The classroom was already half full.
Voices overlapped in low waves. Conversations drifted between rows. Laughter rose and fell without drawing too much attention. It was lively, but controlled. Nothing chaotic. Nothing out of place.
Jordan paused for a brief moment near the entrance, his eyes sweeping across the room.
It was all too familiar.
Once again, that was the first thought that surfaced.
Even though he was a new soul in this body, nothing felt foreign. Faces, voices, even the subtle habits of movement. All of it aligned neatly with the memories he had inherited.
Around eighty students filled the space.
The classroom itself was designed like a compact lecture hall. Rows of seats rose in clean tiers, each step slightly elevated above the last. The seats were built from a matte composite material, durable but worn in places, with embedded panels on each desk that could project notes or sync with the school system.
Below, at the base of the tiers, was the instructor's area. A wide teaching platform equipped with a central console and a curved projection field that could display layered data in midair. The system was advanced, but like everything in Greenridge, it showed signs of long-term use.
It was functional, but nothing high-end.
Jordan's gaze moved slowly. He recognized almost everyone. But recognition didn't mean connection.
Jonas Bhukhi sat near the front row, his broad shoulders making him stand out even in a crowd. He was taller than most, his build already leaning toward that of a trained genetic warrior. Even at rest, there was a certain tension in his posture, like a coiled spring.
Not far from him sat Jeanette Ayala. She was a slender and composed girl. Her long hair fell neatly over her shoulders as she focused on the screen in front of her. There was a quiet confidence in the way she carried herself, the kind that didn't need to be displayed loudly.
Then there was Alfonso Wilson, seated slightly off-center. Calm. Observant. The kind of student who didn't speak much but always ranked near the top.
These were the standouts of Class 2-C. They were the ones most likely to step into the genius class soon.
Jordan's gaze lingered for a second longer before shifting away.
He didn't greet anyone. There was no need. Just like the previous Jordan, he kept his head slightly lowered and moved quietly along the edge of the room. No eye contact. No unnecessary attention.
He ascended the steps at a steady pace and stopped at the third-to-last row.
Same seat.
Same position as the previous Jordan.
He placed his bag down and sat, unnoticed. It was deliberate, as any sudden behavior change might raise questions. And right now, the last thing he needed was attention.
He leaned back slightly, letting the ambient noise settle around him as his thoughts drifted. Then, the door at the front slid open. The room gradually quieted. The first instructor of the day walked in.
—
The morning passed quickly as Jordan moved through the classes without drawing attention.
Modern Ethnobotany.
A subject tailored to Maxwell-12's role as a cultivation planet. The lecture covered adaptive plant strains and how environmental factors influenced medicinal potency. Jordan followed along, but his understanding lagged behind.
Alien Biology.
Complex anatomical structures. Cross-species compatibility theories. Evolutionary branches that didn't follow Earth-based logic from his previous life.
Mathematics.
Still familiar, but extended into fields that supported spatial modeling and energy calculations.
Then came Applied Planetary Systems and Basic Energy Theory.
Each subject layered more weight onto the same conclusion. He was behind. Not slightly. But significantly.
Jordan didn't react outwardly. He took notes when necessary, stayed quiet, and followed the rhythm of the class like he always had.
By midday, lunch came and went without much incident.
He ate alone. No one approached him. No one avoided him either. He simply… existed.
—
The final major session of the day took place in the training hall.
Compared to the earlier classrooms, the atmosphere here carried a different weight. Conversations were quieter. Movements were more deliberate. Even the air felt steadier, as if the space itself had been designed to suppress distraction.
The hall was wide and open, with reinforced flooring that absorbed impact and vibration. Faint lines of light ran across the surface in geometric patterns, forming subtle guides for positioning and spacing. Along the walls, energy regulators pulsed at a slow, consistent rhythm, maintaining a stable environment suited for cultivation.
Jordan stepped into position with the rest of the class.
At the front stood the instructor, James Ortiz.
There was nothing flashy about him at first glance. His build was lean, almost understated, but there was a level of control in the way he stood that made it clear he wasn't ordinary. Every movement was precise. Every shift in posture carried intent. It was the kind of presence that didn't need to assert itself loudly to be felt.
He was a genetic warrior.
"Form up."
His voice was calm, but it carried across the hall without effort.
The students adjusted almost immediately, spacing themselves out across the marked floor. Jordan followed the flow naturally, taking his place without drawing attention.
Ortiz's gaze swept across the group before he continued.
"We're not changing the method today," he said. "Continue with the Foundational Circulation Method. Focus on control. Not speed. If your foundation is unstable, pushing harder will only set you back."
Jordan didn't need further explanation. The routine surfaced in his mind immediately. The Foundational Circulation Method was the first thing every student learned. Slow, repetitive, and often frustrating in its lack of visible results.
It wasn't meant to produce breakthroughs. It was meant to build the structure that made them possible.
He adjusted his stance. Feet grounded. Shoulders relaxed. Spine aligned.
Then he moved. His arms traced a familiar path through the air, each motion connecting smoothly to the next. There was no rush in it. No wasted energy. Just a steady rhythm that had been repeated enough times to feel almost automatic.
Inhale.
His chest expanded slightly as his hands drew inward.
Exhale.
His body followed through, releasing tension as his arms extended again.
The cycle continued.
He didn't force the process. That was the one thing the previous Jordan had done right. Consistency over impatience was the right way.
The routine continued, measured and unbroken. Around him, the quiet sound of synchronized breathing filled the hall, blending into a steady background rhythm.
Time passed without him noticing, and by the time Ortiz called for a stop, Jordan let his arms lower slowly, his breathing returning to normal.
Nothing had changed. The result was the same as always. And yet, as he stood there, he didn't feel the same dull frustration that lingered in the inherited memories.
Instead, his thoughts shifted elsewhere.
The Starstream System.
It was still there, just out of reach, silently completing its binding process.
Jordan exhaled quietly. If this path didn't work, then maybe he didn't need to follow it the same way as everyone else. He could maybe depend on the system to achieve some progress.
For now, though, he remained where he was. Just another student in the hall.
—
By the time classes ended, the sky had already begun to dim, the light outside softening into the muted tones of early evening.
Jordan packed his bag and left with the others, blending into the steady stream of students exiting the campus. His pace wasn't noticeably faster, but there was a subtle urgency beneath it.
The system should be close.
That thought lingered at the front of his mind, steady and persistent. At the same time, another feeling remained just beneath it, quieter but harder to dismiss.
The blank space in his inherited memories. The unanswered question surrounding the original Jordan's disappearance.
It hadn't faded. If anything, it felt more pronounced in moments like this, when there was nothing to distract him.
So he didn't linger outside. He didn't stop or wander. He followed the familiar route home.
—
The residential block came into view before long, its structure unchanged, steady and unremarkable against the fading light.
As Jordan approached, a few familiar faces crossed his path.
"Back from school?" one of them called out casually.
Jordan gave a small nod. "Yeah."
It was a simple exchange. Polite, expected, and nothing more.
Another neighbor offered him a brief smile. He returned it out of habit before continuing inside the building without slowing down.
—
The apartment was quiet when he stepped in. There were no voices and no movement.
Jordan closed the door behind him and paused for a moment, listening. His mother wasn't back yet. Lina wasn't either. The silence made the space feel slightly larger than usual, though no less worn.
He moved toward the refrigeration unit and opened it, scanning its contents with a practiced eye. There wasn't much to choose from, but that wasn't new.
He selected a small portion of leftovers, heated it, and ate without wasting time. He washed it down with a cup of diluted nutrient juice.
The meal was just enough to hold him over. But not enough to strain their financial situation.
Once he finished, he returned to his room and sat at the desk, letting out a slow breath as he leaned back.
Waiting like this wasn't ideal. So he found something to fill the time.
—
With a few taps on his Desk Terminal, the interstellar network opened with a soft flicker across his interface, and information began to stream in almost immediately.
News feeds. Public reports. Open discussion boards.
The scale of the world unfolded piece by piece, far beyond anything he had directly experienced so far.
A Zerg incursion had been reported on a border planet, with containment efforts already underway as casualty numbers continued to rise.
Elsewhere, a viral outbreak had triggered emergency quarantine protocols across an entire mid-tier colony.
And then there was the discovery of ancient alien ruins on a newly charted world, a find significant enough to draw multiple factions into open conflict over ownership and access.
Jordan eased back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the scrolling data.
"…So this is the bigger picture."
From where he stood, things had seemed stable, structured, and almost predictable. But that was only one corner of it.
This world wasn't peaceful. It only looked that way from a distance.
He continued browsing, moving from one report to another, letting the hours pass without noticing.
One hour.
Then another.
By the third, the apartment was still as quiet as before.
Until—
A familiar voice echoed clearly in his mind.
[Binding complete.]
Jordan stilled. The shift in his focus was immediate, his eyes lighting up as the next lines appeared.
[Starstream System successfully bound to Restricted Interstellar Darknet.]
[Would you like to access system functions?]
He let out a slow breath, steadying himself.
"…Yes."
The moment the word left his lips, his vision blurred. The room around him dissolved, fading as if it had never been real to begin with.
And in the next instant, he was back.
The fog stretched endlessly in every direction, silent and unmoving. At its center, illuminated by a faint, steady glow, the streaming setup waited for him.
Exactly as he had left it.