The moment he crossed the threshold, the world changed.

  The air was thick, pressurized, like he’d just stepped into the depths of the ocean. The lighting was dim, the only source of illumination coming from faint, glowing panels embedded in the walls.

  And then he saw it.

  A long, narrow bridge stretched out in front of him, suspended over a dark, seemingly endless abyss.

  At the other end, a door.

  Simple. Cross the bridge. Get to the door.

  Jackson exhaled sharply. He tested the edge with his boot. Cold. Real.

  Thin, but real.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  He stepped forward.

  The first steps were easy. He kept his arms out, kept his breathing steady. One foot after the other.

  One meter. Two. Three.

  Then—a shift.

  The bridge wobbled.

  Not much. Just enough to be noticeable.

  His heart kicked up a gear. He slowed. Maybe it was just his balance? Maybe he was overcompensating?

  Another step. The wobble was worse now.

  His breath tightened.

  Five meters. The bridge felt thinner underfoot. Was that his imagination?

  Seven meters. His footstep echoed strangely. The metal beneath him seemed… less solid.

  He wasn’t imagining it.

  Jackson hesitated. His gut screamed something’s wrong.

  And then—

  The bridge collapsed.

  The panels beneath his feet shattered like glass, and suddenly, he was plummeting into the void.

  No. No no no—

  His stomach lurched, the world spun—until, abruptly, he landed.

  Hard.

  The impact knocked the wind from his lungs. He gasped, stunned, sprawled out on the cushioned mat below.

  Above him, the bridge was gone. The door, still glowing across the void, taunted him.

  A voice crackled through unseen speakers.

  "Lesson One: Adaptation."

  Jackson gritted his teeth. “What the hell is this?”

  The voice—Aiko’s—continued, steady, unyielding.

  "You failed, Jackson. You assumed the bridge was real. You assumed you could walk a straight path to success. That’s not how life works. When you rely on a broken system, you fall. Just like you always have."

  His fists clenched. "Then what am I supposed to do?"

  A pause. Then—"Figure it out."

  The light flickered, Dazed, he sprawled there, staring up.

  Above, the ceiling rippled like water. Then—an illusion flickered to life.

  A spectral Jackson, bold and sure, stood where he had faltered. The phantom leapt, soaring across the four-meter gap with effortless grace, landing on the jagged remnant of the bridge beyond. It turned, locking eyes with him—a smirk on its face—before dissolving into mist.

  Jackson’s chest tightened. I could’ve done that.