Autumn Ease was a bit of a light sleeper.

Especially in an unsafe environment, falling asleep felt nearly impossible.

He always sensed cameras watching him everywhere.

He knew hiding his midnight transformation into a girl was pointless—they likely already knew.

Still, he wrapped himself tightly in the blanket, only drifting off near dawn.

For Autumn Ease, this was a rare dreamless night.

It felt like he’d merely closed his eyes for a moment before waking up refreshed.

Rumor had it that dreaming meant your brain stayed active during sleep. Endless weird, mind-bending dreams like his left you exhausted.

Many woke up tired after a full night’s rest simply from dreaming too much.

No one called him to rise. At first, he thought he was home—until the room’s empty decor reminded him: he was in the research institute.

It felt surreal.

An ordinary guy struggling to afford meals, doubting he’d ever have money to marry…

Now he stood in a high-tech institute studying spacetime theory. To a commoner, it blurred sci-fi into fantasy.

As Autumn Ease spaced out, unsure what to do, a knock sounded at the door.

“Mr. Autumn Ease, are you awake?”

“Ah… yeah. Water Poem?” Autumn Ease called back.

“Yes. Please freshen up. I’ll take you to Dr. Ji soon.”

“Okay.” Autumn Ease scrambled out of bed and into the ensuite bathroom.

Like a hotel, it held disposable toiletries ready for use.

Under three minutes later, he was done. Ignoring his messy hair, he opened the door.

As a shut-in, Autumn Ease rarely cared about his appearance…

“Um… your hair,” Water Poem gently noted. “It’s a bit wild.”

“No worries.” Autumn Ease spat into his palm, smoothed his hair, and said casually, “Let’s go.”

The gross move shattered his image so thoroughly that even Water Poem’s smile stiffened slightly.

Last night’s tests confirmed Autumn Ease’s body held a substance enabling safe traversal. His very actions might disrupt distorted spacetime nodes—simply put, Anomaly Points.

Though the mechanism was unknown, they were certain: Autumn Ease was the only man who could break their research deadlock.

So when he sat in the small conference room, Ji La’s first solemn words were: “Autumn Ease, you’re the only man who can save the world now.”

“Pfft—!” Autumn Ease spat his tea—just handed by Water Poem—straight onto Dr. Ji’s face. Even with his refined manners, Ji La’s eyebrow twitched.

“How laughable. You, the world’s savior?” Ji Yingying sneered, seizing the chance to mock him after his outburst.

“Cough… I never… uh, cough! Wanted to save the world!” Autumn Ease choked, struggling to calm down.

“Autumn Ease, this isn’t a joke,” Ji La said gravely, wiping his face with a towel from Water Poem. “Our world faces real crisis. We built instruments, but particle transfer with living beings almost always fails. The rare successes arrive weak—and some never return.”

“So… what’s happening?” Autumn Ease steadied himself. When had saving the world started seeming ridiculous to him?

Perhaps that moment sealed his loss of heroic spirit.

After all, why should an ordinary person be a hero?

If Autumn Ease could rewind time…

He’d refuse this power.

Hmm… but thoughts of his dream-self—the girl—made his resolve waver.

Truthfully, he was selfish. He didn’t want to save the world; he just wanted to save himself.

“This confidentiality agreement makes you one of us. You’ll gain government protection…”

“Uh… is there a salary?” Autumn Ease blurted awkwardly.

“Money-grubber! At a time like this, you’re thinking about pay?” Ji Yingying hissed, exasperated.

“Well, I need to eat,” Autumn Ease replied, shameless.

“There will be,” Ji La answered stiffly, swiftly adding, “Here’s the agreement. Review it, Xiao Qiu.”

“Hmm…”

Pages of dense clauses filled the document—mostly one-sided. Autumn Ease couldn’t leak institute secrets to anyone.

Not even family.

Benefits? None listed.

Just his signature at the end.

Autumn Ease had no choice.

Sometimes, heroes were forced into it.

Of course, he didn’t see himself as one. How could he be?

He just hoped they’d quickly solve why only he could traverse Anomaly Points. Then he could return to normal life—let others save the world.

‘Let whoever wants to go, go. I’m not dying for this’—that was Autumn Ease’s truest thought.

“Let’s go to the shelter’s core layer.” Post-signing, Ji La led Autumn Ease to an internal elevator. Though it showed only two floors down, the descent felt like plunging tens of meters.

When the doors opened, Autumn Ease froze in shock.

“Huh… is this… the surface?” he asked blankly.

“Of course not,” Ji La chuckled. “All windows are HD displays simulating outdoors to ease claustrophobia. Ventilators pump air with a special fresh scent, mimicking surface conditions.”

“I see…” As a tech enthusiast, Autumn Ease leaned close, even touching the screen to confirm.

The resolution blew so-called 8K displays out of the water!

Deeper in, high-tech instruments multiplied. Finally, they reached a hall-like room.

At its center lay a cylindrical metal pod, webbed with countless wires—a supercomputer on steroids…

“What… is this?” Autumn Ease breathed in awe.

“Hmph, clueless? This is the Particle Transfer Device,” Ji Yingying declared proudly, like showcasing her masterpiece. “It disintegrates a person into particles, transports them to flesh-inaccessible Anomaly Points, then reassembles them from backups for spatial traversal.” (PS: Sci-fi logic—don’t overthink it.)

“Whoa, after reassembly, am I still me? Is it still my soul?” Autumn Ease flinched back.

“Idiot. Science doesn’t recognize souls. If your brain matches the backup, you’re unchanged,” Ji Yingying scoffed.

“Really?”

“Heh… correct. ‘Soul’ is pseudoscience. At best, it’s your particle-state brain,” Ji La clarified.

“Then why need me with this thing?” Autumn Ease frowned suspiciously.

“Riders are rare—one in ten thousand can board. Of those, one in ten thousand arrives safely. And one in ten thousand returns,” Ji La sighed. “We lack candidates to clear reality-affecting distorted nodes.”

“So you’ve solved some already?”

“Yes. One reality-affecting node was cleared—but the cost was high. Returnees died or were paralyzed by side effects. We can’t reuse them. Yet new Anomaly Points keep appearing…”

“If they generate automatically, aren’t they endless?” Autumn Ease pressed.

“Most vanish from unstable structures or low energy. Some hide undetected. But the latest Anomaly Point links to you.”

“To me?” Autumn Ease pointed at his nose.

“Yes. Past points had unknown origins. This one stems from you—your intense thoughts spawned multiple distorted timelines. Some faded; the rest fused into a special historical node…”

“A parallel world because of me?”

“You could say that. But understand—it’s not a full world. True parallel worlds don’t exist…”

“…” Autumn Ease fell silent for a long moment. “So… it’s my fault… then… maybe… I should fix it. Maybe… the male me, and the girl me in dreams, are tied to it…”