Recess at Oakridge Academy was loud and chaotic.
Kids were running around, playing tag, and yelling across the playground.
Donovan sat under the shade of a large oak tree, enjoying the cool breeze.
He put his heavy cellular phone back into his leather backpack.
He looked down at his notebook.
Next to his drawings of Monkey D. Luffy were complex technical schematics.
People thought it was impossible for a ten-year-old to understand computer engineering.
But Donovan had a unique advantage.
In his past life, he had spent countless hours obsessively researching how to build the ultimate personal computer.
He knew exactly how to ensure the perfect compatibility of high-end components.
He knew how to route a liquid cooling system to keep a powerful graphics card and motherboard from melting down.
But mortal knowledge was only half the equation.
The Prime Entity of Emotion hadn't lived in a primitive world of clouds and harps.
The Realm of Catharsis was a hyper-advanced cosmic civilization.
The gods managed the emotions of billions using divine circuitry and energy flow matrices.
Routing spiritual energy through a celestial temple was basically identical to routing liquid coolant through a modern PC.
When the two souls fused, the knowledge perfectly overlapped.
Donovan wasn't just guessing.
He was building a localized, technological version of a divine matrix to render his anime.
"Whoa. Is that a pirate?" a voice asked.
Donovan looked up.
An eleven-year-old kid with messy dark hair was standing there.
He was holding a half-eaten peanut butter sandwich and looking at the notebook.
Donovan recognized him immediately. Jake Gyllenhaal.
In the future, Jake would be an absolute legend of intense, psychological acting.
He would become a master of thrillers and complex characters.
But right now, he was just a kid in a slightly oversized school uniform.
Donovan smiled warmly and shifted over on the bench.
"Yeah. His name is Luffy."
"That looks awesome," Jake said, sitting down next to him. "Did you trace it?"
"Nope, drew it myself," Donovan laughed, handing him the notebook.
"It's for a cartoon I'm trying to make."
Jake's eyes went wide. "A real cartoon? On TV?"
"Yeah. My grandpa is helping me set up a studio for it in Burbank."
Jake took a bite of his sandwich, looking completely amazed.
"Man, you're lucky. I just want to be an actor, but auditions are terrifying."
Donovan tilted his head, genuinely curious. "Why terrifying?"
"I don't know," Jake mumbled, looking down at his shoes.
"My parents make movies, so everyone expects me to be perfect. Whenever I try to read lines in front of adults, my chest gets all tight. I forget how to breathe."
Donovan felt a wave of sympathy.
He liked Jake. He didn't want to see a kid suffer over his own art.
Donovan leaned forward slightly.
He didn't use his heavy, terrifying aura.
Instead, he let a tiny, invisible drop of his divine power flow outward.
It was a warm, comforting wave of absolute calm.
It washed over Jake instantly.
The older boy's shoulders dropped.
The tight knot of anxiety in his chest vanished completely.
He took a deep breath, feeling incredibly relaxed and fearless for the first time in weeks.
"You don't have to be perfect, Jake," Donovan said gently, sounding like a supportive friend.
"You just have to believe you're the character. If you believe it, everyone else will believe it too."
Jake blinked, looking at Donovan. The fear was completely gone.
"You know what?" Jake smiled. "You're right. That actually makes a lot of sense."
"Tell you what," Donovan grinned, holding out his fist for a bump.
"When I start making real movies, I'll cast you. No scary auditions. Just us making cool stuff."
Jake laughed out loud and bumped Donovan's fist. "Deal."
The bell rang, echoing across the playground.
Recess was over. It was time for History class.
Donovan and Jake walked back into the building together.
They took seats next to each other in the back row.
The teacher, Mrs. Gable, was a strict, no-nonsense woman in her fifties.
She hated when students didn't pay attention.
She especially hated when the rich kids from Hollywood families acted like they owned the place.
Mrs. Gable started droning on about the Industrial Revolution.
She was the kind of teacher who spoke in a flat monotone and expected everyone to take frantic notes.
Donovan opened his notebook again.
He ignored her completely.
He needed to finish the cooling pipe designs before his grandfather called back.
The water pumps for the render farm needed to be perfectly calibrated.
If the pressure was too high, the tubes would burst and ruin millions of dollars in hardware.
Jake leaned over, whispering so the teacher wouldn't hear.
"So, for your cartoon... who is going to do the voices?"
"I'm hiring real voice actors," Donovan whispered back, not looking up.
"Not just random people. I need guys who can scream until their lungs give out."
"It's going to be an action show. There will be lots of fighting."
"Can I try out for one?" Jake asked, grinning.
"I do a really good villain voice. Seriously, I've been practicing."
"Mr. Blackwood. Mr. Gyllenhaal."
The entire classroom went dead silent.
Mrs. Gable was standing at the front of the room, glaring at them.
She crossed her arms, tapping her foot on the floor.
"Would you two like to share your conversation with the rest of the class?" she asked sharply.
"Or is your whispering more important than the history of the steam engine?"
Jake froze.
The old anxiety tried to creep back into his chest.
He hated being put on the spot in front of everyone.
Donovan calmly closed his notebook.
He didn't look scared. He looked completely bored.
"We were actually discussing the impact of technological advancement, Mrs. Gable," Donovan said smoothly.
A few kids in the front row giggled.
Mrs. Gable's face turned red. She hated being challenged by ten-year-olds.
"Oh, really?" she sneered.
"Then perhaps you can tell the class, Mr. Blackwood, what the primary economic shift was during the late 1800s?"
She smiled cruelly, thinking she had trapped him.
Donovan stood up from his desk.
He didn't just answer the question.
He let a tiny sliver of his divine authority slip into his voice.
Not the terrifying tyrant aura. Just pure, undeniable command.
"The primary shift was the transition from agrarian, hand-crafted economies to machine-driven manufacturing," Donovan stated clearly.
His voice echoed slightly in the quiet room.
"It created the modern working class, birthed early labor unions, and completely restructured global trade."
He looked directly into Mrs. Gable's eyes, his gaze piercing and unblinking.
"It also proved that those who control the new technology inevitably control the future. Are there any other questions, Mrs. Gable?"
The teacher opened her mouth, but no words came out.
The sheer confidence and weight of his presence completely overwhelmed her.
She felt like she was being scolded by a school board superintendent, not a fifth grader.
"N-no," she stammered, looking away quickly. "Sit down, Donovan."
Donovan sat back down gracefully.
He glanced over at Jake and gave him a quick wink.
Jake covered his mouth with his hand, trying incredibly hard not to burst out laughing.
Nobody had ever made Mrs. Gable stutter before.
The final bell of the day finally rang an hour later.
Students flooded the hallways, heading for the exit.
Donovan and Jake walked out to the pickup area together.
The sun was starting to lower over Los Angeles.
"You are insane, man," Jake laughed as they walked down the front steps.
"I thought she was going to give us detention for a month."
"She only picks on people who show fear," Donovan shrugged casually.
"You just have to own the room. It works in acting, and it works in history class."
A sleek silver Mercedes pulled up to the curb.
A woman rolled down the window. It was Jake's mother, Naomi Foner.
She was a well-known, Oscar-nominated screenwriter in the industry.
"Hey, Jake! Time to go!" she called out.
She noticed Donovan standing there and offered a warm smile.
"Hello there. Are you a friend of Jake's?"
"Yes, ma'am," Donovan replied politely, his manners flawless.
"I'm Donovan. Donovan Blackwood."
Naomi's eyebrows raised slightly.
Everyone in Hollywood knew the Blackwood name. It was synonymous with absolute power.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Donovan," she said respectfully.
"Jake, hurry up, we're going to be late for dinner."
Jake turned to Donovan before getting in the car.
"Hey, my dad is screening a classic movie this weekend at our house. You want to come over?"
"He usually orders a ton of pizza and we just watch old cinema stuff."
Donovan smiled.
It was his first real invitation to hang out as a normal kid.
Not a business meeting. Not a formal family dinner. Just a normal hangout.
"Yeah. That sounds great."
Jake grabbed a pen from his bag and scribbled his home phone number on a piece of torn paper.
He handed it to Donovan.
"Call me tomorrow. See ya, Blackwood!"
"See ya, Jake."
Donovan watched his new friend get into the car and drive away.
A moment later, the Blackwood town car pulled up.
The driver stepped out and opened the door for him.
Donovan climbed into the luxurious leather backseat.
His heavy cellular phone was already ringing in his backpack.
He pulled it out and answered.
"Donnie," his grandfather's booming voice came through the static.
"The Silicon Valley boys said your cooling designs are brilliant. But they want to know who the lead engineer is."
Donovan looked out the window as the car drove through the Los Angeles streets.
"Tell them the lead engineer is a ten-year-old who just survived fifth-grade history."
"And Grandpa?"
"Yes, my boy?"
"Tell them to double the order for the graphics cards. We are going to need more power."
Donovan hung up the phone.
He looked down at the piece of paper with Jake's number.
The studio was moving. The hardware was secured.
He had his first actor.
The world wasn't ready for what was coming.