### Chapter 3: The Dawn of a New Millennium
By the turn of the millennium, January 1, 2000, Justin Drew Bieber was five years old, teetering on the edge of six. The calendar had flipped to a new decade, and Stratford, Ontario, buzzed with the quiet optimism of a fresh start. For Justin, though, it wasn't just a new year—it was the next act in a cosmic script he'd begun writing before his first breath. The Ascension System hummed in his mind, a constant companion, tracking his growth as the traits he'd spun on the Wheel of Wishes took deeper root. *Beauty: Flourishing. Singing: Strengthening. Dancing: Emerging. Modeling: Latent. Acting: Stirring.* He was still a kid, small for his age at just over 4 feet tall, but the universe of Earth-Prime-7 was already bending toward him, subtle but undeniable.
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#### Correction of Time: Setting the Stage
To clarify, Justin's journey had unfolded with a few timeline hiccups in his early years. Born on March 1, 1994, he'd been three years old in 1997, not five—that was a slip in the cosmic ledger. By the summer of 1999, he was five, dazzling the Stratford Festival Theatre with his talent show win. Now, as 2000 dawned, he stood at five years and ten months, his birthday just two months away. The Ascension System adjusted its internal clock, syncing with Earth-Prime-7's reality: *Age: 5 years, 10 months. Date: January 1, 2000. Location: Stratford, Ontario, Canada.*
Pattie Mallette, now 24, remained his rock. Their life was still modest—an apartment with peeling wallpaper, a secondhand couch, and a fridge that rattled like it was auditioning for a percussion line. But Justin felt the *Luck* trait simmering, a quiet promise of better days. The $50 from his talent show win had bought him a pair of sneakers—black Nikes with a scuff already forming—but it was the whispers around town that mattered more. "That Bieber kid's got a gift," people said at the grocery store, the diner, the church Pattie dragged him to on Sundays. The system logged it: *Reputation: Seedling Stage.*
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#### A Voice That Echoes
In the winter of 2000, Justin's singing began to draw real attention. Pattie had scraped together enough cash for a cheap karaoke machine, a Christmas gift he'd unwrapped with a shriek of delight. It sat in their cramped living room, a clunky box with a microphone that crackled if you held it too close. Justin spent hours with it, belting out everything he could—church hymns, radio hits like TLC's "Waterfalls," even bits of Shania Twain he'd picked up from Pattie's cassette collection. His voice was still a child's, high and pure, but it carried a weight that made people stop and listen.
One snowy afternoon in February, a neighbor—Mrs. Carter, a wiry woman with a perm and a smoker's rasp—knocked on their door. "Pattie, you gotta hear this," she'd said, dragging her husband's old camcorder. She'd caught Justin singing "Amazing Grace" in the courtyard, his breath puffing in the cold, and insisted on filming him properly. Pattie hesitated—money was tight, and she didn't trust pushy neighbors—but Justin's hazel eyes sparkled with excitement. "Let's do it, Mom!"
They set up in the living room, pushing the couch aside. Justin, in a baggy sweater and those scuffed Nikes, gripped the mic like it was a lifeline. The Ascension System flared: *Singing: Performance Boost Active.* He sang "I'll Be," a soulful Edwin McCain ballad he'd heard on the radio, and his voice soared—clear, emotive, threading through the room like liquid gold. Mrs. Carter's jaw dropped, the camcorder wobbling in her hands. Pattie's eyes welled up, her hands clasped tight.
"That's not normal," Mrs. Carter muttered when he finished. "Kid's five and sounds like he's been heartbroken already." She wasn't wrong. The *Singing* trait, fused with *Resilience*, gave Justin's voice an edge—a depth that belied his years. The system chimed: *Emotional Resonance: Unlocked.*
Mrs. Carter took the tape to a friend at the local library, who knew a guy with a VCR duplication setup. Soon, grainy copies of "Justin Bieber, Age 5, Singing 'I'll Be'" circulated around Stratford. It wasn't viral—not yet, not in a pre-YouTube world—but it planted seeds. A music store owner slipped Pattie a free guitar pick. A church deacon offered to pay for vocal lessons. The *Luck* trait glowed brighter: *Opportunities: Increasing.*
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#### Dancing in the Snow
Spring 2000 brought mud and meltwater to Stratford, and Justin's energy couldn't be contained. At six years old—his birthday celebrated with a lopsided cake Pattie baked from a mix—he was a blur of motion. The *Dancing* trait, dormant in his toddler years, now pulsed with life. He'd spin and hop in the apartment, banging into furniture, until Pattie shooed him outside. "Go burn it off, Justin!"
The courtyard became his stage. Kids from the complex—grubby boys in hockey jerseys, girls with scrunchies—watched as he moved. It wasn't polished yet, just raw instinct: a spin here, a stomp there, arms flailing like he'd seen in music videos on MuchMusic. But the rhythm was uncanny, his feet finding beats in the crunch of gravel or the drip of icicles. The system noted: *Dancing: Coordination Enhanced. Style Developing.*
One day in April, a group of older kids—maybe eight or nine—taunted him. "What's with the twirling, Bieber? You a ballerina?" Justin, cheeks flushed, didn't back down. He planted his feet and launched into a makeshift routine—spins, a clumsy moonwalk, a chest pop he'd copied from a Backstreet Boys video. The Ascension System kicked in: *Resilience: Confidence Boost Active.* The jeers turned to cheers, and soon the kids were clapping, begging him to teach them. "That's dope!" one shouted. Justin grinned, sweat beading on his forehead. *Charisma: Growing.*
Pattie caught the tail end of it from the window, shaking her head with a smile. "Where'd you learn that?" she asked later, ruffling his hair. "Dunno," he lied, knowing the Wheel had etched it into his bones.
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#### The First Glimpse of Fame
By summer 2000, Justin's talents were no longer a secret in Stratford. The annual Canada Day festival on July 1 rolled around, and Pattie signed him up for the kids' talent showcase again. He was six now, a little taller, his hair a shaggy mess that framed his face like a halo. The *Beauty* trait shone through—big eyes, a dimpled smile, a glow that made people double-take. Pattie stitched him a new outfit: a red vest over a white T-shirt, paired with cargo shorts. "My little superstar," she said, kissing his forehead.
The festival was small—maybe 500 people milling around booths of maple candy and hot dogs—but it felt massive to Justin. He stepped onto the wooden stage, mic in hand, and the crowd hushed. He'd picked "Lean on Me," the Bill Withers classic, after hearing it at church. The Ascension System surged: *Singing: Peak Performance. Dancing: Support Mode.* His voice rang out, steady and soulful, weaving through the melody with a power that stunned the audience. Halfway through, he added a sway, a step-touch, letting the *Dancing* trait ripple through his frame.
When he finished, the applause was deafening. Kids waved from the front row; adults whistled. A local reporter, a stringer for the *Stratford Beacon Herald*, scribbled notes. "Six-year-old Justin Bieber wows the crowd," she'd write in the next edition, a tiny clipping Pattie would tuck into a scrapbook. The system logged: *Reputation: Rising. Wealth: Stirring.*
Backstage, a man in a plaid shirt approached Pattie—a music teacher named Mr. Hensley, with graying hair and a gentle smile. "Your boy's got something rare," he said, handing her a card. "I teach guitar, drums, voice—free, if you'll let me. He's worth it." Pattie hesitated, pride warring with practicality, but Justin tugged her sleeve. "Please, Mom?" She nodded, and the *Luck* trait pulsed: *Mentorship: Secured.*
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#### The System's Whisper
That night, July 1, 2000, Justin lay in bed, the festival trophy—a plastic star—gleaming on his nightstand. He was six, still a kid with skinned knees and a gap-toothed grin, but the Ascension System painted a bigger picture. *Progress Report: Talents integrating. Universe alignment: 12% complete.* Earth-Prime-7 was responding—slowly, subtly—to his presence. The crowd's cheers, the free lessons, the whispers of "star"—it was the *Wealth* and *Luck* traits stirring, nudging fate.
He thought of Malachi, the barista he'd been, biking through Boise with dreams too big for his life. Now, he was Justin Bieber, age six, in a parallel world where those dreams weren't just possible—they were inevitable. The system had promised a stage, and Stratford was just the warmup.
Outside, fireworks cracked over the town, red and white blooms against the night sky. Justin closed his eyes, the system's hum lulling him to sleep. *Acting* and *Modeling* still waited, coiled like springs, but he wasn't worried. The Wheel had spun true, and the millennium was his to claim.