Chapter 2: The Grand Opening Gambit
The morning of the shop's opening, I stood behind the counter arranging action figures with hands that wouldn't stop shaking. Every few minutes, I'd catch myself checking the door, simultaneously dreading and anticipating the moment when Sheldon Cooper would walk through it.
Because he would. Stuart's memories were crystal clear about the gang's promise to attend the opening, and my Memory power filled in the gaps with painful specificity. This was the day my favorite TV characters became real people, and I had no idea how to handle that transition.
The comic boxes from yesterday's emergency order sat opened behind the counter, their contents carefully integrated with Stuart's original pathetic inventory. Walking Dead #1 copies were prominently displayed near the register—twelve issues that would be worth hundreds each within a few years. Iron Man back issues filled an entire rack, positioned where they'd catch the light streaming through the front windows.
I'd practiced Stuart's natural mumbling in the mirror all morning, trying to recalibrate my voice to match his original personality. Too confident and I'd seem like a different person. Too defeated and I'd never make the connections that could save this place.
The bell above the door chimed at exactly 10:47 AM.
Leonard Hofstadter walked in first, followed immediately by Sheldon Cooper, and my heart nearly stopped. They weren't actors playing characters anymore—they were real people, with the weight and presence that comes from actual existence rather than fictional construct. Leonard's height, Sheldon's precise posture, the way they moved together with years of practiced roommate choreography.
"Stuart!" Leonard called out, genuine warmth in his voice. "Congratulations on the opening."
"Thanks for coming," I managed, proud that my voice only cracked slightly. "I, uh, I wasn't sure anyone would actually show up."
Sheldon immediately began what could only be described as an inspection tour, his eyes cataloging every detail with scientific precision. "Adequate organization," he murmured, running a finger along one of the display cases. "Though your alphabetization system appears to prioritize publisher over author, which creates unnecessary cognitive friction for browsing."
"Sheldon," Leonard warned, but I laughed—actually laughed—because hearing him deliver that line in person was somehow both exactly what I expected and completely surreal.
"No, he's right," I said, falling into character. "I spent like six hours organizing and still managed to screw it up. Story of my life, really."
Leonard's expression softened with sympathy, which made my chest tighten with guilt. He was being kind to someone he thought was just another struggling friend, not knowing that I could predict every major relationship drama he'd experience over the next decade.
"Well, I think it looks great," Leonard said, picking up one of the Walking Dead issues. "These are new, right? I haven't seen this series before."
My Memory power practically hummed as I leaned forward. "Yeah, it's this new thing by Robert Kirkman. Zombies, but like, really well done. More about the human drama than just gore and action." I paused, then added with studied casualness, "I've got a feeling it might be something special."
Sheldon appeared at Leonard's shoulder with the sudden materialization that would become familiar over the years. "Zombies represent a fundamental violation of thermodynamics," he announced. "The energy required to reanimate and maintain deceased tissue would exceed any biological system's capacity to—"
"They're comic book zombies, Sheldon," Leonard interrupted. "They don't have to follow real physics."
"Fiction should strive for internal consistency, even when violating natural law," Sheldon replied primly. "Otherwise, what separates literature from mere fantasy?"
I found myself grinning despite my nerves. This was exactly the kind of debate that had made me fall in love with these characters in the first place. "Actually," I said, "Kirkman addresses some of that. The zombies do decay over time, they're attracted to sound and movement, there's a whole ecosystem thing happening. It's more scientifically grounded than most zombie fiction."
Sheldon's eyebrows rose slightly—the equivalent of wild enthusiasm from anyone else. "Indeed? And what specific mechanisms does he propose for the initial reanimation?"
For the next twenty minutes, I found myself in deep discussion about zombie biology with Sheldon Cooper while Leonard browsed the Iron Man collection. My Memory power fed me enough details about the comic's internal logic to hold my own in the conversation, but more than that, I discovered that I genuinely enjoyed it. This wasn't just reciting plot points—this was sharing a passion for storytelling with someone who approached fiction with the same analytical rigor he applied to physics.
The bell chimed again, and Howard Wolowitz strutted in with Raj Koothrappali trailing behind him. Howard wore a vintage Flash t-shirt under his usual colorful jacket, while Raj clutched what appeared to be a first edition Amazing Fantasy #15 in a protective sleeve.
"The cavalry has arrived!" Howard announced. "Hope you're ready for some serious customers, Stuart. We're here to make it rain... comic book money, that is."
Raj whispered something to Howard, who translated: "Raj wants to know if you have any rare Silver Age issues. Specifically anything featuring the original X-Men lineup."
I gestured toward a carefully curated section near the back wall. "Got some first appearances back there. Nothing too crazy expensive, but some solid finds if you know what you're looking for."
As Raj practically sprinted toward the vintage section, Howard sauntered over to where Leonard and Sheldon were still examining my zombie comics. "What's got Sheldon so animated? And by animated, I mean slightly less rigid than usual."
"Stuart's got this new series about scientifically plausible zombies," Leonard explained. "Sheldon's intrigued despite himself."
Howard snorted. "Scientifically plausible zombies? What's next, economically viable superhero insurance?"
The comment triggered another flash from my Memory power—Marvel's Heroes for Hire, insurance companies in comic book universes, the real-world economics of superhero damage. I found myself launching into a mini-dissertation about how superhero comics rarely addressed the fiscal reality of being a masked vigilante, which led to Howard bringing up the engineering challenges of Iron Man's suit, which somehow circled back to Raj discovering a mint-condition Giant-Size X-Men #1 that he insisted on buying immediately.
For a moment, I forgot that I was supposed to be acting. This was just... fun. Four guys passionate about comics and sci-fi, geeking out together in a space dedicated to the stories we all loved. The same dynamic I'd watched on television for years, but now I was part of it instead of observing from outside.
That's when the second power kicked in.
It started as a subtle warmth in my chest, like the feeling of a perfectly timed joke landing exactly right. But it spread outward, and I noticed Leonard relaxing against the counter, Sheldon abandoning his usual rigid posture to lean in closer during our discussions. Even Howard, who normally dominated social interactions with increasingly desperate humor, seemed content to let the conversation flow naturally.
Magnetism, I realized. The industry attraction power wasn't just about drawing famous people to me—it was about creating spaces where people who shared genuine passion for pop culture felt safe to be themselves. The shop was becoming a hub, a gathering place where authentic enthusiasm could flourish without judgment or posturing.
"You know," Leonard said as the afternoon wore on, "this place has a different vibe than most comic shops I've been to. Less... intimidating somehow."
"Yeah," Howard agreed. "Usually you get either the condescending nerd who quizzes you about continuity, or the bored clerk who acts like you're wasting his time. But this feels like, I don't know, hanging out with friends."
Raj whispered something else to Howard, who grinned. "Raj says it feels like the comic shop equivalent of comfort food."
I felt a flush of genuine pride, mixed with guilt about the supernatural assistance I was receiving. These weren't random people responding to magical compulsion—they were my friends, drawn to a space where their interests were celebrated rather than merely tolerated. The Magnetism power wasn't controlling them; it was amplifying something that was already real.
As closing time approached and the gang prepared to leave, I realized the day had been an unqualified success. Not just financially—though I'd sold more inventory in one afternoon than Stuart's original memories suggested he moved in an average week—but socially. I'd connected with people I'd only known as fictional characters, and they'd responded with genuine friendship.
"Same time next week?" Leonard asked, already knowing the answer.
"Absolutely," I said. "I'll try to have some new arrivals by then. Maybe something that'll surprise even Sheldon."
Sheldon paused at the door, turning back with an expression that might have been the beginning of a smile. "Your organizational system still requires optimization," he said. "However, your thematic curation and encyclopedic knowledge suggest a proprietor with genuine passion for the medium. I find that... refreshing."
Coming from Sheldon, it was practically a glowing review.
After they left, I stood alone in my shop, surrounded by the evidence of my first real success in Stuart's life. The cash register held more money than it had seen in months. The Walking Dead display was nearly empty. Several customers had asked about special orders, creating a foundation for future business.
But more than that, I'd spent six hours being authentically enthusiastic about something I loved, sharing that enthusiasm with people who appreciated it, and building something that felt genuinely meaningful.
For the first time since awakening in Stuart's life, I wasn't just surviving or planning for the future. I was actually living in the present, and it felt... good.
The third power stirred as that realization hit me. Success-based attractiveness growth, triggered by genuine achievement rather than artificial manipulation. I caught my reflection in the shop window and noticed subtle changes—straighter posture, clearer eyes, the ghost of confidence beginning to replace Stuart's habitual defeat.
Tomorrow, I would start implementing the larger plans my Memory power suggested. Bitcoin purchases, strategic investments, gradual preparations for the technological and cultural shifts I knew were coming. But tonight, I was content to lock up my comic shop, count my modest profits, and smile at the thought of next week's gathering.
I was Stuart Bloom now, comic book store owner and friend to some of the most brilliant minds in Pasadena. And for the first time since my impossible awakening, that felt like more than enough.