It had been a little over a week since Nate had woken up in this life, and the routine had begun to settle in.
Get up, walk Rusty, eat breakfast with his mum fussing over his hair, pack his bag, and meet Jack at the end of the street.
Jack, the boy who'd accidentally kicked the football into Nate's face, had since become his unofficial school escort and the closest thing he had to a friend in this timeline. He was energetic, a little too obsessed with dinosaurs, and had a laugh that made teachers visibly wince. But he was kind.
Today, though, Nate barely heard him.
"So then I told her, 'You can't make a Stegosaurus marry a T. rex, that's like—' wait, are you even listening?"
"Huh?" Nate blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. "Yeah. Totally. Dino-wedding. Very controversial."
Jack squinted at him. "You're being weird again."
Nate smiled faintly. "It's just… I've been thinking."
Jack raised a brow. "About what?"
Nate hesitated. How could he possibly explain? That he was once a grown man who died doing stunts for movies and woke up in a child's body in 1993? That he was now trying to figure out how to become rich and famous before he even hit puberty?
He just shook his head. "Never mind. Grown-up stuff."
Jack made a fart noise with his mouth. "Boring."
They walked in silence for a bit longer, Jack skipping ahead to kick a rock, while Nate stayed a few steps behind, thoughts churning.
He didn't want to be a stuntman again. That had been a thrill, sure—but dying had a way of making you reconsider career choices. Especially when your career involved flinging yourself off buildings for minimum recognition and a credit that rolled too fast for anyone to read.
This time… this life… he wanted more.
Not because of some noble dream to inspire the world or leave a legacy. No, it was simpler than that. He wanted to be rich. Famous. Secure. To never have to worry about bills or bad contracts. To give his parents—his parents—a life so comfortable that they never had to lift a finger again.
Because, slowly and unexpectedly, he had started to care about them.
It wasn't a thunderbolt. There hadn't been a singular moment of clarity. But somewhere between his dad humming while ironing his white coat and his mum sneaking an extra chocolate biscuit into his lunchbox, Nate had started feeling it. Not the ghost-memory affection of the "old Nate," but something real. Earned. Built day by day.
They were his now.
So, what was he going to do with this second chance?
He started listing options in his head as they neared the school gates.
Business? Too early. No capital. He'd look suspicious trying to invest in Microsoft or buy Amazon stock as an eight-year-old.
Sports? Possible… but risky. Injuries, coaches, intense pressure. Also, he hadn't exactly been athletic before.
Music? Movies? Showbiz. Fame. Talent. Publicity. That… he could work with.
He knew the hits that were coming out in the next 10, 15 years. He could sing decently enough, especially with training. He'd done a few background acting gigs before becoming a stuntman. Maybe this time he could be the face instead of the body double.
His mind wandered again—films. Franchises. Cultural giants.
Harry Potter. The idea struck like lightning. If he could land a role in that, he'd skyrocket to fame.
He began mentally calculating. The first film came out in 2001. Casting would probably begin around 1999 or so. He'd be around… what, fourteen?
A cold drop of realization slid down his spine.
Nope.
He was already eight in 1993. By the time Philosopher's Stone was casting, he'd be far too old for Harry.
"Damnit," he muttered to himself, earning a confused look from a passing teacher.
For a moment, disappointment gnawed at his chest. The idea had seemed so obvious, like destiny handing him a golden ticket.
But this wasn't a game where he got to redo everything perfectly. This was real.
The world wasn't going to bend to his knowledge. He could nudge it, sure—but he couldn't expect everything to go his way.
He sighed.
He was an adult—had been an adult. He'd lived, struggled, died. And now, somehow, he had another shot. It didn't have to be Harry Potter. It didn't have to be perfect.
He just needed a foothold. Something to start with.
Drama clubs were the first step, right?
Later that evening, he brought it up casually at dinner.
"Mum?"
She looked up from her pasta, eyebrows raised. "Yes, love?"
"Can I join the school drama club?"
His dad paused mid-bite. "Drama? That's a new one."
Nate shrugged. "I thought it might be fun. You know, performing and stuff."
His mum's expression shifted—curious, pleased, and slightly suspicious all at once. "Well, that's lovely. I didn't know you were interested in acting."
Nate smiled, playing it cool. "Figured I'd try something new."
His dad nodded, amused. "You do have a bit of flair when you're telling stories. Remember last week when you said Rusty talked to you?"
"He did, though," Nate grinned. "He told me you forgot to give him his bedtime snack."
They laughed, and just like that, the conversation moved on.
But inside, Nate felt a spark. A beginning.
He didn't have a grand plan yet. He didn't know how he'd go from drama club to global icon. But he had taken the first step.
And in his experience, that's how it always started—with a small decision, wrapped in an ordinary moment.
He just had to make sure he didn't waste the second life he'd been given.