The last thing I felt at the end of my first life was pain.

I'd been out of campus, shopping. A few knick-knacks here and there, a few stationery items, and I'd decided to go treat myself to some good food before I went back. There'd been a fairly decent-looking restaurant nearby, and I'd gone in, hoping that the food matched the appearance of the place.

The moment I walked in, I'd signed my own death warrant.

Terrorism had been on at an all-time high in the country at the time. The recent attacks on Mumbai, the attacks on Delhi - terrorists were getting bolder. I suppose it was just my luck that their next target turned out to be a busy market place in Hyderabad - or, to be more precise, a specific restaurant that an unlucky schmuck was currently eating in.

That would be me, by the way.

There wasn't really any sense of realization, or horror involved. It happened far too quickly for that. One moment, I was eating my food, enjoying the rather delicious pasta that I'd ordered. The next, I was flying through the air, the back of my body burned, my clothes torn. My momentum was arrested by a piece of wood, splintered from a table broken by the explosion. I had about enough time to realize that it was an explosion caused by a bomb located near the counter, before I finally succumbed to blood loss from the piece of wood that had skewered my heart.

And that was how I died. Well, the first time anyway.

Funnily enough, I cannot remember seeing a heaven or hell in the time I was dead. In fact, I cannot remember seeing anything at all. Or hearing anything, or feeling anything, or ... well, you get the picture.

I remember feeling my heart give out from being impaled on a table leg. And then I was gasping, rising out of a bed of water or some other clear liquid, coughing and trying to draw air into lungs I could have sworn had stopped working. For a moment, I just lay there, coughing and drawing breath, completely out of sorts and wondering how I was still alive.

And then a strange, alien face loomed over me and I screamed.

After I'd managed to calm down - or, to be more precise, after I'd been injected with a cocktail designed to calm me down - the creature in front of me explained my current state of ... well, liveliness.

It was an experiment, he explained. I was nothing special, really - he made that point very clear. But he'd observed the results from performing this experiment on those that were special - had seen the dividends that had been reaped - and had decided to conduct his own experiment, to see what happened. My consciousness, my 'soul' so to speak, had been wrenched out from wherever it had been and dumped into this false body of mine. And then came the explanation of the experiment.

I was to live. Again, and again, and again. My consciousness would be sent forth, from reality to reality, and I would live out my life as a person of that reality. As my 'soul' grew from my experiences and by consuming the existence of those I'd replace - something that had made me sick, until it was explained and proved to me that I'd be replacing an empty shell each time, just energy and no consciousness - I would become something different. Something more, than simply human. And I would never, ever forget. Anything.

That was the most emphasized part of the creature's explanation, and the crux of the experiment. I would never forget any experience I ever had, my memories stored in a non-physical medium of infinite capacity. I would grow, as a person, as a creature, until there would be nothing similar between who I was and who I would become. I would be more - and that was what the experiment was designed to test.

Those who had been similarly tested before had been special beforehand. They had possessed a Seed, an incarnate example of all of existence. Those people - those exalted creatures - had ascended to a status greater than even that of the gods when the experiment had concluded. They'd become the guardians of all reality, the custodians of the omniverse - Zero Authority Creators.

The test was thus devised and implemented. Would I manage to be like them, even though I did not possess a Seed? What would I become, if not them? It was a simple test, if incredibly long, but the being who had revived me had all the time in the omniverse. He had nothing to fear of time's passage, and as he explained, the same would soon be true of me.

I would die. Again and again and again. But just as I would die, so I would live. More than any human. More than any natural creature.

It was the chance of a lifetime, to rise above the fear of death that plagued all humans. Was it any wonder then, that I accepted? Was it any wonder, that I was too naive to understand the troubles that would soon befall me?

I was to live forever, experiencing everything reality had to offer. But somehow, in my hope and happiness, I had forgotten - in life, you take the bad with the good.

And I had an eternity of life to look forward to.

"Kiyama-sensei!"

Kiyama Harumi, researcher-turned-school-teacher, turned around to look at one of the brats she'd been charged to teach.

Her first day at the orphanage had been a disaster. The children there seemed completely out of control to her, and she couldn't help but wonder if that was what kids were always like. If so, she was glad she'd focused on her career rather than on family like a few of her friends did. She couldn't imagine dealing withthat full-time.

She hadn't even taken her first step into the classroom before the disaster had started. First, there had been the chalkboard eraser on the door sill. Cleverly positioned, she'd give them that - now if only they could use that cleverness in their studies and daily life rather than in pranks on their school-teacher!

Things hadn't gotten much better. Her class was unruly, at best, and animals at their worst. There'd been no order, no discipline, and no sense of duty in that classroom. The girls at least tried - the boys spent the whole class goofing around and making crude jokes.

She was tired, cranky, and in no mood to deal with those brats any further. But ... being kind to her students was the duty of a good school-teacher.

"Yes ... um, Fudou-kun, right?"

The only boy in the class who'd been well-behaved the whole time she'd been teaching. His name, at least, she'd remember.

"Right. Fudou Satoshi, sensei. Anyway, there was something I wanted to ask you. Are you free right now?"

She was. But ... to spend that time with one of her students?

She glanced at the boy's hopeful face, and sighed.

Oh well. He was well-behaved, after all. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

He was a strange one, this Fudou Satoshi.

When he'd asked her for some time, she'd expected something more typical of the brats in her class. Maybe he was playing a prank on her, or he'd discuss something childish, or something in a similar vein. She'd not expected him to ask so many questions about ...

Well, espers.

"So? What do you think, sensei? Is there something that can be done?"

Harumi sipped a little from her tea, while thinking over the question.

Fudou Satoshi had been interested in increasing his esper level, and so had sought her out. For the most part, his interest was harmless. Despite his almost disturbing level of knowledge of the power growth curriculum and the various tests and features involved, his ideas were relatively orthodox and simple. Still, he'd offhandedly mentioned a few things here and there that had been startling in how well-versed he was in his knowledge of power development. He must have read a lot to be so familiar with the various theories and laws governing the esper program.

"There's ... not much else I can tell you that you don't already know, Fudou-kun. You've already tried out most of the exercises you could practice for that purpose. I'd recommend you simply continue them - with time, you'll likely see a growth in your powers, but there's really no need to rush."

Something was niggling at her, though.

"... Why are you in such a hurry, anyway? You're already a Level 2 esper, and an esper possessing a rather rare skill at that. I can't think of more than two people in the entirety of Academy City who have the ability 'Body Change'. It's a very rare ability, after all."

Satoshi looked up, as though lost in thought. Finally, after a moment, he turned his attention to her, his eyes reflecting the serious expression on his face.

"It's ... well, sensei, is there something in your life that you consider impossible, but have always wanted? Something that you'd always thought out of your reach?"

She nodded, a bit perplexed by where he was going with this. Surely it wasn't-

"Well, it's kinda the same with me and my esper abilities."

"But you've had your abilities since you were 8 years old!" she protested.

"Well, yeah," he said, slowly swirling the milk in his cup. "But it's something I've always wanted, you know? Ever since I could think about it, really. The idea that you could just ... will something to happen, and it would happen? That's ... that's something incredible, don't you think? Something that really shouldn't be part of mundane, boring reality."

She smiled, amused at the awe he felt for what was to her a simple scientific phenomenon.

"It's not anything particularly amazing, you know. The science behind it has been rigourously explored for a long time now. It's just a fact of life, a law of the world, nothing more. That 'mundane, boring reality' encompasses this as well, after all."

He looked at her again, and this time his expression was strange. Amusement, coupled with nostalgia, was what she saw. She wondered why he looked at her like that.

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Anyway, sensei, thanks for your help. And about the class ... I know we made a really bad impression on you, but those guys mean well, you know? Please don't hold what they did against them - they really mean well!"

He was so earnest. Unbidden, a smile formed upon her face.

"Don't worry, I won't. You really care about them, don't you?"

He scoffed, a tinge of red on his face belying his embarrassment.

"That's not true at all. They're just a bunch of brats. But ... I don't want them to have problems because of it, you know? They'll grow up in time."

Just a bunch of brats. She smiled internally, aware of what he wasn't saying, what he was hiding. Still, she'd allow him the lie - she was supposed to be a 'kind teacher' after all.

"Very well. I'll see you later, Fudou-kun. And I'll take your words to heart - don't worry."

"Thank you, Kiyama-sensei. And, um ... thank you for the time you took to listen to me. You didn't have to do that."

But she did. And she hadn't minded at all, in the end. He was a good kid, this Fudou Satoshi.

Kiyama Harumi left, her impression of her class a little improved. She was wrong though - he wasn't a good kid at all. To be honest, he couldn't really be called a kid.

Because a lifetime ago, Fudou Satoshi had not been Fudou Satoshi. He'd just been an average college student who'd run afoul of some bad luck and a bomb, and not come out of it alive.

Fudou Satoshi was the subject of an experiment - and the experiment had already started.