Ethan woke up on his sixth birthday to the sound of a light drizzle tapping against his window. His small bedroom in the modest suburban house felt quiet, serene even, as the day began.
His parents, undoubtedly preparing for his birthday party, had likely filled the house with balloons and decorations while he slept. He would have to play the part of an excited six-year-old today, pretending to be caught off-guard by the superhero-themed cake.
Probably Captain America, his favorite hero, something he did not steal from Peter and parroted to his parents to look normal, that would be weird.
Today wasn't about the celebrations or the gifts though—it was a day to reflect on his progress.
He slid out of bed, stretching his arms above his head, feeling the tension in his muscles ease. At five years old, his body wasn't quite ready for the rigors of intense physical training, but he had made do.
Ethan had been running laps during recess, doing push-ups and sit-ups in his room, and stretching every night.
Not enough to look odd to his parents, but enough to ensure that he maintained his physical condition. His telekinesis allowed him to cheat a bit when necessary, moving things effortlessly without breaking a sweat, but he knew that physical fitness would become more crucial as he got older.
With a mere thought, he mentally lifted his alarm clock from the bedside table. The digital numbers glowed red in the dim light—6:13 AM.
Ethan smirked. His control had improved dramatically over the past year. He could manipulate objects without much concentration now, holding them in place or moving them with decent accuracy. But he hadn't pushed the limits yet. Not fully.
He decided today would be a good day to test that.
. . .
Ethan slipped downstairs quietly, careful not to wake his parents. They'd expect him to sleep in on his birthday, and that gave him a couple of hours to himself.
These kinds of things were necessary to get some training in without people watching his every move, that was pretty good parenting all things considered, but so utterly annoying for him.
'Can't exactly tell them they shouldn't worry about me drinking bleach because I transmigrated as their son…or took over his body, not sure how that one works,' He shook his head, amused by the thought and their possible reaction.
The house felt familiar in the early morning stillness, the kitchen faintly smelling of coffee grounds and yesterday's dinner, roast beef with potatoes, his favorite.
He grabbed one of his father's granola bars and headed to the backyard, shutting the door softly behind him. The air outside was crisp with the scent of rain, and the grass beneath his feet was cool and damp.
This was his sanctuary—where he practiced without anyone watching.
He looked around, scanning the small fenced yard. Objects he had stashed away for practice lay scattered: small stones, tennis balls, metal rods, and a couple of sticks.
They had all become tools to sharpen his focus, his control.
Ethan picked up a few stones telekinetically, feeling their weight through his mental grip. He rotated them lazily above his head, weaving them in and out of each other like a makeshift planetary system.
He'd been doing this for months—starting with one or two objects and eventually building up to five or six. But today, he wanted to push himself. He wanted to feel the strain.
He focused harder, pulling more stones from the ground, his mind bending around their surfaces. Eight stones now hovered before him, then ten, spinning in wider arcs, forming complex shapes in the air. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he increased their speed, challenging his own reflexes to keep up. He felt his mind stretch like a rubber band, but he didn't stop.
Just a little more.
Call it curiosity, recklessness or just the sheer desire to experience the awesomeness of making things move with his mind, but he didn't want to stop.
His vision blurred at the edges as he added even more objects—a tennis ball, then a second, and finally one of the rusty metal rods. He could feel the rod's density and the way it resisted him, but he kept it moving, kept everything in motion. Thirteen objects now danced in the air in a dizzying ballet of telekinetic force.
Not that fast, nor too powerful, but it was leagues beyond his first attempts.
His headache, a dull throb settling behind his eyes. He held the objects for a few more seconds before finally releasing them.
They clattered to the ground in a chaotic jumble, the sound breaking the stillness of the morning.
Ethan stood there, panting lightly, wiping the sweat from his brow. His control had improved, no doubt about it. But the strain was real. He could feel the limits of his powers creeping closer, the edges of his mental endurance fraying.
Still, progress was progress.
'I should leave before they decide to check it out,' He thought, 'Nah, who am I kidding, my parents wouldn't wake up if there was a war right next to our front door.'
Ethan spent the next hour resting, he would gladly get some self-assigned reading if he didn't mess up his brain with that telekinetic stunt.
He didn't need to fake his sleepiness when he faced his mother.
"There you are, birthday boy!" she said, her voice filled with warmth and excitement. "We thought you'd be sleeping in."
Ethan looked up at her and gave her a beaming smile, channeling every ounce of childhood excitement he could muster. "I couldn't sleep! I'm too excited for my party!"
Her laughter filled the room, and she ruffled his hair affectionately. "Well, we've got a lot of surprises for you today. Your friends are going to be here soon, so make sure you're ready!"
Ethan nodded enthusiastically, though internally he sighed. Playing the part of a five–now six-year-old was exhausting, especially when his mind was occupied with far more important matters. Still, keeping up the façade was crucial.
No one could suspect what he was capable of.
The birthday party went as expected. The neighborhood kids arrived, along with some classmates from school. Peter Parker, naturally, showed up early. Ethan tried to avoid him, though Peter's dogged persistence made that difficult.
Despite their odd friendship, Ethan still found Peter to be both a source of amusement and mild annoyance. The kid was smart—scary smart—but also naïve in a way that Ethan couldn't relate to.
Still more interesting than the rest of the squirts, if only because he made him worry about accidentally using his telekinesis and being busted as a horrible, evil, wicked ni–mutant, as a wicked mutant!
Didn't endear him to Ethan though.
As the sun dipped below the horizon and the last of the guests left, the man-turned-child retreated to his room. His parents were downstairs cleaning up, and he finally had a moment of peace. His body was tired, but his mind buzzed with plans and possibilities.
One year. That's how long it had been since he had begun his true training. He had made progress, yes, but not enough. The world was far too dangerous to be caught unprepared.
…
The next morning, the routine of playing a normal kid resumed. His mother fussed over him as he ate his breakfast, smiling that proud, doting smile he had grown accustomed to.
He offered her a genuine grin—it wasn't that he disliked his parents; he just didn't need them to know too much, that was just bad for business.
"You excited for school today, Ethan?" she asked, setting a glass of juice in front of him.
"Yeah, it'll be fun," Ethan said, the words slipping out automatically. School was not fun. School was a necessary cover. It gave him a chance to study people—other kids, the teachers, how they all interacted. But today was different. Today, Peter Parker would come looking for him again.
Peter Parker was the kind of kid who was born to be a victim.
His desperate attempts at friendship made Ethan's teeth grind, if only because their first interaction was the spider-man-to-be trying to figure out his nature as a mutant, something that would end up with a reenactment of the witch burnings if the few discussions he heard about them were anything to go by.
Magneto might be a terrorist scumbag, but he had a point about mutant oppression if nothing else.
'That, and he made Wanda.' Ethan thought about the hot, but utterly insane lady.
But at the same time, there was something oddly satisfying about toying with him. Peter always thought they were friends, running to Ethan as though he'd found some kindred spirit.
It was amusing, in a way.
At recess, Peter found him, as usual.
"Hey, Ethan!" Peter's voice was as chipper as always, as if the universe hadn't yet given him a reason to doubt people. His optimism grated on Ethan's nerves, the kid didn't have a sliver of an idea about the hell to come, the self-inflicted misery.
"Hey," Ethan responded casually, watching Peter jog over with that eager grin. Like a puppy, as always. Pathetic.
"You want to hang out?" Peter asked, his big brown eyes hopeful.
"Sure," Ethan replied, hiding the smirk that threatened to surface. He had a particular game he liked to play with Peter. It wasn't obvious—just small things. Making Peter lose track of time or forget where he put his things. Ethan would subtly nudge objects just out of reach with his telekinesis, making Peter stumble around in confusion. It was a way to test his precision, and the results were always hilarious.
'Call it revenge for nearly busting me before I woke up, blame that brilliant mind of yours, Peter.' Ethan thought with an innocent grin.
"Did you bring that cool puzzle thing today?" Peter asked, referring to a small wooden puzzle cube Ethan had shown him once.
"Nah, I left it at home," Ethan lied, watching as Peter's expression dropped slightly. "But we can still do something else."
They wandered off toward the playground, Peter chatting endlessly about some science magazine he'd read. Peter was smart, there was no denying that. Scary smart. But it didn't matter how intelligent Peter was—he was still naive, still easy to manipulate.
As they reached the jungle gym, Ethan decided to have some fun. Peter started climbing, and with a casual flick of his finger—unseen by anyone—Ethan shifted one of the metal bars ever so slightly. Peter's hand missed the grip, and he stumbled, catching himself awkwardly with a yelp.
Ethan suppressed a chuckle as Peter clambered up the rest of the way, looking embarrassed but none the wiser. "You okay, Pete?"
Peter looked down, rubbing his hand. "Yeah, I just... missed, I guess."
"Yeah, I guess." Ethan let the words hang in the air with feigned sympathy, but internally, he was already planning his next move.
Later that day, Ethan sat in the back of the classroom, his mind half-listening to the teacher's lesson on basic arithmetic.
It was all laughably simple to him—something he'd absorbed years ago despite being a US citizen.
His real focus was on honing his powers. Beneath his desk, hidden from the teacher's view, he levitated his pencil, spinning it slowly between his fingers using only his mind. It was delicate work, controlling such a small object with precision, but he was getting better at it.
Much better.
As the lesson droned on, he glanced over at Peter, who sat a few rows ahead, diligently taking notes. The poor kid probably didn't even realize how much Ethan was messing with him on a daily basis.
But today, he decided to take it a step further.
Just as the teacher called on Peter to answer a question, Ethan nudged Peter's notebook off the desk. It hit the floor with a loud thud, causing everyone to turn and look at Peter, who flushed red with embarrassment as he scrambled to pick it up.
The teacher frowned. "Peter, please focus."
Peter stammered an apology, clearly rattled, and Ethan watched with amusement as he fumbled his way through an answer. It was always so easy to throw Peter off his game. The look of confusion on his face never failed to entertain.
Emotional damage was the name of the game.
. . .
After school, Ethan made his way home, his backpack slung over one shoulder. The day had been productive, in its own way. His telekinesis was becoming more refined with each passing day, and his mental endurance was growing stronger. But more importantly, he was learning how to manipulate the world around him—how to control people without them even realizing it. Peter was the perfect test subject. Clumsy, eager, and too trusting for his own good.
Smart enough to be a challenge, inexperienced enough for Ethan's blunders and mistakes to be easily fixed with a few platitudes and some care.
That, and a whole lot of gaslighting.
As he walked through the front door, his mother greeted him with the usual warmth, asking him about his day. He gave her the usual responses, playing the role of the smart but innocent child.
But once he was alone in his room, the mask slipped away.
He pulled out the French book he'd been studying and flipped to the chapter he had marked. It wasn't a large leap in progress, but mastering another language at his age was yet another way he could outpace the world around him. French had come relatively easily—it was simply a matter of repetition and mental discipline. But he wasn't done yet. He had plans to learn more: Spanish, German, Russian. Languages that would give him an edge, that would allow him to blend in wherever he needed to.
For now, though, his focus was still on developing his mind. The world of advanced sciences, physics, biology—all of that could wait.
But in time, he would surpass everyone.
Author's Note:
If you're enjoying the story and want to read ahead or support my work, you can check out my P@treon at [email protected]/LordCampione. But don't worry—all chapters will eventually be public. Just being here and reading means the world to me. Thank you for your time and support