In the middle of the night, on the bed of a dimly lit room, a man in his mid-20s woke up.

"Sweet Lucifer, thank you," he murmured smilingly.

Gene looked around, running his hand across the wall towards the closest window. He stretched a little to reach for it and—after a while of fumbling in the dark—opened it.

The cold wind that tugged at his hair sparked in him the most profound realization: he was alive. He pressed his hand against his chest. After half a century of Hell, his heart was beating again.

It was a beautiful night outside. The moon was partially hidden behind the passing clouds, and the city—what little he could make of it—was silent.

"Neither poor nor rich," he whispered, his gaze darting across the scenery. "This place must be for the middle class."

After a minute of silence, Gene turned around.

On the desk nearby, there was an odd thing emitting light. It had a flat screen and a keyboard attached to it.

'Is this what they call a laptop?' he thought. 'Lucifer did say these things were invented after my death. What an odd thing.'

For about half an hour, he played around with the old laptop, muttering 'what an odd thing' all the while. He couldn't immediately utilize it. He was quick to adapt, so he wasn't worried about it.

Gene searched the desk. There was an old wallet, a mobile phone, apartment keys, headphones, and some fiction books written in English. The wallet contained a few wrinkly notes, coins, a debit card, and a driver's license.

Gene took the driver's license and walked up to the full-length mirror in the corner. The reflected face matched the photo on the license exactly.

"So, this is the new me."

It was a clean-shaven young man with amber eyes, auburn wavy hair, and a well-crafted nose. He had a decadent, promiscuous air about him. It was not much different from Gene's previous appearance.

He read the name on the license.

"Averie Quinn Auclair."

'Am I not Asian?'

"Born on the 7th of May 2003."

He walked up to the calendar on the bedside table. It indicated January of 2027.

'Twenty-three years old.'

The digital alarm clock beside the calendar displayed two in the morning. Gene—now Averie Quinn Auclair—had plenty of time before the sunrise.

He looked around the room. It seemed to be a single-room apartment with a kitchen counter and a bathroom. One glance out the window was enough for him to know that he was on the third floor of the building.

The refrigerator contained eggs, bread, milk, leftover rice, and bacon. On the counter were condiments, pans, a stove and everything else needed for a bachelor's cooking needs.

'Food isn't the immediate worry,' Averie noted.

As he was about to turn around, he found an empty bottle of sleeping pills. He remembered what Lucifer had said.

'This young man killed himself.'

"Overdosed, huh?"

'But why?' Averie wondered. 'Perhaps, we should not have gambled this part of the transmigration. Then again, this is far better than reincarnation. Who would want to be a child again?'

The night turned into day as Averie spent every minute learning about his new self and this new world. He was slow at typing, but researching the history and the technology of this world on the internet did not take much effort. He was learning fast. The more he read, the more amused he became.

'This is fantastic,' he kept thinking.

In the morning, Averie made himself a cup of coffee and fried some eggs. He took a shower for the first time in fifty years. He thought about taking a bit of rest, but curiosity kept him awake.

He found a diary in the top drawer of the desk and spent the whole day reading it.

Averie Quinn Auclair was born in the United Kingdom but raised in Korea by his maternal grandmother. His parents were well and alive, but they lived abroad. His mother was half Korean and half American, while his father was half French and half British. This made it hard for him to make friends in rural Korea.

"But then who is this that keeps messaging?" whispered Averie, glancing at the mobile phone that vibrated every hour.

It was locked. Thankfully, it could recognize his face. Averie was pleasantly surprised by the technology. It had come a long way.

The person who had been messaging him since the morning had the profile picture of a good-looking Asian girl.

'Not a single male friend, but a girl messages you every hour.' He put the phone down. 'Why did you commit suicide, Averie?'

He did not want to answer her without understanding how the previous Averie would have responded. Should he be friendly? Or should he be curt?

"I don't have time for this."

He went back to reading the diary.

Reading a few more articles on the internet showed that the Asia of this world was far more influenced by the Western cultures than the Asia of his old world. The language, the culture, the film and entertainment industry—all of it was influenced.

Many of the historically significant events were altered. Korea, for example, was never divided into two zones. The Soviet Union never occupied the north. There was no South Korea or North Korea—only a singular Korea.

"Westerners in the east and easterners in the west has become a common trend," Averie read. "English language and Christianity are far more common in the East than before."

'Why is that?' he thought.

He had his answer when he researched a particularly troubling empire—the British Empire.

"Conquered nearly half the world?" Averie shouted. "Was a quarter of it not enough? Can't believe I am saying this, but the previous world's Brits seem docile now."

'In 1993, the European Union was founded, and the Asian Union was formed in 1999.'

"I have a lot to learn," he kept muttering. "This world is very well-connected."

Before Averie knew it, it was night.

He looked up a simple recipe for fried rice and started cooking. The convenience of the modern world kept him excited even as he oversalted the rice. He was tired, despite not having left his new home all day. After dinner, he slept for four hours and woke up precisely at three in the morning.

He had made up his mind; he would watch some of the best films of the modern era until he was bored. He was prepared to spend the whole week on streaming platforms, a creation he thought was a gift from Heaven. The previous Averie had paid for it, and the new Averie would be reborn as an actor through it.

He watched some of the most revered films, soap operas, and award-winning performances from all over the world. He was surprised to see the diminishing disparity in quality between Hollywood and the rest of the world.

European films did not focus solely on artistic value; they had adapted to commercialism. Asian films greatly developed their unique artistic flavor.

Actors were no more selfish artists. They were a subject of adoration and worship across the globe. Popularity had become a contest not solely applicable to politics. The greatest measure of fame was no longer the number of tickets sold. The follower count on a dim screen mattered more. It kept the sane awake at night. What was once an oddity—a phenomenon—had now become a norm.

"They have come very far," Averie whispered, a smile lingering on his face.

This world's film industries were far more advanced than he had previously imagined possible. He loved it. He loved the art of filmmaking, and he loved the insanity that accompanied it.

Unfortunately, three days into his binge-watching spree, the doorbell rang—not once or twice but a dozen times. It was night, yet the visitor knocked on the door vigorously without a care in the world.

"Averie, are you in there?" an anxious female voice shouted from beyond the door. "Hey, answer me! Are you okay?"

'Alright, Gene, pretend you are not home,' Averie told himself, calm as a man returning from Hell could be.

Suddenly, he heard the jingle of keys as the lock opened.

"I'm coming in!" the visitor shouted.

'Damn, she has the keys.'