The Gate Traveler

It was time to delve into my Profile, or Personal Information, as the system called it. I took a fortifying breath, ready for the new weirdnes, and tapped each line with my mind.

First, there was my name. There was this odd sense of potential or possibility would be the better word. Like I could change it with a thought. Why would I want to change my name? It made little sense.

I shook my head, bewildered. Moving on.

My age had an edit option, too. I had no idea why I would want to use it, so I left it until I could figure out the reason for this option.

Then, I reached "Class," clicked, and a new block of text scrolled in front of my eyes:

I read the description twice, letting the words sink in. The line about "planets, planes of existence, and parallel universes" lit up my mind with images—things I saw on Star Trek, things I read about in the old legends when I searched for information a few days ago, and some other things my mind made up. Each one felt like a door cracked open, waiting for me to step through. A chill crept down my back. It was exciting and scary at the same time. The unknown held a measure of threat, because it was, well, Unknown, but also a sense of exploration and wonder. This wasn't just travel. It was everything, all of it, suddenly real. Not just something out of a sci-fi flick.

My body vibrated with excitement, but a gut-wrenching wave of sadness immediately followed. Sophie should have been here for this. I could almost hear her voice. That familiar voice full of teasing warmth mixed with a sharp spark of curiosity. Her words would spill out faster than she could think of them, brimming with unstoppable energy, and her hand would grab my arm every other word to make sure I was listening. I could almost smell the faintest trace of her favorite perfume—a soft, sweet scent she always wore—mixing with the brush of her hair as she leaned in close, her eyes wide, saying, "What do you think the worlds are like? Maybe there's a world where the stars light up in different colors, or where trees can talk." She'd have dozens of theories and get lost in imagining every one, dragging me along for the ride.

A hollow ache, heavy as a stone, lodged under my ribs, pressing into my heart and lungs, making breathing hard.

God, I miss you, baby.

For a moment, it felt like she was right there, leaning on my shoulder, laughing at the absurdity with me, her hand squeezing mine like she always did whenever I was about to do something I was unsure about. That steady, grounding presence she had. I stayed there a while, rubbing my chest, letting the memories ebb. When the ache dulled, I drew a shaky breath, wiped my face, and returned to the screen. This curveball that life threw me shocked me out of my pain, and I had no intention of letting myself submerge again under the onslaught.

Gates. Nothing new popped up, which was disappointing.

Finally, I tapped "Class Abilities," and text exploded across my vision, blocks of information stacking up faster than I could blink. Just reading it all made my head spin. I had a ton of options, and each one was a mystery. Overwhelming didn't begin to cover it.

I squinted at the text. "Five stat points for one ability point?" I mumbled, rubbing the back of my neck. "Are those points that valuable?"

Keep looking and then decide.

That was unexpected. The idea of a Traveler network, a kind of interdimensional guidebook, was both welcome and surreal.

"A cosmic travel blog?" I asked the screen.

I couldn't help but chuckle. It might actually save me a lot of headaches, and embarrassing mistakes.

I rubbed my chin, imagining the possibilities of getting real-time info with just a glance. An instant ID app. I chuckled, thinking of my annoying habit of forgetting names. Practical … if it worked as promised. I made a mental note to test it the next time I headed out. A twinge of excitement nudged me to check what came next.

I breathed out a low whistle, imagining the possibilities of a portable storage space. No more luggage, I realized, my eyes widening. Finally, freedom from the curse of waiting at the airport baggage claim. Leaning back, I smilled, until I noticed the line about "mental strain." My excitement faded as I rubbed my temple, frowning. Let's hope it's not the kind of strain that leaves you with a migraine for days.

Traveling light was too tempting. I bought my first 64 m³ of space, bracing for the mental strain, but nothing happened. Shrugging, I checked the next ability.

I ran a hand through my hair, imagining the possibility of picking up languages on the fly. Instantly understanding a new language was amazing, like unlocking a secret superpower.

"Einstein, eat your heart out," I joked to the empty room.

I could see Sophie's face, just for a moment, rolling her eyes and scrunching her nose in a playful, exaggerated way, her lips curling at the edges despite herself. She always did it when she thought I was being a smartass, and I could almost feel her presence at my side, her hand squeezing mine. The ache in my chest flared again. I held onto the memory for a moment longer, and let it go.

Even if I never left Earth, this ability wasn't a luxury, but essential. Working in the ER, I'd lost count of how many times I'd struggled to communicate with patients who didn't speak English. Those moments were a nightmare of clumsy charades and desperately hunting down someone to translate the basics. "Where does it hurt? Are you allergic to anything?" These were such simple, vital questions, but the language barrier turned them into obstacles. The idea of not experiencing that again was fantastic. I almost wished I hadn't spent my free Ability Point on the Storage.

Then again… I glanced back at the Storage description. I'd never lost my luggage in transit, but I'd heard enough horror stories. No more luggage hassles. Maybe I'd made the right choice after all.

This one was lackluster. More precisely, if I stayed on Earth, it'd be pretty useless—Earth's maps were detailed enough. But if I decided to travel, then it'd be invaluable. No wonder Ability Points were so valuable, needing five stat points to get one.

This one was incredible. Total anonymity, even here on Earth. I'd lost count of the times I wanted to blend in and melt into the background like some invisible bystander. High school alone had been a minefield of moments I'd rather forget, and the thought of finally having an escape hatch from that kind of scrutiny? Tension melted away from my shoulders just thinking about it. I imagined myself slipping through a crowd, unseen, a ghost able to vanish when the world closed in. Wish I'd had that back then.

Maybe I'd been too hasty with that first Ability Point on Storage. If I were to ever decide to travel, this would be a game-changer. Well, here on Earth as well. Be somebody else, escape scrutiny and expectations.

I grinned to myself. "Guess I'll have the perfect disguise next time I wander into a bar full of little gray men," I joked, imagining the absurd scene. My laughter echoed in the empty room, filling the quiet space, and for a brief moment, it almost felt like Sophie was right beside me, laughing along. The warmth of that thought settled over me, turning a slight grin into a full smile.

My grin spread wider. Picking up random skills sounded like a dream. Why stop at Gate Traveler when I can also be a blacksmith or a pilot? I thought, excitement bubbling up. I could be the ultimate jack-of-all-trades. Leaning back in my chair, I shook my head, imagining all the ridiculous combinations. Gate Traveler by day, baker by night.

The spells and skills list was like a never-ending library of powers and knowledge. At first, I was excited, but as I scrolled, that excitement turned to something closer to awe… and a touch of panic.

There were martial skills from every discipline I could think of, from Earth's traditional martial arts to combat techniques that sounded like they belonged in some ancient myth or futuristic sci-fi epic. Fencing, swordsmanship, archery, staff fighting, hand-to-hand forms that had names I had never heard of, and a range of weapon skills spanning from medieval axes and crossbows to hydrogen emitters and gravitic pulsers—some sci-fi tech straight out of a blockbuster.

That was only the beginning. The list covered skills for driving, sailing, and piloting every imaginable type of vehicle, from basic cars to sailboats, motorbikes, helicopters, planes, and even spaceships. Spaceships! I could almost picture myself cruising the stars at the helm of some advanced vessel.

Then I reached the magic section, and the list got wild. Every school of magic you could think of, and many I'd never even heard of, were there: Elemental Spells from all the elements I knew of and some I didn't even know were considered elements, like Darkness or Light. Healing, Necromancy, Illusion, Shadow Manipulation, and even more obscure branches like Dream Weaving or Echo Manipulation. Categories contained subcategories, which themselves contained further subdivisions. It was like every fantasy trope had been stuffed into this endless database.

But it didn't stop at combat or magic. I found professional skills for every imaginable trade, from blacksmithing and carpentry to less common crafts like glassblowing, crochet, and gem crafting. There were skills I never would have thought were worth training for, like sail sewing, knot-tying, bookkeeping, and utensil repair. Some labels sounded like things from fairy tales—rituals, magic circles, spellbinding, formations. Even cursing had its own category, with subsections from minor hexes to full-blown banishments.

And then, of course, there were the general skills. An encyclopedia of everything a regular person might pick up over a lifetime. Cooking, basic repairs, and sewing were the basic ones. Still, there was also swimming, rock climbing, fishing, and playing any instrument under the sun, moon, and stars, from piano to lyre to some instruments I'd never heard of, like a Thermablaster or Susirr. Industrial machines had their own skills, covering everything from factory-level production to delicate work with micro-machines or nanite programming. The list even included skills like diplomacy, negotiation, and spycraft, all just waiting to be learned and improved.

I scrolled and scrolled, and the list continued to grow. It was like it had a life of its own, constantly adding new skills and spells to tempt me with possibilities I couldn't even wrap my head around. The sheer scale of it all hit me like a tsunami, engulfing me in an ocean of endless options. This class wasn't just overpowered—it was ridiculously overpowered! I could be anything!

A laugh escaped me before I could contain it, then another, louder. I sounded like one of those users from the book forums raving about 'OP MC' that I didn't understand last week.

I could be an OP MC!

The thought flashed through my mind, and I snorted. I imagined myself in some over-the-top action pose, shooting lasers from my eyes or fighting like Bruce Lee while shouting, "Hiya!" That mental image did me in. I doubled over and laughed so hard my stomach cramped.

Dr. John, the OP hero.

I laughed until tears streamed down my face, each gasp bringing another absurd image: a spaceship navigator in a sci-fi space suit, a dandy fencer in a hat with a feather, a ship captain with an eye patch and a parrot. The ridiculousness of the situation was hysterical, sending me into peals of laughter—laughter that came from somewhere deep, a mix of awe, disbelief, and sheer overwhelm.

Me! An OP MC!

Another wave of hysterical laughter …