If meeting Tony Stark was a high-stakes adrenaline rush, walking through the front gates of my middle school was a slow-motion car crash.
I stood there, backpack straps tight against my shoulders, staring at the lockers and the neon-colored posters for the "Winter Dance." In 2026, my biggest stress was structural load-bearing calculations and my housing thesis. In 1992, the biggest crisis on campus was apparently whether the cafeteria was serving "mystery meat" or square pizza.
"Julian! Hey, Julian!"
A kid with a neon windbreaker and a bowl cut that should have been illegal ran up to me. My brain scrambled for a second before the "original" Julian's memories kicked in.
"Hey, Mark," I said, forcing a smile.
"Did you get it? Did you get the new issue of Electronic Gaming Monthly?" Mark asked, his eyes wide. "They have the secret codes for Street Fighter II!"
I looked at him, then at the crowded hallway filled with pre-teens whose biggest concern was their P.E. grade. It was jarring. I felt like a giant trying to fit into a dollhouse.
"Uh, no. I was... busy with some business stuff," I said, trying to sound casual.
"Business stuff? You're weird today," Mark squinted at me. "Come on, we're gonna be late for History. Mr. Miller is totally gonna give a pop quiz on the Cold War."
I followed him, but my mind was miles away. As Mr. Miller started droning on about the Berlin Wall—something I had literally written an essay on in my first life—I opened my notebook.
I wasn't taking notes on history. I already knew how the 90s ended.
Instead, I started sketching. My hand moved with the precision of a senior architect. I drew the logic gates for the Nexus Engine. I mapped out how I could use the "bit-shifting" trick Tony and I had discovered to create a lighting system that shouldn't exist for another decade.
"Julian?"
I snapped my notebook shut as Mr. Miller appeared over my desk. "Is there something more interesting in that notebook than the fall of the Iron Curtain?"
"Just... calculating the structural integrity of the Wall, sir," I said, giving him a carefree, innocent grin. "You know, for 'academic' reasons."
A few kids snickered. Mr. Miller rolled his eyes and moved on. I sat back, the realization hitting me like a ton of bricks: I can't do this for six years. I was an 18-year-old with the secrets of the future in my head. I couldn't spend my days learning about long division. If I was going to build Nexus, I needed to prove to my parents—and the world—that I was already miles ahead of the curve.
Suddenly, the pencil in my hand felt warm. Not hot, just... buzzing. I looked down, and for a split second, the graphite lines on my paper seemed to shimmer, as if they were vibrating at a frequency I could feel in my teeth.
I blinked, and the shimmer was gone.
Just the coffee, I told myself, though I hadn't had any coffee that morning. Just 90s eye-strain.
I went back to sketching, but the feeling didn't leave. The foundation was set, but the building was starting to feel a lot bigger than I had planned.
As the day dragged on, I discovered something even more useful than 2026 knowledge. My brain was behaving like a high-speed digital recorder.
In Science class, I wasn't even looking at the chalkboard. I was staring out the window, mentally designing the user interface for my game engine. But when the teacher called on me to explain the mitochondria, the answer was just there. I hadn't been listening, but my ears had recorded every word, filing it away in a perfect, searchable database in the back of my mind.
Passive Intake, I realized. I'm absorbing everything, even when I'm not trying.
I was ecstatic 'Is this the classic cheat for a transmigrator?'
By the time the final bell rang, I had already decided. I wasn't staying here. I was going to skip grades, test out, and get to MIT.
I walked out to the bus, ignoring the kids shouting about Power Rangers. I had a roadmap to draw, a company to found, and a world to prepare for.
I was Julian Thorne, the Founder of Nexus. And 7th grade was officially a thing of the past.