"Grey. Grey… wake up. We are going to be late for school."
The voice came through the door first, then the sharp knock of knuckles against cheap wood. Not impatient. Not yet. But close.
Grey groaned into the pillow, the sound muffled and irritated. His body felt heavy in a way that didn't match his mind. He shifted, sheets tangling around his legs, and forced one eye open.
Light filtered through half-closed blinds. The room was small. Posters slightly peeling at the corners. A desk cluttered with stacked books arranged with obsessive neatness. A pair of worn sneakers by the bed. Dust particles hung in the air like they had nowhere better to be.
His gaze moved slowly across the room.
Not a cave.
Not a stone chamber.
Not the suffocating scent of blood and damp soil.
Painted walls. Electrical socket. Digital clock blinking 7:12 AM.
This was the modern world.
'Where am I?'
The thought did not carry panic. It carried assessment.
His fingers flexed against the mattress. Soft. Weak. No calluses. No scars.
He inhaled once. The air smelled faintly of detergent and something sweet—maybe perfume drifting in from the hallway.
"It seems I have died and reincarnated again," Grey muttered flatly to the ceiling.
No drama. He was used to reincarnation, he was used to dying over and over again
And then—
Memories hit.
Not his memories.
This body's.
They did not trickle in gently. They pressed forward in fragments—like someone shoving photographs into his mind too quickly.
His father's face, fading from memory, already half-forgotten by the time Grey was four.
His sister's back as she left at twelve. A suitcase. No promise to return.
A door forced open at night.
A shout.
His mother's scream cut short.
Police lights washing the walls in blue and red.
A funeral.
Silence at dinner.
Loneliness that didn't ask for permission.
And then—
Captain Stacy's firm handshake.
Gwen's sideways glance the first day he stepped into this house.
Adopted.
Not unwanted. But not quite belonging either.
The memories settled.
Grey blinked once.
'Oh well. As long as I am alive.' He shrugged. He was not indifferent. He was just .... used. One does not live dozens of lifetimes and develop a normal psychology.
He did sigh though. He did not receive all his memories nor did he get any of the personalities developed and hardened by various worlds. He was normal with scattered memories retained in the previous lifetimes.
He turned his head toward the door.
"Give me ten minutes. I'll get ready," he shouted, voice still rough from sleep.
On the other side of the door came an exaggerated sigh.
"Ugh. I swear if we are late again—"
She stopped there.
The unfinished threat lingered in the air, vivid enough that his imagination filled in the rest. Gwen had a way of doing that. She rarely finished threats. She didn't need to.
--- 8 minutes later ---
The door clicked open.
Grey stepped out.
The hallway light exposed everything mercilessly.
He was thin. Not lean. Thin. His shoulders sloped slightly inward, posture betraying years of reading rather than training. His wrists looked fragile. His T-shirt hung loosely on him, fabric bunching in awkward places. His jeans were clean but generic. Shoes scuffed. Glasses slightly crooked on his nose.
His hair had been combed. Technically. But it still looked like it had disagreed with the concept. He adjusted the frame of his glasses with a small push. His eyes flickered faintly as he assessed his own reflection in the hallway mirror.
Poor muscle density. Slow nerve response. Subpar eyesight.
And— He paused. He could feel it. Spiritual aptitude. Every living being had some. Even in worlds that denied it. Energy pathways. Potential. A capacity for resonance.
This body's?
Extremely low. Not nonexistent. But close enough to be insulting.
Grey considered it a handicap. Not a weakness.
His lips curved slightly.
'No one is born with no aptitude. Just poor configuration.'
A memory surfaced—of a friend from several reincarnations ago. Calm eyes and an irritating voice. With him a method that rewrote internal structure without external signs.
Beautiful. Majestic. Irritatingly correct.
Grey exhaled through his nose.
That knowledge still belonged to him. He was glad he remembered him, his best friend in that lifetime and probably forever. But with it came a somberness
' Perhaps one day .... '
"You are finally done. You sure take your sweet time to look like that."
Gwen leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
She looked effortlessly put together in a way that felt unfair. Hair tied back. Jacket thrown on like it had always belonged there. Eyes sharp with habitual sarcasm.
Grey rolled his eyes.
" Go fuck yourself "
" Not everyone is a violent masturbator like you Grey " Gwen countered.
Grey honestly had no words to counter that. This was a flawless victory.
" Touche' " Gwen threw him a box which he caught with ease.
" You know you could just give me this like a normal person " Grey commented.
" And risk touching your gross masturbating hand , yeah I will pass "
Grey looked at Gwen who currently looked very proud with herself.
" I am going to violently touch you " Grey said with extreme seriousness.
Gwen chuckled.
" Dream on wimp " She replied as she grabbed the car keys and walked to the door while Grey followed him.
She grabbed the car keys and headed for the door.
Grey followed.
As they walked, he attempted to shove her lightly with his shoulder.
She did not budge .She didn't even adjust her balance. She simply turned her head slowly and looked at him.
"You could always use the bus," she said mildly. "I can swing to school."
Her fingers made the familiar hand sign. Casual. Almost subconscious.
Grey stopped pushing immediately.
"Tch. You are no fun," he muttered, sounding like a little kid who was told not to play with his favorite toy.
"Yeah, yeah. Get in the car."
---
They arrived just in time.
The school building stood wide and indifferent, swallowing students in waves of noise and movement.
They stepped out of the car.
Without looking at him, Gwen tossed the keys backward.
Grey reacted—
Too slow. The keys hit his first palm and bounced. His second hand scrambled and caught them awkwardly. For half a second, heat crawled up his neck.
'Fucking body.'
His thoughts sharpened.
'I cannot think properly. I cannot move as fast. Neither can I react quickly.'
His mind felt like a high-performance engine installed in a rusted chassis.
He flexed his fingers once.
At least this wasn't the Gu world or worse ..... Tiamat
A faint shudder passed through him before he suppressed it.
"Nice catch," Gwen commented dryly. "Two in a row. That's a new high score."
"Barely. But progress is progress."
He paused.
"Want me to take the car back home just in case… you know."
He formed the spider sign with his hand.
Gwen's eyes flicked to it.
"Yeah fuck no you are not driving my car. Peter said he will be on duty today but if something does happened you are to use the bus okay ?"
No teasing this time.
Just quiet understanding.
Grey nodded once.
He knew the routine.
They walked toward the entrance and separated without ceremony.
Different classes. Different social spheres.
Grey moved through the hallway with practiced invisibility.
He didn't need to focus on the lessons. The original Grey had been a bookworm. Notes color-coded. Margins filled with neat annotations. Memory retention high.
Convenient.
Grey took his seat in class.
Back straight.
Eyes forward.
Expression attentive.
But something in his gaze was… hollow.
The teacher's voice droned on.
Most students whispered. Some slept. A few engaged.
Grey would normally be one of the engaged.
Not today.
Today his eyes looked up and his body language said he was listening attentively but there was something wrong with his eyes. It seemed like there was no light in them.
This was the price of a technique that would eventually work in the background.
Right now he was busy modifying his aptitude , in short his very Qi pathways and core. Well not technically
He implanted a command. A mental blueprint. A sequence.
Reconstruction through repetition.
He wasn't directly modifying the pathways.
He was teaching the body how to do it itself.
Continuous. Autonomous. Like background software.
Six minutes passed.
A faint pressure built behind his eyes.
His vision dimmed slightly at the edges.
This was the price.
To automate the technique required sacrificing surface consciousness.
For now.
Four more minutes of intense focus.
Then it would downgrade into passive operation.
The teacher called someone's name.
Grey did not respond.
His body looked present.
His eyes looked attentive.
But the light behind them had dimmed.
He was busy rewriting himself.
'Done.'
Six minutes in.
Now stabilization.
The pressure deepened.
He maintained focus.
RIIINGG !!
The bell exploded through the classroom.
Sound shattered concentration.
Grey blinked once.
Medium focus achieved.
The technique was active.
Not perfect.
But functioning.
Good enough.
He stood.
Movement slightly stiff.
He walked to his locker to retrieve books for the next class.
And then—
He collided with a wall of muscle and ego.
He looked up. Broad shoulders. Football jersey.
Smirk that had practiced dominance in mirrors.
For a brief moment, Grey's mind painted an exaggerated parody—
The alpha gamma beta, partially hybrid, cool demon eyes, muscular CEO
…
…
Nah.
It was just Flash Thompson.
A/n : Fellow Authors I know some of y'all use AI for editing. On this one I have tried but I have done editing on the AI editing. It is incredibly annoying. How do y'all do it