09/04: Nothing, go downstairs

You strip off your sleep clothes and pause in front of the full-length mirror on the closet door. Same body, different timeline. It’s still weird. You started working out the moment this life began, a consistent routine the first version of you never bothered with. The payoff is a lean, defined frame that you know gets looks. It’s not god-tier, but it’s a damn good start. You feel the weight of your cock dangling between your legs. Serviceable. Ready for action. This time, it will see action. That's the entire point of this cosmic do-over.

You pull on a black t-shirt that hugs your chest just right and a pair of worn-in jeans. A quick trip to the bathroom to brush your teeth and **** your hair into something manageable, and you’re ready. You head downstairs. The air smells like burnt toast and cheap coffee. The usual.

"Wow, way to wake up late... again," your sister, Emily, calls out from the kitchen table, not even bothering to look up from her phone as she spoons more sugary cereal into her mouth. Despite her less-than-charming remark, there's an undeniable allure about her, even in her casual morning state. She's the same age as you, a senior as well, deeply convinced she's the center of the universe.

"Morning to you, too, Em," you retort, grabbing the least-charred piece of toast from the plate on the counter. "Some of us need our beauty sleep. We can't all roll out of bed looking like a hag."

She finally looks up, her eyes narrowed in a practiced glare over the top of her phone. "Ha ha. At least I was on time. Mom left your lunch on the counter. She and Dad already left." She gestures with her spoon toward a brown paper bag next to the sink. Standard. Your parents are early risers, their schedules a whirlwind of commutes and obligations that leaves you and Emily to fend for yourselves most mornings.

You pour yourself a glass of orange juice, leaning against the counter and taking a bite of dry toast. You can feel the weight of your phone in your pocket, a buzzing secret. The Affinity Index. Everyone's names and scores are burned into your mind. Regrets from the first time around, now laid out like a checklist for the life you're about to conquer.