The air in Bullworth Academy's library smelled of old paper, dust, and the faint, greasy scent of forgotten lunches. Jimmy Hopkins, or rather, the consciousness now wearing Jimmy Hopkins like an ill-fitting jacket, stared at the cracked spine of a history textbook without seeing a word.
His name had been Leo. A twenty-seven-year-old graphic designer with a caffeine addiction and a dying succulent on his windowsill. Now he was Jimmy, fifteen, with the wiry build of a street-fighter, knuckles scarred from scrapes he didn't remember, and a simmering, low-grade anger that felt like a second heartbeat. The transmigration hadn't been gentle. It was a violent shove into a younger body, memories bleeding in like a bad dye job—fragments of Jimmy's life, his expulsion from every school that would have him, his mother dumping him here with a new, rich husband who couldn't be bothered. The memories were sharp, emotional, but distant, like watching a grainy movie of someone else's bad decisions.
And then there was the System.
It hovered at the edge of his vision, a translucent, blue-tinted interface only he could see. Simple, brutal, and currently flashing a single, persistent notification.
[FLASH YOUR GIRLFRIEND MANDY SYSTEM: ONLINE]
[PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: ESTABLISH ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP WITH MANDY WYTHES.]
[SECONDARY OBJECTIVE: UTILIZE 'FLASH' MECHANIC TO DEEPEN BOND.]
[WARNING: FAILURE TO ENGAGE WITH PRIMARY OBJECTIVE MAY RESULT IN SYSTEM PENALTIES.]
"Penalties," Jimmy muttered, rubbing his temples. The word conjured images of electric shocks or spontaneous hair loss. This wasn't a game anymore. This was his life. A life where his only guide was a creepy, directive interface telling him to woo a girl.
He knew Mandy. From the game, of course. The queen bee of the preppies. Blonde, beautiful, ruthlessly ambitious, and about as approachable as a porcupine in a bad mood. In his old life, she'd been a collection of pixels and coded responses. Now, she was a real person who had walked past him in the hallway yesterday, her perfume—something expensive and floral—lingering in the air as her cool blue eyes slid over him like he was a mildly interesting stain on the floor.
How do you even start? Leo's mind, the adult mind, rebelled. This was statutory, morally grotesque. But Jimmy's memories, the hormonal, impulsive ones, supplied a constant, low-grade buzz of attraction. Mandy was the ultimate prize, the summit of Bullworth's social mountain. The contradiction gave him a permanent headache.
"Hopkins! Are you deciphering ancient runes or just sleeping with your eyes open?"
The voice, sharp and nasally, cut through his thoughts. Mr. Galloway, the history teacher, stood over his table, his mustache twitching with disapproval.
"Just… contemplating the geopolitical implications of the Whig Party, sir," Jimmy said, the words coming out with a surprising ease. Jimmy's sarcasm was a well-honed tool.
Galloway's eyes narrowed. "The assignment is on the board. The Causes of the Industrial Revolution. Two pages. By Friday. Try to use words this time, not just crayon drawings."
As Galloway stalked away, Jimmy's gaze drifted to the large window overlooking the quad. Cliques clustered like tribal formations. Jocks by the gym, greasers near the bike racks, nerds hurrying to chemistry. And there, holding court on the pristine steps of the main building, were the preppies. Boys in striped sweaters, girls in plaid skirts and knee-socks. At the center, holding a clipboard and looking perpetually annoyed, was Mandy.
Even from here, her presence was magnetic. Posture perfect, chin lifted, she was issuing instructions to a cowed-looking boy in glasses. She gestured with a pen, pointing at something on her clipboard, and the boy nodded frantically. She was organizing something, always organizing. A dance, a fundraiser, a social coup. Jimmy felt a weird pull, a mixture of Leo's analytical curiosity and Jimmy's ingrained, teenage awe.
She's a master of her domain, Leo observed. A social engineer at seventeen.
[FLASH MECHANIC READY.]
The system text glowed softly. He'd discovered it by accident yesterday, a panic-induced flick of his wrist when a teacher called on him. A quick, subtle gesture—index and middle finger tapping his temple twice—and the world… shifted. For a fraction of a second, his vision pulsed, and he saw a brief