### Chapter 5: The Reckoning of a Reborn Star
The clock struck midnight, ushering in March 2, 2009, mere hours after Justin Drew Bieber's 15th birthday party had wound down. He was still 15 years old, sprawled across a king-sized bed in that Atlanta penthouse, the city's neon glow seeping through the blinds. The date was precise—March 2, 2009—and the location, Atlanta, Georgia, pulsed with the energy of a teenager on the brink of global domination. The air smelled faintly of chocolate cake and the lingering cologne of industry execs who'd toasted his name. But beneath the glitz, Justin's mind churned, a tempest of memory and mission, fueled by a soul that wasn't entirely his own.
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#### A Soul Divided
Justin wasn't the Justin Bieber of his original Earth—not fully. Malachi, the barista from Boise, Idaho, who'd died in that bike crash on March 16, 2025, still lived inside him, a 28-year-old consciousness stitched into a 15-year-old body. He remembered everything: the Wheel of Wishes, the shimmering void, the cosmic deal that had landed him here, on Earth-Prime-7. The Ascension System, his silent partner, glowed in his mind like a dashboard, its latest update still fresh from the birthday chaos: *Fame: 80% Aligned. Talents: Fully Operational. Universe Influence: 47%.* But now, as the penthouse quieted, something new flickered across its interface—a pulsing notification, insistent and bold.
He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and focused inward. The system's voice, cool and mechanical yet oddly alive, spoke: *Mission Unlocked: Define Your Path. Objective: Assess Alliances, Expand Potential. Reward: Enhanced Attachments Available.* A holographic panel materialized in his vision—visible only to him—listing percentages and cryptic prompts. *Diddy: Trust 10%, Influence 70%. Usher: Trust 25%, Influence 60%. Braun: Trust 75%, Influence 85%.* Then, a kicker: *New Attachment Slot Open. Choose Wisely.*
Justin snorted, flopping back onto the pillows. "Attachments? What am I, a Lego set?" But his sarcasm masked a deeper unease. He didn't like Diddy or Usher—not one bit. In his old life, Malachi had scrolled X and Reddit, piecing together the tabloid tales of the original Justin Bieber's rise. Diddy, with his slick-talking swagger and mansion parties, had always struck him as a predator circling young talent. Usher, bow-legged and smooth, wasn't much better—too polished, too self-serving, a mentor who'd prop you up only to bask in your glow. Justin—Malachi reborn—found them ridiculous, relics of a game he'd rewrite.
And Pattie? His heart twisted. In the original timeline, she'd let Justin slip into the machine—Diddy's shadow, Usher's orbit—without enough fight. Sure, she'd been young, overwhelmed, but Malachi had judged her from afar, safe behind his Boise coffee counter. Now, living as her son, he saw her differently: 33, fierce but fragile, out of her depth in this glittering whirlwind. She wasn't the same Pattie from his Earth, not exactly—this was Earth-Prime-7, a parallel weave—but the echoes stung. He wasn't the original Justin, either. He was better, sharper, armed with the system and a barista's hindsight.
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#### The System's New Game
The system's notification pulsed again, demanding attention. *Mission Details: Evaluate your circle. Strengthen your core. Unlock one Attachment to amplify your destiny.* A submenu unfurled, offering options beyond his initial spins—*Singing, Dancing, Modeling, Acting*—each shimmering with potential: *Athleticism, Intelligence, Leadership, Creativity Boost, Technological Savvy, Emotional Mastery.* Beside each was a percentage boost: *Athleticism: +30% Physical Prowess. Intelligence: +40% Strategic Thinking.* And a note: *Choose within 24 hours, or the slot locks for one year.*
Justin's pulse quickened. This wasn't just a tweak to his talents—it was a chance to redefine himself entirely. He'd spun the Wheel for fame, sure, but these "attachments" were power-ups, tools to outmaneuver the industry's sharks. Diddy and Usher might loom large, but he'd outgrow them, outsmart them. He scanned the list, fingers tapping the air as if it were a touchscreen.
*Athleticism* tempted him—imagine flipping across stages, outrunning paparazzi, a body honed beyond teenage awkwardness. *Leadership* could turn him into a mogul, not just a puppet. But *Intelligence* snagged his focus. Malachi had been clever—street-smart, quick with a quip—but this promised more: tactical brilliance, a mind to match the system's calculations. At 15, navigating Braun's deals and Diddy's games, it felt right. "Intelligence it is," he muttered, mentally locking it in.
The system chimed: *Attachment Selected: Intelligence +40%. Integration: Immediate. Reward: Enhanced Perception Unlocked.* A jolt shot through him, like espresso hitting his veins. His thoughts sharpened, connections snapping into place—Braun's contract clauses, Usher's offhand comments, the way Diddy's smile never reached his eyes. The room seemed brighter, every sound crisper. *Perception: Active,* the system confirmed. He could read people now, not just through percentages but in their twitches, their silences.
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#### Testing the Waters
Morning broke over Atlanta, March 2, 2009, gray and humid. Justin rolled out of bed, his new *Intelligence* buzzing. Pattie was in the kitchenette, brewing instant coffee—a habit she couldn't shake from Stratford. "Big day, JB," she said, sliding him a mug. "Scooter's got meetings lined up—radio promo, some producer named Tricky Stewart." Her voice was warm but strained; she hadn't slept.
"Thanks, Mom." He sipped, eyes narrowing as the system tagged her: *Pattie: Trust 95%, Stress 70%.* She was solid, his rock, but fame was fraying her edges. "You okay?" he asked, softer than usual.
She blinked, surprised. "Me? I'm fine, sweetie. Just… keeping up." He nodded, filing it away. She'd need support—maybe a manager of her own. His new smarts were already plotting.
Braun burst in at 9 a.m., all energy and gelled hair. "Birthday boy! 'One Time' is at 15 on Billboard—15! We're meeting Usher at noon, then Diddy's sniffing around for a collab." The system flared: *Braun: Excitement 90%, Control 60%.* Justin smirked internally—Braun loved him, but loved the reins more.
"Cool," Justin said, casual but calculating. "What's Diddy want?"
Braun shrugged. "Exposure, probably. You're the hot ticket." *Perception* kicked in: Braun's jaw tightened slightly—Diddy rattled him too. Good to know.
The noon meeting with Usher was at a sleek studio downtown. Usher strolled in, shades low, bowlegs swinging like he owned the place. "JB, my man! 15, huh? You're killing it." His grin was wide, but Justin's enhanced mind caught the flicker—a quick glance at Braun, a possessive edge. The system tagged: *Usher: Pride 50%, Envy 30%.*
"Yeah, thanks," Justin said, leaning back. "What's your play here?" Blunt, testing. Malachi's old sass mixed with new sharpness.
Usher laughed, but it didn't land right. "Just ridin' your wave, kid. We'll do big things." The system adjusted: *Trust: Down to 20%.* Justin didn't vibe with him—never had. Bow-legged and ridiculous, just like Diddy. He'd keep Usher close enough to use, distant enough to dodge.
Diddy's call came later, via Braun's phone. "Yo, Scoot, put the kid on." His voice was syrupy, too smooth. Justin took the receiver, system blaring: *Diddy: Charm 80%, Ulterior Motives 65%.* "Happy belated, lil' homie," Diddy purred. "Come kick it at my spot—bring the vocals, we'll cook somethin'."
"Nah, I'm good," Justin shot back, voice flat. "Busy." He hung up before Diddy could push. Braun raised an eyebrow, but Justin waved it off. "He's a clown," he muttered, and the system agreed: *Influence: Neutralized, for now.*
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#### The Missions Begin
That night, alone in the penthouse, the system escalated. *Mission Update: First Task—Build Your Base. Objective: Secure one ally, distance one liability. Deadline: March 31, 2009. Reward: +10% Universe Influence.* Justin grinned—games within games. Braun was the ally, obviously; Diddy the liability. Easy.
But the system wasn't done. *Bonus Task: Test New Attachment. Use Intelligence to uncover a hidden opportunity by March 15. Reward: Mystery Boost.* His mind raced, dissecting the day. Tricky Stewart, the producer—Braun had mentioned him casually, but *Perception* flagged it: Stewart's name carried weight, a Grammy winner tied to Beyoncé, Rihanna. An early collab could skyrocket *My World*. Justin texted Braun: "Set up Tricky ASAP. I've got ideas." *Intelligence: Strategic Move Logged.*
By March 3, he was in the studio with Stewart, a wiry guy with quick hands on the boards. "You're young, but you've got it," Stewart said, tweaking a beat. Justin laid down vocals—*Singing: Peak*—and threw in a dance riff—*Dancing: Flair Active*. Stewart's eyes lit up. "This kid's a triple threat." The system chimed: *Opportunity Secured. Mystery Boost: +5% Creativity.*
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#### Expanding the Arsenal
The *Intelligence* attachment worked overtime. By March 10, 2009, Justin was dissecting contracts, spotting loopholes Braun hadn't flagged. He pushed for more creative control on *My World*, pitching a ballad—"Love Me"—that Malachi's old soul had scribbled in Boise. The system loved it: *Creativity: Surging.*
He didn't stop there. The *Modeling* trait kicked into gear—photo shoots for Teen Vogue, poses razor-sharp, his *Beauty* drawing gasps. *Acting* stirred too—a cameo offer for a Disney pilot landed via Braun. "You're a brand now," Braun said, awed. Justin just nodded, system humming: *Talents: 90% Synced.*
Fans mobbed him daily—screams, tears, signs reading "Marry Me, Justin!" The *Wealth* trait ballooned: *Net Worth: $1.2M.* But he kept Diddy and Usher at arm's length, their calls unanswered, their invites declined. "Two clowns," he'd mutter, and Pattie, overhearing, laughed despite herself.
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#### The Long Game
By March 31, 2009, the mission closed. Braun was locked in—*Trust: 80%*—and Diddy faded, his texts ignored. The system rewarded him: *Universe Influence: 57%.* Justin, 15, stood taller—not in height, but in presence. Atlanta's skyline stretched before him, a kingdom he'd conquer. Malachi's memories fueled him, the system armed him, and Earth-Prime-7 bent to his will.
He wasn't the original Justin Bieber. He was better—smarter, sharper, a star reborn with a barista's grit and a cosmic edge. And this was just the beginning.