"Ah, bald head!!"
Ethan shot up from the bed, his breath coming in sharp gasps. His heart pounded against his ribs as his eyes darted around the room, scanning the familiar surroundings.
It took a moment for reality to sink in. The nightmare had been so vivid, but he was awake now.
His gaze landed on the alarm clock. The glowing red numbers blinked tauntingly—6:47 AM.
He blinked groggily. Had he really slept an entire day?
Taking a deep breath, he pressed a hand against his chest. The suffocating tightness was gone. The fever had broken. He could feel it—the burning heat, the bone-deep exhaustion, all of it had vanished. He felt...fine. Actually, more than fine.
Stretching his arms, he let out a yawn, reveling in the sensation of being able to move without discomfort. "Damn, it's like my whole body hit the reset button…" he muttered. He rubbed his eyes, then paused.
Something was different.
His vision wasn't the same. It wasn't blurry or anything, but there was something…extra.
White lines.
Thin, glowing lines with small arrows crisscrossed the room. Some moved, some stayed in place, some twisted and bent around objects. They weren't physical, yet he could sense them, almost like they were burned into his mind rather than something he was seeing with his eyes.
"What the hell?"
He squeezed his eyes shut. The lines didn't disappear. In fact, with his eyes closed, they became even clearer, outlining everything around him like a three-dimensional sketch.
It wasn't just his vision. It was a sense. A perception beyond the physical.
Experimentally, he reached out, pressing a fingertip against the wooden headboard of his bed. Instantly, a cluster of lines shifted, bending and reacting to his touch. He focused, and the arrow pointing upward suddenly flipped downward.
Crack.
A sharp splintering sound echoed in the quiet room. When he opened his eyes, his finger had left a deep dent in the wood, as if he had pressed into it like clay.
His stomach dropped. "Oh, crap."
Before he could process it further, the door creaked open.
"Ethan, my poor child, how are you feeling?"
Ms. Emma's gentle voice cut through his thoughts as she stepped into the room. She was a tall woman with kind eyes and golden hair streaked with silver, the kind of person who carried warmth in her very presence.
Ethan quickly pulled his hand away from the damaged headboard, forcing a smile. "Ms. Emma, I'm fine now. The fever's completely gone."
She pressed the back of her hand against his forehead, her expression softening with relief. "Oh, thank goodness. You had me worried, young man."
He chuckled. "Did I really look that bad?"
"You were sweating and mumbling nonsense about bald heads in your sleep."
His smile faltered. "…Right. That."
Ms. Emma gave him a knowing look before sighing. "Well, it's time for dinner. You must be starving after sleeping all day."
At the mere mention of food, Ethan's stomach growled in agreement. "Now that you mention it…"
She laughed, patting his shoulder. "Get up and wash up, then. And don't even think about skipping vegetables, young man."
"Yeah, yeah," he waved her off with a grin. Once she was satisfied, she gave him one last glance before leaving the room.
As soon as the door shut behind her, Ethan let out a long breath and turned his attention back to his hands.
His fingers flexed experimentally, but the white lines remained in his mind's eye, shifting with each movement.
"…This is new."
His stomach growled again.
Food first. Freaky powers later.
Five minutes later, Ethan made his way to the orphanage cafeteria, tray in hand.
The room was filled with the usual evening chatter, kids and teens clustered together, eating and laughing.
He scanned the room and quickly spotted a familiar brunette sitting at a table, typing away on her laptop.
"Yo, can I sit here?"
Without waiting for a response, he plopped down across from her.
Katie glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "Look who's finally up and walking."
He grinned. "Yep. Back from the dead. I'm so hungry I could eat a whole cow."
As Ethan made his offhand joke, Katie barely reacted.
Instead, she turned her attention back to the TV, her expression blank. She wasn't the talkative type—withdrawn, even.
Maybe that's why, at sixteen, she was still at the orphanage.
People preferred kids who smiled more, talked more.
But Katie? She kept to herself, and no one had ever been eager to take her home.
Ethan followed her gaze to the screen. The evening news was on.
[This just in—billionaire industrialist Tony Stark, head of Stark Industries, has reportedly been seen selling weapons in the Middle East.
Sources confirm that among the arms traded were Jericho missiles, powerful enough to level entire city blocks.
Anti-war activists are currently protesting outside Stark Tower, condemning the sale as an immoral act of war profiteering.]
The news anchor continued. [In other news, world leaders are set to meet in Manhattan next week for a global finance summit, discussing the future of economic policies and trade agreements.]
Ethan absentmindedly chewed his food as the next segment played.
[And finally, controversy continues to grow as Senator Robert Kelly intensifies his campaign for the Mutant Registration Act.
The senator insists that mutant powers pose a threat to society and that all mutants must be identified and monitored for public safety.
Critics argue that such measures would only increase tensions and discrimination, leading to further division between humans and mutants.]
Ethan tensed at the mention of mutants.
That word carried weight in this world.
In his world. Before he ended up in this orphanage—before he lost the parents of this life—he had already realized something: this wasn't the world he came from.
He wasn't just another kid in New York.
He had somehow ended up in the Marvel Universe, a reality where gods, heroes, and mutants were very real.
"Honestly, I wouldn't mind being a mutant," Katie said suddenly.
Ethan turned his attention back to her.
"Mutants are stronger than regular people," she continued, tearing a chunk off her bread. "People hate them because they're afraid—jealous, even. They act like mutants are some kind of disease, but if I woke up one day with powers, I wouldn't complain." She shrugged, speaking like she was addressing the air more than him.
Ethan didn't respond right away. His fingers tapped idly against the edge of the table.
Mutants. Powers.
Without thinking, he pressed his fingertips against the iron tabletop. It was solid—unyielding. But then, in his mind's eye, the white arrows shifted. They had been resisting his touch, but as soon as he willed them to change direction—
A soft indentation formed beneath his fingers.
His breath hitched.
Katie frowned. "What's with you?"
Ethan quickly pulled his hand back, forcing a grin. "Nothing. Just full."
Before she could question him further, he grabbed his tray and hurried out of the cafeteria. His heart was pounding.
He wasn't just feeling better after the fever. Something had changed. Something inside him had woken up.
He was—
'I am
—a mutant.'
—
Back in his room, he locked the door behind him and rummaged under his bed until his hands found a football.
He pulled it out and sat on the floor, turning it over in his hands.
The white lines were there again.
Dozens of them, wrapped around the ball, their arrows mostly pointing downward.
Gravity. That's what he was seeing.
Slowly, he reached out with his mind, focusing on the arrows, willing them to flip.
Boom!
The football shot out of his hands, slamming into the ceiling with a loud thud before dropping back down, and bouncing wildly across the room.
Ethan barely noticed.
He sat there, frozen, staring at his hands.
The pieces clicked into place. His ability wasn't just some random power.
He had seen something like this before—buried deep in his memories from before. From an anime he had watched before ending up in this world.
Accelerator...
Vector control.
The ability to manipulate force, to change the direction of energy itself.
Ethan wasn't just any mutant. He had one of the most powerful abilities imaginable.
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