Chapter 9 - No Open Doors, Only Windows

"I'm sorry. There's nothing we can do."

The words echoed in my ears - hollow and absolute. I sat frozen in the chair, gripping the edge of my worn-out jeans, my knuckles white. Across from me, the scholarship officer - a middle - aged woman with neatly tied hair and tired eyes - sighed, shuffled some papers, and met my gaze with a look of pity.

I hated that look.

Having just received our high school certificates, my classmates and I were weighing our next steps. Recruiters from various places had come to offer opportunities to graduates. My name had been specifically listed for this one - the one I had been eyeing for years. A scholarship for medical studies.

"Please," I tried again, my voice strained. "Just one year. Let me defer and start later. I need to sort things out at home first."

She shook her head. "The terms require immediate enrollment. If you don't accept it this year, it goes to the next candidate. No exceptions."

My heart pounded. This was my golden ticket - my escape from the struggle my family had endured for generations. I had studied by candlelight when the electricity was cut, worked part-time jobs, and topped every exam. And yet, here I was, watching my dreams slip through my fingers.

"Is there really no other way? Can I talk to your higher-ups?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"I'm sorry."

The words crushed me. Sorry wouldn't pay hospital bills. Sorry wouldn't put food on the table. Sorry wouldn't give my younger siblings a future.

I swallowed hard. "Then... I have to reject it."

The words tasted like ash. The woman nodded, already moving on to the next file. But for me, it was the end of everything.

At home, my father tried to console me, telling me I had done enough - that I shouldn't blame myself. But I saw the guilt in his eyes. He blamed himself for not being able to provide the help I needed. If only I could defer, my older sister - just a year away from becoming a teacher - could take over caring for my siblings. I could work, save up for the expenses the scholarship wouldn't cover. But that wasn't an option.

The next few months were brutal. I took whatever odd jobs I could find - carrying crates at the market, tutoring kids who could afford extra lessons. But it wasn't enough. I needed something more stable.

Frustrated and lost, I found myself drifting toward the wrong crowd. The sting of disappointment and helplessness made it easy to fall in with a group of street kids who spent their days fighting, drinking, and getting into trouble. It felt good to let go, to drown the pain in reckless abandon.

Nights became a blur of alcohol, street brawls, and aimless wandering. I was smart, but I had lost the will to care. If my dreams were gone, what did it matter what I did?

I hated being powerless. I hated being poor. How fortunate were those whose hands could reach anywhere?

Me? I felt god was being unfair to me. Even food had to be rationed - sometimes, we mixed rice with cassava just to fill our stomachs. I thought about how I had endured those school days, wearing old uniforms, shoes with holes in them - keeping my struggles to myself while hoping that once I graduated, I'd never see my tormentors again. Even the first scholarship I received, from a big oil and gas company, which was meant for school necessities, had ended up covering family expenses. Back then, immature as I was, I couldn't help but feel resentment toward my family.

I might have gone down an entirely different path if not for fate.

One night, a police raid swept up most of my group. I was with them, caught red-handed in a stolen car. But luck - or maybe God - intervened. Since I had been fast-tracked through school, I was still legally a minor. While the others faced heavy charges, I was tried as a juvenile. The case remained on my record , a stain that would follow me for years.

That's how I found myself at a cyber cafe. It was the early 2000s, and cyber cafe's were everywhere. The owner, a kind man, offered me the night shift despite my lack of computer skills. He even let me play House of the Dead, a popular first-person shooter at the time for free, just to get comfortable with the mouse and keyboard.

Within two days, I learned how to run the place. The night shift became my new reality, and for the first time in a long while, I felt like I had control over something. The late nights were quiet, except for a few hardcore gamers, giving me time to think.

One night, while struggling to beat a game, someone online suggested, "Just cheat through it." That simple comment led me to editing game files. That was how it all started - my fascination with code.



Boredom at the cafe - turned into hours of self-teaching. Tinkering with game mechanics led to writing my own scripts. I began reading programming books, studying source code, learning about binary numbers, and experimenting with simple automation for the cafe. I had discovered a new passion.

Before long, I wasn't just working at the cafe, i was fixing its computers, optimizing its network, and helping regulars troubleshoot their problems. Word spread, and I started getting small side gigs. I was no longer just an employee, I had become the go-to guy for tech solutions.

It was a bit late, but with the money I earned from side gigs, I managed to put myself through university. Of course, my degree wasn't in medicine - it was in computer and robotic engineering.

For my final thesis, I developed a brainwave translator. When the day came to present it, I stood before the examiners, took a deep breath, and confidently announced:

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you The Perfect Boyfriend."

Silence. A professor raised an eyebrow. Someone coughed. One of them scribbled something down - probably reevaluating whether I deserved a degree.

Finally, one of them spoke. "You can't be serious with that name, can you?"

"Fine. The official name is LikaSculptor. But between us it's still The Perfect Boyfriend."

A few chuckles. One professor pinched the bridge of his nose. Another leaned forward, suddenly interested.

Despite the rocky start, my project impressed the examiners and made me well-known among them. I bet my research materials are still being used by students today. That experience motivated me to push further in the field.

Just as I had expected, my juvenile record began to take its toll on my life. After graduating, my past limited my job prospects with renowned companies. Background checks always uncovered the charge. At one point, I had considered seeking corporate employment after graduating, but my experiences changed that. I refused to be at the mercy of others - independence was the better path. My experience with freelance work had already prepared me for it. In truth, I pursued a degree not because I wanted a corporate career, but because I knew formal qualifications made life easier in society. I also wanted to earn that degree for my father - he had worked so hard to raise me, and this was my way of honoring his sacrifices.

Later in life, I could have easily erased those records - anything stored digitally was within my reach. But I found it unnecessary. My conscience wouldnt let me, especially if it meant dragging my family into it. Besides, many records still existed in printed form. Even if I knew exactly where they were, wiping them out completely would mean physically going there to destroy them. I'd have to go full Mission Impossible - sneaking around, dodging security, probably dangling from the ceiling - all to make some papers disappear. And if those records were with the police? Yeah, no thanks.

In 2021, during the lock down, I released my first game under a pseudonym on the Vapor platform. The code came directly from my imagination - my AI translated my brainwaves into structured programming. If I envisioned an open-world scene, the AI would compile the necessary code to bring it to life. People assumed I had developed it like any other programmer, but in reality, it was a test for my machine, to see how far it could go. Normally, a game of that scale would require a large team and months, if not years, to complete. But with my tools, I built it in just a week - only limited by my lack of a powerful enough processor to handle the rendering. It became a hit on the platform.

I used the revenue to expand my creations. Soon, I felt my work had reached the level of perfection I had always dreamed of. With this refined technology, I took on countless projects and made more money than I had ever imagined. I developed tools and software that fascinated me - automation systems, accessibility technology, and even experimental AI models.

I released my works under the name 'Lika Draganic' - a tribute to my childhood hero, Nikola Tesla. 'Lika' for the land where he was born, deep in the heart of the Slavic world, and 'Draganic' because it carried the weight of his heritage. Tesla dreamed of a future where energy was free, where knowledge wasn't locked away by greed. He believed that progress should serve humanity, not control it. I admired that vision. I still do.

But not all ideals survive reality.

The world doesn't work the way Tesla envisioned. We may strive to be saints, but some won't think twice before tearing us apart. Knowledge isn't always a gift - it can be a weapon. And power isn't just about invention or discovery, it's about who controls it. I've always tried to walk his path, to bring something good into the world. But sometimes, I wonder - am I truly making a difference, or am I just another fool chasing an impossible dream?

Success came at a price. The government tracked my work following my digital footprints and uncovered my identity. They discovered my most significant invention, the brainwave translator. I had always known this would happen eventually - it was just a matter of time. Its not that hard really, when you receive send money legally, especially in a digital transaction, it always leave trails. The money have to start and end somewhere. There is no escaping it.

To be clear, none of my projects were illegal - except maybe some reverse-engineering of corporate technology, but that didn't matter. I hid my identity not because of guilt, but because of my childhood experiences. I preferred to avoid people, especially those who believed themselves superior to others. My drive was simple - curiosity. If I didn't figure out how something worked, I literally couldn't sleep well. I always justified it by saying, "I'm not stealing this I just need to sleep better."

The government believed the technology I had developed was too powerful to be left unchecked - an interface that allowed a person to control machines with their thoughts. They saw its potential as a weapon. I hadn't designed it for destruction, but to them, its possibilities were limitless. They tracked me down and coerced me into their fold. My work was no longer my own, it had become just another cog in the machinery of power. They had me over a barrel, forcing me into weapon development. I hated it, but I had no choice.

I lost time - time for myself, time for my family. Yes, I was a nerd, but not just some loner glued to a screen. Maybe it was because I'm - ahem - handsome and funny, but women found me attractive. And, well, I failed to debug my brain in time so I got married.

She taught me what a proper life looked like. For once, I was truly happy. But, of course, happiness doesn't come without bugs. Ours came in the form of constant government surveillance. Everyone connected to me got their fair share of it. There was nowhere to hide, no way to be free.

I sacrificed my freedom, but all things considered, it wasnt that bad. After a few years of working with them, the arrangement became tolerable. The government ensured my family's safety, covered our daily necessities, and provided top-tier healthcare. Compared to my younger years of struggle, it was like night and day.

Their main concern? That I might spill technological secrets or defect to another country. Other than that, their interference in my life was surprisingly manageable.

Meanwhile, my previous apps, games, and gadgets continued generating revenue enough to support my maternal siblings as well. With the government's intervention, I was even exempted from taxes, which was a bonus. Though time and distance eventually estranged me from my family, I never neglected my duty to them.

The only true regret in my heart was my mother's illness. Despite everything I had accomplished, I couldn't ease her suffering from cancer. She passed away, leaving behind an ache that no amount of success could heal.

I regretted that I couldnt cure her. While working with the government, I had access to cutting-edge nanobot technology, but I had never considered its potential beyond their classified projects. It was just another field of research - until it became personal.

If I could create nanobots capable of performing high-risk surgeries and repairing ailments from within, would anyone ever have to feel scared or helpless again?

The passion I once had for medicine - one I never got to pursue - was reignited. Armed with my expertise in technology and the painful lessons from my past, I set out to make a difference.



The government allowed me some personal time to keep me sane within their facilities, and I used it wisely. In those moments of freedom, I conducted side research on nanobots. My goal was to push beyond their military applications and explore their potential for healing. What if they could repair damaged cells, target cancer at its source, or even eliminate diseases before they took hold? Enhancing the human body wasn't just about strength or endurance, it was about saving lives.

The initial success of my research showed promising results: accelerated healing, enhanced senses, and increased learning capabilities by amplifying the brain's process of converting short-term memory into long-term memory. The benefits were too significant to ignore.

Eventually, the government seized my research once more, attempting to weaponize it. I insisted on focusing on its medical applications, and they allowed me to - though I was ordered not to completely ignore its military potential. Perhaps they still needed my expertise. During this time, I collaborated with doctors and experts from various fields, leading to the creation of the early predecessors of SB-5667.

Knowing that my research was for something good - and feeling like I was living up to Mr. Tesla's expectations and ideals - I genuinely enjoyed the work. I even explored ways to improve it, like using microorganisms and controlling them as if they were nanobots. After all, the most valuable idea behind nanotech was creating machines so small that they could accomplish what humans never could.

A day with a successful test or breakthrough was always a good day in my dictionary. Maybe that's why my body cooperated with me. I always slept soundly after days like that.

Yesterday was one of those days

"I worked late again yesterday. Please, just let me sleep a little longer," I mumbled, still half-asleep. My bed was so comfortable, I was reluctant to get out.

---

I could hear voices drifting through the haze of sleep, distant but familiar.

At first, I thought it was part of the dream - shadows of a world I no longer belonged to, echoes of discussions long past. But as I lay there, caught between the weight of sleep and the pull of wakefulness, I realized these weren't memories.

They were happening now.

"The land has been reclaimed. The soil preparation is done, and the spores have been cultivated in the nursery," my grandfather's voice came through, calm and measured. "The boy's notes were surprisingly detailed. With the others assisting, everything proceeded smoothly. There shouldn't be any problems."

"Great!" another voice responded. It was Muhsan. His tone carried the same composed authority as before, but there was something lighter in it, something approving. "Impressive. I haven't known him for long, but it's clear he has a sharp mind for these things. Once he recovers, we can discuss his next steps."

I wanted to stir, to lift my head, but my body was too heavy, too weak. How long had I been asleep?

"It's been to days now," Grandpa continued, as if answering my unspoken question. "His fever broke last night. Leila and Ran have been taking turns watching over him. Even the kids from the village stopped by, they left gifts. Books, dried fruit, a few charms for luck." He paused, then added with a hint of warmth, "He's well-loved here."

"That's good to hear," Muhsan said, exhaling lightly before continuing. "Since we are both here, we should talk about his future. I've spoken with the sect about taking him in not as a cultivator, but as a martial artist. If he wishes, he can train under me and work in the spiritual herb garden."

"You're sure about this?" Grandpa asked.

"Yes. His talent in botany alone is reason enough to take him in. The sect values skilled hands, not just powerful cultivators. With his knowledge, he'll be an asset. And if he trains properly, he could still become a formidable martial artist."

A martial artist not a cultivator.

"I also heard he loves to read. Our sect's grand library has tons of books. He will love it there," Muhsan continued.

There was a pause before my grandfather spoke again, his voice carefully neutral.

"You're certain he doesn't have a spiritual root? I've checked before, but hearing it directly from a cultivator makes it undeniable."

Muhsan sighed. "I checked twice. There's no doubt. The boy doesn't have the required aptitude for cultivation."

The words hit harder than they should have.

"No spiritual root."

The meaning sank in like cold water, shocking me awake.

The dream shattered, the warmth of sleep ripped away, and suddenly, I was fully conscious, eyes snapping open to the dim glow of the oil lamp beside me. My body still ached, the fever's remnants clinging to my limbs, but my mind was clear.

For a long moment, I just lay there, staring at the wooden ceiling above me, my heartbeat a dull thud against my ribs.

Tesla's world had no need for spiritual roots. There, knowledge and ingenuity alone could elevate a man. But in this world, cultivation determined everythingstrength, status, longevitypower itself.

"No spiritual root." I sighed, repeating it again in my head.

It still stung, but I forced myself to think rationally. I wasn't completely surprised. I had suspected as much for a while now. But hearing it spoken aloud by Mr. Muhsan, so decisively, left an unexpected weight in my chest.

Muhsan and Grandpa were still talking outside, their voices fading into the background. I didn't need to hear more. I let out a slow breath, pressing a hand against my forehead.

"No spiritual root. So what!?" Reality had found its equilibrium, and now, I was a bit angry at myself.

"I'm from 21st-century Earth. We had no spiritual roots, no magic, no cultivation. Yet we razed the ground and erected buildings that scraped the sky."

"No spiritual root, no magic, no cultivation. Yet even metal bent to our will."

"We spoke to people across the world with a flick of our fingers. Better than any sound transmission talisman."

"Hell, we even went to the freaking moon!"

I clenched my fist, gripping the blanket.

I couldn't change the fact that I wasn't born with a spiritual root. But I wasn't powerless. This wasn't the end. God had given me a second chance, and I intended to use it to its fullest.

"I'll go to the Samang Sect, read every damn book I can get my hands on, and maybe - just maybe- I'll find a way. The door to cultivation might be closed to me right now, but that doesn't mean I can't climb a window or drill a hole through the damn wall to get in."

The initial sting of disappointment faded, replaced by something else. Resolve.

Still lost in thought, planning my next steps, it suddenly hit me.




The Conditioner.

Memories flooded back - right before I collapsed. The cube.

At the time, nothing had happened. No pain, no dizziness, no immediate reaction. I had assumed it would take time, so I hadn't thought much of it. I was right. My fever it wasn't just an illness.

It was a sign. My body had been adjusting.

I gritted my teeth. Now that the fever had passed

"Did it work?"

There was only one way to confirm it. I steadied my thoughts, reaching inward.

"RPG Mode. Status Window."

A pulse. Deep within my mind. Like something clicking into place.

A translucent screen flickered to life behind my closed eyelids, its text glowing softly:

[System: Active]
Status: Partial Completion
Server: Localhost
Cognitive Enhancement: Completed
Nanobot Integration: 77%
Physical Synchronization: Halted
Next Attempt: 10 minutes.

I sucked in a sharp breath.

It worked. The nanobots had taken effect.