at his temples giving away his age more honestly than the rest of him ever would. His dark eyes were steady and observant, missing very little, yet never lingering long enough to seem intrusive.
A well-kept moustache framed his upper lip, trimmed with exacting care. It added to the sense that every detail of his appearance had been considered and maintained without fail. There was nothing flashy about him, but nothing careless either.
His suit fit him perfectly, tailored close without being restrictive, the fabric crisp and unwrinkled as though it had never known a moment of disorder. The only hint of colour came from his tie, a deep, dignified purple that stood out just enough to suggest personality beneath the formality.
Altogether, he gave the impression of someone dependable, composed, and quietly authoritative, a presence that commanded respect without ever asking for it.
Roland stood there, posture straight, expression composed. His eyes, however, lingered just a second longer than necessary, scanning Alexander's face.
Alexander spoke first, "I'm fine," he said, keeping his tone steady. "I just had… a nightmare."
The words came out naturally, almost too naturally. Polite, measured, not quite how he remembered speaking with Roland.
Ronald's gaze didn't leave him immediately; he kept studying him to ensure that he was really fine, and after a brief pause, he lightly nodded and said, "I see."
Then he stepped back slightly and added, "You should prepare for the day ahead. You still have school this morning."
Alexander's expression twitched just slightly before he hesitantly replied, "… Right. I'll get ready."
Ronald gave one last look, then turned and left without another word, and Alexander calmly closed the door, making the silence fall once more in his room.
Alexander stood there for a moment, then his shoulders dropped as he muttered, "Urgh… School..."
He let out a long breath before adding in an almost defeated tone, "That's right, I'm fifteen…"
That alone would've been bad enough, but no, of course not; his memories helpfully filled in the rest about what to expect.
An elite private school carefully selected by his adoptive father, not only for prestige, and forming the "right connections", but mostly to ensure that he has the "right" education.
His father's words clearly echoed in his mind, something about avoiding the tainted education system engineered to dumb down the masses so that they could be freely exploited and be happy and proud about it.
Alexander snorted and commented, "Thanks to that, I now get to deal with entitled rich idiots..."
Spoiled to an unhealthy degree. Arrogant to the bone. Competitive for the pettiest reasons. The perfect mix for the most unpleasant attitudes. Luckily, not all of them were like that, as there were also regular and much more tolerable students.
He rubbed his face again and exhaled, "… What a great way to start the morning."
A glance toward the clock, and his expression shifted as he noticed the time, making him exclaim in an exasperated tone, "Oh fuck, you've got to be kidding me."
Then, without wasting any more time, he moved fast.
Clothes came off without ceremony as he headed straight for the bathroom. The shower turned on, steam quickly filling the space as hot water ran over him.
For a few minutes, there was nothing, just water, heat and the soothing sound of falling water. A small break in what is likely going to be a very chaotic, tense and confusing day, and then it was over.
Alexander stepped out, dried himself quickly, and returned to his room. The uniform of his elite school was already laid out, pristine and perfectly arranged, the previous Alexander's handiwork.
He put it on without comment; the fabric fit perfectly, almost too perfectly.
Once done, he paused in front of the mirror and, for the first time, he really looked at himself with a new perspective.
The face staring back at him wasn't exactly how he remembered in one set of memories, but still close enough to make him notice the semblance.
The sight made him freeze for a moment as his breath caught somewhere in his chest.
The brown hair fell neatly into place, trimmed with intention instead of neglect. The eyes were blue, a very clear blue that held none of the dull weight he remembered.
They watched him with a steadiness that felt almost unfamiliar, like they belonged to someone who had earned everything he had in life.
He shifted slightly. The reflection followed with quiet confidence, shoulders straight, balance effortless.
Only then did he focus more on the uniform he had easily dismissed before because of his familiarity.
A dark blazer, tailored close to the body, the fabric too clean, too precise. The kind of thing that didn't wrinkle no matter how you moved. Beneath it, a crisp shirt, collar sitting perfectly against his neck, a tie knotted without flaw, as if he'd done it a thousand times.
His gaze dropped to the crest stitched over the breast pocket.
A torch, its flame caught mid-flicker, fine thread picking out every curve of fire. This the emblem of his school, the Promethean Academy.
He reached up before thinking, fingers brushing the edge of the blazer, then his own face, half expecting the illusion to break while muttering, half surprised, half baffled, "…Huh."
He tilted his head slightly, smirking slightly as he commented in a satisfied tone, "Not bad. I may be erased by Galactus casually farting in my direction, but at least I'm handsome... It's a small consolation..."
He is tall for his age, close to 1.8 meters, well-built, though not overly muscular. The kind of appearance that would draw attention without trying.
Alexander narcissistically stared for another second, but then shook his head and muttered, "Focus."
He grabbed his backpack, which conveniently was already packed and already organised, then he stepped out of his room and allowed his muscle memory to lead him toward the dining room, where the already prepared breakfast was waiting for him.
After a quick meal, he once again let his muscle memory guide him out of the mansion, which, despite its obscene size, is only lived in by him, Roland and a few more helpers who keep it clean and in order, and rarely by his father.
Outside, a car stood ready with Ronald standing in front of it, waiting. It is not a flashy model, but unmistakably expensive.
Alexander approached the car and slid into the backseat without a word while Roland calmly sat in the driver's position.
The ride began shortly after, and he relaxed a bit as he noticed the partition screen that separated the front and rear compartments of the car.
As the scenery moved past the window, Alexander's thoughts drifted.
About the sudden emergence of the new set of memories, the death of the older Alexander, this world, all of it making him question, 'Why did this happen...? Why me...?'
There was no clear answer. In both sets of memories, there is nothing that hints at anything special.
It wasn't like hearing two voices. Just one stream of thought carrying pieces that didn't always fit together.
The older Alexander was a regular man with a regular life; the only thing remotely of note was his genuine love for Yu-Gi-Oh! card game.
He started collecting the cards when the game first came out, and since then, he has always been engaged in the game in some way or another, even taking part in tournaments from time to time.
On the other hand, the younger Alexander had been living a fine life, more than fine; he thrived.
His father's pressure to excel didn't break him but pushed him to do even more, even better; sure, he wasn't comparable with reality defying intellingence of the likes of Tony Stark, Reed Richards, and Victor Von Doom, but he was nonetheless very brilliant.
So what did happen to Alexander that allowed the older one to transmigrate and merge with the younger one into one? Was that even what happened in the first place?
Those questions kept repeating themselves in his mind until he exhaled quietly and muttered, "There is no point... I'll only tire myself..."
He couldn't find any answers, at least not yet, so his thoughts shifted to other issues like survival and gathering information.
"…Newspapers," he muttered under his breath. "That's probably my best bet."
Outdated, slow, but readily available, unlike everything else.
Then, the real problem resurfaced in his mind: Yu-Gi-Oh! Trading Card Game. Nine years. Nine years of waiting.
Alexander let out a dry, humourless chuckle, "Yeah. In the Marvel world, I'm not making it that long."
This world didn't work like that. Too many threats, too many unknowns. Aliens. Experiments. Gods. Cosmic Entities. And him?
Nothing. Worse, he didn't even know if the creator of the game existed in this reality. Which made him realise, '…I might be waiting for something that never happens.'
Silence settled in the backseat of the car, then, almost absently, he thought, '…It'd be easier if I just made the game myself.'
A pause as his thoughts briefly stalled, and his eyes narrowed slightly before he muttered, "…Wait."
The thought stayed there, it turned, and quickly expanded in his head almost without control.
Alexander straightened slightly in his seat as his mind moved faster and faster, "…Hold on."
The inherited brilliance, clouded by the chaotic series of events, finally started to shine.
He had played the game since it first came out. Cards. Rules. Structure. He knew all of it. Every mechanic. Every phase. Every interaction.
Slowly, his eyes widened, and then he exclaimed, "Yes!"
The word slipped out before he could stop it, "That's it!"
He leaned forward slightly, a grin breaking through for the first time, "I can create the game!!"