Another gift from Arlize? Nick wondered, completing his final set with barely elevated breathing. The warrior's physical conditioning seemed to be accelerating his own training regimen, muscle memory from a different lifetime integrating with this younger body.
After a quick shower, Nick dressed in another carefully selected outfit—simple enough to avoid drawing attention, yet put-together enough to convey seriousness. The balance was important. In his previous life, he'd oscillated between trying too hard and not trying at all. This time, every detail was calculated.
The morning air carried a hint of autumn crispness as he crossed the campus quad toward his first Wednesday class. Biology again, according to his first-week rotation. He'd been pleasantly surprised on Monday by how much clearer the concepts seemed this time around—Arlize's tactical mind parsing biological systems with surprising ease.
Nick decided that tonight he would begin formal meditation to better access Arlize's memories and skills. The random flashes of knowledge were useful, but deliberate control would be far more valuable.
After Biology ended, Nick went to the cafeteria to grab a quick lunch then headed back to the Math building for his afternoon Calculus class. As he neared the entrance, he noticed Matt leaning against a concrete pillar, scrolling through his phone with practiced nonchalance. Too practiced. The positioning was deliberate—Matt would have had to arrive early and wait specifically to orchestrate this "casual" encounter.
Nick maintained his pace, neither slowing nor accelerating. Showing avoidance would reveal too much; showing eagerness would contradict the careful distance he'd been establishing. Balance in all things—another of Arlize's battlefield principles now serving a different kind of war.
"Valiente," Matt called out, looking up from his phone with that familiar easy smile that had once seemed friendly but now read as calculated. "Aren’t you here a bit too early for class?"
Nick kept his expression neutral, his eyes steady as he studied Matt. "Early's relative," he said evenly. "Some of us prefer to be prepared."
"Still haven't heard back from Sarah," Matt observed, his tone light but his eyes watchful. "She's not used to being ignored."
A probe. Testing my reaction to her name.
"Been focused," Nick replied simply, shifting his backpack slightly. "Classes, clubs, settling in."
Matt studied him for a moment, that same calculation flickering behind his eyes. "You know, it's weird. Ryan was saying you seem... different. Like, completely different than high school."
Nick met his gaze steadily. "College is a fresh start."
"Is it, though?" Matt pushed away from the pillar, taking a half-step closer. "Because people don't change overnight, Nick. Not really."
The thinly veiled challenge hung in the air between them. In his previous life, Nick would have backpedaled, would have made some self-deprecating joke to ease the tension, desperate to remain in Matt's good graces.
That Nick was gone.
"Maybe they do when they see things clearly for the first time," Nick replied, his voice level but carrying an undercurrent that made Matt's smile falter momentarily.
The building's door opened behind them as other early students began filtering in for class. Matt glanced at the interruption, then back at Nick, his expression shifting to something almost rueful.
"Well, whatever this new act is, it's entertaining," he said, voice lowered. "Just remember who your real friends are, Nick. College is bigger than Westridge. Easy to get lost without people who know you."
The implied threat wasn't subtle. Stay in your place. Remember the hierarchy. The same message Matt had been sending since high school, just packaged differently.
"I know exactly who my real friends are," Nick replied, the double meaning clear only to himself. "See you around, Matt."
He walked past Matt into the building, feeling the other student's gaze boring into his back. Another encounter navigated, another piece positioned on the board. Matt's curiosity was piqued now—he'd be watching more closely. Good. Let him waste energy trying to figure out what had changed. Nick had more important things to focus on.
Calculus proceeded much as it had on Monday, though Nick was careful to moderate his performance slightly. After his conversation with Jordan yesterday about people noticing his sudden academic prowess, he'd realized the need for a more measured approach. Excellent, yes, but not suspiciously perfect.
Nick noticed Jordan's absence—the first break in their budding "friendship" pattern. Another variable to track. When Professor Ellis called on him to solve a particularly complex limit problem, Nick deliberately hesitated before working through it step by step, inserting a minor error that he then corrected. The performance was calculated—demonstrating clear ability without the preternatural perfection that might raise too many questions.
"Well done, Mr. Valiente," Professor Ellis nodded approvingly. "A thoughtful approach."
As the class ended, Nick gathered his things, the empty seat where Jordan typically sat remaining a small but noteworthy disruption to the pattern he'd been establishing. Was it simply a missed class, or something more significant? Nick filed the observation away for later analysis.
After class, he maintained his routine— study session in the library, nutrient backed meal in the dining hall, then back to his room for further preparations.
That's when Jordan appeared, knocking on his open door as Nick reviewed his calculus notes.
"Hey man," Jordan said, leaning against the doorframe. "Sorry I missed class today."
Nick glanced up, noting the slight shadows under Jordan's eyes, the tension in his normally relaxed posture. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah, just some family stuff to deal with," Jordan replied, waving dismissively. "Nothing major."
The explanation seemed reasonable enough, but Nick couldn't help noticing how Jordan's eyes swept the room quickly, taking in details with more attention than a casual visitor might.
"Got the notes if you need them," Nick offered.
Jordan's face brightened immediately. "That would be awesome. Professor Ellis moves fast."
Nick pulled a neatly organized sheet from his folder and handed it over. "Here. I highlighted the parts he emphasized for the first quiz."
"Thanks, man." Jordan accepted the notes, glancing through them with what appeared to be genuine relief. "Saves me from tracking down someone else from class."
As Jordan studied the notes, Nick observed him carefully. The casual demeanor had returned, but there was something deliberate about it now that Nick was watching for it—like someone who had trained themselves to appear relaxed.
"So," Jordan said, looking up from the notes. "I saw you talking with Matt at the activities fair yesterday."
The casual mention set Nick's internal alarms ringing. Jordan was tracking his interactions.
"Yeah," Nick replied, keeping his tone neutral. "He mentioned some Alpha Phi party."
Jordan's expression didn't change, but Nick noticed his fingers tighten slightly on the edge of the paper. "You going?"
"Probably not," Nick said, watching closely for a reaction. "Not really my scene anymore."
"Huh." Jordan leaned against the wall, his posture deliberately casual. "Thought those Westridge folks were your crowd. You, Sarah, Matt—the whole golden circle."
The term 'golden circle' caught Nick's attention immediately. It was a specific phrase—one that had been used almost exclusively within Westridge's social hierarchy to describe Matt's inner group. Not something an outsider would naturally use.
"We went to the same high school," Nick said carefully. "Doesn't make us a crowd."
Jordan nodded, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Right, of course. Just heard some stories, that's all."
"What kind of stories?" Nick asked, his tone deliberately light despite the internal warning bells.
Jordan shrugged, handing the notes back. "Just that you guys were tight. Matt being the big man on campus, Sarah the brilliant one, you the athletic one. The usual high school stuff."
The characterization was accurate but oddly specific for someone who claimed to have just heard random stories. Nick filed the information away, another piece in the growing puzzle of Jordan's convenient appearance in his life.
"High school labels," Nick dismissed with a casual wave. "Not interested in carrying them into college."
"Smart," Jordan agreed, pushing away from the wall. "Hey, thanks again for the notes. I owe you one."
"No problem," Nick replied, watching as Jordan pulled his door closed and headed back across the hall to his room.
As he heard the click of Jordan’s door close, Nick turned back to his notes, but as he tried to focus, his mind went to an entirely different problem entirely. He'd need to be more careful around Jordan—and perhaps it was time to do some investigation of his own. The specific terminology he'd used, the convenient timing of his appearances, something was off with him.
Nick sat cross-legged on his bed, back straight, hands resting lightly on his knees. The position came naturally, though he couldn't recall ever meditating in his previous life. Another muscle memory from Arlize, perhaps.
Nick closed his eyes, breathing steadily, focusing on the strange dual awareness he'd been experiencing since his rebirth. Nick Valiente and Arlize Dentragon—two lives, two sets of memories, somehow merged into one consciousness.
Arlize, he thought deliberately, directing his focus inward. I need your knowledge.
At first, nothing happened. Just his own thoughts echoing in the darkness behind his eyelids. Then, gradually, a sense of something else—a presence, not separate exactly, but distinct. Like accessing a different partition of the same mind.
The sensation was disorienting. Not quite a voice, not quite a memory, but something between the two. Knowledge unfolding, revealing itself.
A memory surfaced—Arlize sitting in a similar position in a stone chamber lit by flickering torches. An old man with silver-streaked hair sat across from him, eyes closed in concentration.
"The mind is a fortress," the old man was saying, his voice carrying the weight of ancient wisdom. "But even the strongest fortress needs a way to communicate with the outside world. Gates that can be opened and closed at will."
Arlize—younger then, perhaps in his early twenties—nodded solemnly. "Master Elian, you speak of mental partitioning."
"Indeed," the old man confirmed. "The ability to create separate chambers within your consciousness. To store knowledge, memories, even skills in ways that can be accessed when needed and secured when not."
The memory shifted, showing Arlize practicing this technique—constructing mental barriers and pathways, organizing his thoughts into distinct categories that could be locked or unlocked at will. A mental discipline developed over years of rigorous training.
Nick found himself absorbing the technique instinctively, his mind adapting to the pattern established in Arlize's memories. The process felt natural, as though his brain had been prewired for this specific skill.
This is how I'll access what I need, Nick realized. Not just random flashes of memory, but deliberate retrieval of skills and knowledge.
He concentrated on a specific need—instantaneous sleep, the ability Arlize had used to rest precisely when necessary, even in dangerous situations.
But as he delved deeper, something unexpected happened. A flood of emotions—not just knowledge—washed over him. Arlize's feelings, as vivid and raw as if they were his own. The fierce loyalty to comrades that made their betrayal cut so deep. The sharp edge of romantic passion that had made Arlize vulnerable to Lady Serenne's manipulation. The bitter taste of disillusionment when his ideals crumbled in the face of reality.
Nick gasped, nearly breaking his meditative state as Arlize's emotional landscape bled into his own. The warrior's feelings amplified Nick's existing grievances, transforming them from the hurt of a college student to the hardened resolve of a battle-tested commander.
With the emotions came flashes of vivid sensory memories: the weight of a sword in hand, the smell of smoke on a battlefield, the taste of unfamiliar spiced wine, the crackling energy of magic flowing through fingertips. These weren't just recollections—they were experiences being integrated into his very being.
This is how I'll access what I need, Nick realized. Not just random flashes of memory, but deliberate retrieval of skills and knowledge. And not just skills, but the emotional fortitude that had made Arlize legendary—the capacity to face betrayal without breaking, to transform pain into purpose.
The skill of a warrior who knew that rest was as strategic as combat.
Another memory unfolded—Arlize standing at the edge of a battlefield, exhaustion threatening to overwhelm him after three days with minimal rest. An enemy force approached on the horizon. He had perhaps twenty minutes before they arrived—twenty minutes to restore himself for the coming conflict.
Arlize sat beneath a tree, assuming the same cross-legged position Nick was using now. His breathing pattern shifted—four counts in, hold for seven, out for eight. Mental focus narrowing to a single point of concentration. And then, with startling suddenness, sleep. Not the gradual drifting off that most humans experienced, but an immediate shutdown of conscious thought, like a switch being flipped.
Nick felt the pattern lock into place in his own mind—the breathing technique, the mental focusing, the precise moment of transition. But with it came something else—a shift in his very identity. For a heartbeat, he wasn't sure if he was Nick accessing Arlize's memories or Arlize looking through Nick's eyes.
The momentary disorientation passed, leaving Nick shaken but enlightened. This wasn't just about borrowing skills from another life—it was a true merging of souls, with all the power and peril that entailed.
He opened his eyes, blinking as his dorm room came back into focus. His perception had subtly changed—the dimensions of the room seemed slightly wrong to eyes accustomed to ancient architecture. Modern objects appeared simultaneously familiar and strange.
Had it worked? Only one way to find out.
He glanced at his watch—11:42 PM. He would test Arlize's technique, aiming to wake at exactly 5:30 AM, his usual time.
Nick lay down on his bed, hands at his sides. Four counts in. Hold for seven. Out for eight. Mental focus narrowing to a pinpoint, visualizing the exact time to awaken.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Between one heartbeat and the next, consciousness slipped away, precise and controlled.
Nick's eyes snapped open. No grogginess, no disorientation—just immediate alertness. He glanced at his watch: 5:30 AM exactly. The technique had worked perfectly.
A smile curved his lips as he rose, body refreshed despite less than six hours of sleep. After mastering Arlize's enhanced awareness yesterday, the instant sleep technique was another valuable skill successfully integrated. His arsenal was growing.
Thursday had begun.
The morning followed his established routine—efficient workout, quick breakfast from the cafeteria, then off to his Thursday classes. Statistics and Intro to Business.
As he walked into the statistics classroom, Nick noticed something unusual. A student he didn't recognize was already seated, despite him being fifteen minutes early as usual. What caught his attention—or rather, Arlize's attention, as he thought of this heightened awareness—was the newcomer's posture. Straight-backed, shoulders squared, hands placed precisely on the desk. The bearing wasn't just good posture; it was military.
Nick took his usual seat, casually observing the stranger from his peripheral vision. Male, probably early twenties, with close-cropped dark hair and sharp, watchful eyes that scanned the room in a practiced pattern. His clothes were civilian—jeans and a plain button-down—but the way he wore them suggested someone accustomed to uniforms.
As other students filtered in, Nick noticed how the stranger's body language shifted subtly—relaxing his posture, adopting a more casual demeanor that still didn't quite mask the underlying vigilance.
When Jordan arrived, dropping into the seat beside Nick with his usual casual greeting, Nick watched carefully for any interaction between him and the military-postured student. Nothing obvious—no acknowledgment, no meaningful glances—but Nick couldn't shake the feeling that something significant had changed in the classroom dynamic.
Professor Feldman arrived precisely on time, launching into her lecture on probability distributions without preamble. Nick took detailed notes, positioning his tablet to allow him to periodically observe both Jordan and the new student without being obvious.
Midway through the class, Professor Feldman assigned group work on a set of statistical problems. Students shifted reluctantly to form pairs. Before Nick could decide on his strategy, Jordan had already turned toward him with an expectant look.
"Partners?" Jordan asked, already pulling his chair closer.
Nick nodded, glancing around to see the military-postured student now paired with a nervous-looking freshman a few rows away. Nothing suspicious in that—just random classroom grouping.
As they worked through the problems together, Nick found himself again impressed by Jordan's mathematical intuition despite his affected casual attitude toward academics. Another inconsistency to file away.
"So," Jordan said as they finished the third problem, his voice lowered beneath the general murmur of the classroom, "noticed the new guy?"
The direct question caught Nick off guard. He kept his expression neutral, completing the calculation they were working on. "New guy?"
Jordan tilted his head slightly toward the military-postured student. "That guy with the military bearing. Transferred in late, apparently."
"Hadn't noticed," Nick lied smoothly, looking up with deliberate casualness. "Just focused on these problems."
Jordan's eyes met his, searching, before he nodded with a slight grin. "Yeah, well, not all of us are statistics savants. Some of us notice people instead."
The comment could have been innocent—just banter between classmates—but something in Jordan's tone suggested otherwise. Was he testing Nick's observation skills? Or purposely drawing attention to the new student for some reason?
"What about him?" Nick asked, deciding to engage rather than deflect. Sometimes asking the direct question was the best way to gauge someone's intentions.
Jordan shrugged, turning back to their problem set. "Nothing specific. Just has that ROTC vibe, you know? Bet he's military scholarship or something."
The assessment matched Nick's own observations, which made him even more suspicious. Jordan was deliberately pointing out something Nick had already noticed—why?
"Maybe," Nick replied noncommittally. "Not really my business though."
Jordan's pencil paused briefly over the paper. "Fair enough. Just making conversation."
They completed the remaining problems in relative silence, the interaction leaving Nick with more questions than answers. When class ended, he packed up efficiently, noting that the military-postured student was among the first to leave, moving with purpose.
"We're still on for Sunday, right?" Jordan asked as they exited the classroom. "For the calc quiz prep?"
"Yeah," Nick confirmed. "Noon in the library study rooms."
"Perfect," Jordan nodded. "I'll bring coffee."
"Make mine black," Nick replied, already planning how to use the study session to probe further into Jordan's inconsistencies.
As Jordan headed off toward the campus center, Nick deliberately took a different path, circling around to see if he could spot either Jordan or the military-postured student again. Neither was visible in the crowds of students moving between classes.
Nick continued to Intro to Business, mind working through the implications. His instincts—or perhaps Arlize's—told him the new student's appearance wasn't coincidental. But how did it connect to Jordan's strange interest in his relationship with Matt and Sarah? And were either of them linked to the events that had led to his death in his previous life?
Too many questions, not enough data. That would have to change tonight.
Business class proceeded largely as it had on Tuesday, though Nick noticed Sarah's gaze lingering on him more frequently, her expression thoughtful. Matt was notably less engaged, spending much of the class messaging on his phone beneath the desk, his expression alternating between smug satisfaction and focused concentration.
Nick took his usual detailed notes, participating strategically when Professor Williams asked questions. Again, he was careful to show clear intelligence without revealing the full extent of his capabilities—a calculated performance designed to establish his academic credibility without raising undue suspicion.
When class ended, Nick deliberately waited, organizing his notes with meticulous precision, watching as Matt hurried out the door, already on his phone again. Sarah, as he anticipated, made her way directly to his desk.
"Nick," she said, her voice carrying that same sweet lilt that had once made his heart race. Now it only triggered his wariness. "Ignoring my texts now?"
Nick zipped his backpack closed, keeping his movements unhurried. "Been busy."
"Too busy for friends?" Sarah's dark eyes studied him with an intensity that would have once flattered him. Now he recognized the calculation behind it—the same look she'd given test problems she was determined to solve.
"Just prioritizing," Nick replied, standing. "Still getting my routine down."
Sarah matched his pace as they exited the classroom. "Well, your priorities seem to have shifted dramatically. Matt mentioned you blew him off yesterday too."
The strategic mention of Matt—establishing their unified front. Another familiar tactic. In high school, they'd often presented themselves as a package deal socially, despite claiming they weren't dating. Another lie he'd been too blind to see through.
"Like I told Matt, people change," Nick said, adjusting his course subtly to maintain distance as they walked down the hallway.
Sarah laughed, the sound practiced and precise. "Not overnight, they don't. The Nick Valiente I knew couldn't solve business problems like you did on Tuesday without getting completely lost. And he certainly wouldn't turn down a party invitation to study."
They reached the building's exit, sunlight streaming through the glass doors ahead. Nick paused, turning to face her directly.
"Maybe you didn't know me as well as you thought," he said simply. "We only hung out truly for a year. Before that, I was just another face in the hallway to you."
Something flickered across Sarah's face—surprise, perhaps, or irritation at being challenged. She recovered quickly, her expression softening into something that might have passed for genuine concern.
"Look, I'm just saying it's weird, okay? We've known each other since freshman year of high school. You don't have to put on some new persona for college."
The appeal to shared history. The implication that my change isn't authentic.
"I appreciate the concern," Nick replied, his tone neutral. "But I'm good. Really."
Sarah looked like she wanted to say more, but at that moment her phone chimed. She glanced down at it, then back at Nick, indecision briefly crossing her features.
"This conversation isn't over," she said finally, her tone light but her eyes serious. "I'll see you at Alpha Phi tomorrow, right?"
The question dangled like bait. In his previous life, he would have jumped at the opportunity to assure her he'd be there, desperate for inclusion.
"We'll see," Nick replied vaguely. "I've got a lot on my plate right now."
Something hardened in Sarah's expression momentarily before she masked it with a smile. "Well, the invitation stands. Later, Nick."
As she walked away, Nick felt a grim satisfaction. Their carefully coordinated social pressure was failing to yield the expected results. They would try new tactics soon, and each attempt would reveal more about their true intentions.
The rest of the afternoon was dedicated to preparation. Tonight's mission required careful planning.
The library's reference section provided the perfect cover for Nick's investigation. Surrounded by dusty volumes of economic journals that few students ever touched, he opened his laptop and navigated to a secure browser.
His first task: establishing financial independence. In his previous life, Nick had graduated with crushing student debt and few prospects. This time would be different.
He pulled up the investment platform he'd created yesterday under a carefully constructed alias. Using public terminals would have been safer, but he couldn't risk anyone seeing what he was doing. Instead, he'd installed security measures that would have impressed even professional hackers.
"Let's see if my memory's as good as I think it is," he murmured.
Nick typed in a search for Helios Pharmaceuticals—a small biotech firm that, if his timeline remained consistent, would announce a breakthrough cancer treatment in approximately six weeks. The stock currently traded at $2.17 per share, but would jump to nearly $40 after the announcement.
He had exactly $2,500 saved from summer jobs and graduation gifts. It wasn't much, but it was a start.
Nick hesitated, cursor hovering over the "Buy" button. There was always the possibility that his interference had already altered the timeline. What if the breakthrough never happened in this version of events?
Trust what you know, he told himself. Information asymmetry is your advantage.
He executed the order: 1,150 shares at market price. In six weeks, that $2,500 investment would be worth over $45,000—enough to fund the next phase of his plan without raising financial aid red flags.
With that done, Nick switched focus to his investigation of Matt Harrington. Using the university's administrative portal and the security exploit he remembered from his first time through college, he accessed student records that should have been off-limits.
Matt's transcript showed perfect grades in advanced courses—suspiciously perfect. Nick cross-referenced with old high school newspaper archives, searching for anomalies.
There—an article from their junior year about academic competitions listed Matt as district champion in mathematics, yet Nick distinctly remembered Matt struggling with basic calculus. Something didn't add up.
He dug deeper, finding a cached version of a deleted article: "Academic Integrity Committee Reviews Regional Competition Results." While Matt wasn't named explicitly, the timing aligned perfectly with his sudden academic "success."
Nick took meticulous notes in an encrypted file, then erased all traces of his search. This wasn't smoking-gun evidence, but it confirmed his suspicion: Matt's academic record had been artificially polished, likely through his father's influence.
Before logging off, Nick searched for information on Nexus Virtual Technologies. In his previous life, this small startup had revolutionized gaming with neural interface technology that blurred the line between virtual and reality. Their breakthrough announcement would come in about two years—but right now, they were barely on anyone's radar.
A single mention in a tech magazine dismissed them as an "overhyped startup with unrealistic claims about direct neural feedback." Nick smiled at the shortsightedness. If only the writer knew what was coming.
He noted the company's current information, including founders and early investors. This would be his next investment target once the Helios windfall came through.
The sight of the word "betrayal" in one of the articles triggered something deep in Nick's mind. The library around him faded momentarily, replaced by a vivid memory that wasn't his—or rather, wasn't Nick Valiente's.
The Great Hall of Aurilia's royal palace stretched before him, marble columns reaching toward a vaulted ceiling adorned with frescoes depicting the empire's founding. Arlize Dentragon stood before the Emperor's council, his ceremonial armor gleaming in the light from tall windows.
"The northern forces have been repelled, Your Majesty," Arlize reported, one knee bent in deference. "The border is secure."
The Emperor nodded, but General Kadros—Arlize's mentor and friend for twenty years—exchanged a glance with Lady Serenne, the court magician who had once been Arlize's lover.
It was a fleeting look, almost imperceptible, but Arlize caught it. At that moment, he knew. The attack on the northern border had been orchestrated from within. The evidence he'd gathered on his return journey confirmed his suspicions: documents, intercepted messages, financial records showing payments to enemy commanders.
Betrayal from those he'd trusted most. Those he'd loved.
Arlize made a decision in that moment—he would gather his evidence, build his case methodically, and when the time was right, expose the traitors who threatened the empire. Not with angry accusations, but with irrefutable proof and careful strategy.
The memory faded, leaving Nick blinking at his laptop screen in the quiet library. His heart raced, but his mind felt suddenly, crystalline clear.
The parallel was unmistakable. In both lives, he faced betrayal from those in positions of trust. In both lives, the answer wasn't rash confrontation but patient, methodical gathering of evidence.
"History won't repeat itself," Nick whispered, closing his laptop. "Not this time."
Professor Williams's office hours were listed as 3-5 PM on Thursdays, but Nick had noticed him arriving earlier during the past two days. At 2:45, Nick knocked on the partially open door.
"Professor Williams? Do you have a moment?"
Williams looked up from his desk, recognition dawning on his face. "Ah, Mr. Valiente. The information asymmetry expert." He gestured to a chair across from his desk. "Come in. What can I do for you?"
Nick took the seat, maintaining the confident but respectful demeanor he'd been cultivating. "I wanted to follow up on something you mentioned after class yesterday—the Coleman Business Fellowship."
Williams nodded, setting down his pen. "I'm glad you're following up on our conversation. It's refreshing to see a student take initiative so quickly."
"I don't believe in letting opportunities pass," Nick replied. "As you mentioned, while the fellowship is typically for sophomores, exceptions are sometimes made."
Williams leaned forward, clearly pleased by Nick's interest. "That's right. In rare cases, when a freshman demonstrates exceptional aptitude and initiative." He paused. "Your answer in class about competitive advantage confirmed my initial impression—you think more analytically than most first-year students."
Nick allowed himself a modest smile. "I've always approached business from a strategic perspective. The fellowship would allow me to develop that further."
"Indeed." Williams pulled open a drawer and retrieved a folder, sliding an application form across the desk. "The application requires a research proposal, two faculty recommendations, and evidence of academic excellence. Remember the deadline is October 15th."
Nick accepted the form, scanning its requirements. "And if selected?"
"A $5,000 stipend for independent research, mentorship from a business faculty member, and priority consideration for summer internships with our corporate partners." Williams leaned forward. "It's highly competitive—typically only two students are selected each year."
"I understand." Nick met his gaze steadily. "Who else normally serves on the selection committee besides yourself?"
Williams raised an eyebrow at the direct question. "Dean Harrison from Finance, Professor Kelley from Marketing, and typically a representative from our corporate sponsor." He hesitated. "This year, I believe that's Callahan Industries."
Nick kept his expression neutral despite the jolt of recognition. Callahan Industries—the corporation owned by Matt's father. Another connection he hadn't known in his previous life.
"Thank you, Professor. I'll submit a compelling application."
Williams nodded, then added, "I should warn you, Mr. Valiente—while I appreciate your initiative, freshman applicants face significant scrutiny. The committee will want to understand why you're in such a hurry."
Nick stood, folding the application carefully. "Some people recognize that time is the most valuable resource we have. I don't believe in wasting it."
Something in his tone must have resonated with Williams, whose expression shifted from mild skepticism to genuine curiosity.
"Well said." The professor extended his hand. "I look forward to seeing your application."
As Nick left the office, application in hand, he felt a sense of satisfaction settle over him. Another piece successfully moved into position. The Coleman Fellowship would give him access to corporate connections, research resources, and potentially insight into Callahan Industries—all while establishing his academic credentials.
In his previous life, he hadn't even heard about this opportunity until his junior year, when Matt was already leveraging it for internships and networking.
Not this time, Nick thought, carefully placing the application in his bag. This time, I'm the one with the advantage.
Back in his dorm room, Nick pinned a new note to his bulletin board—a seemingly innocent to-do list that actually outlined his next strategic moves:
- Complete Coleman application
- Research Callahan Industries connections
- Follow up on Prof. F's reading list
- Locate M.Z. in Engineering dept.
The last item referred to Maggie Zhang, a brilliant engineering student who, in Nick's previous life, had developed hacking skills that had made her both famous and infamous on campus. She'd eventually been recruited by a major tech company directly from college—but before that, she'd been known for her ability to access almost any secure system.
Nick hadn't interacted with her in his first life, but he remembered hearing stories. If he was going to dig deeper into the neural interface conspiracy, having someone with her skills as an ally would be invaluable.
He checked his watch—still early enough to scout the engineering building before dinner. Nick grabbed his laptop bag and headed out, purpose in every step.
The foundation was being laid. Financial independence was in motion. Physical training was progressing. Academic advancement was underway. And now, it was time to build alliances.
Nick felt a grim smile form as he walked across campus. For the first time since his rebirth, he wasn't just reacting to events or gathering information—he was actively shaping his path forward.
I'm coming for you, Matt, he thought. And this time, I'll be the one holding all the cards.