The following morning arrived with the jarring shriek of an electric bell at 6:00 AM.
Leo was jolted awake, his small heart hammering against his ribs before his adult mind recognized the sound for what it was: the orphanage wake-up call.
The routine that followed was a grim exercise in efficiency. Thirty drowsy boys shuffled through a communal bathroom that smelled of mildew, dressed in worn-out uniforms that were slightly too big or too small, and marched to the cafeteria. Breakfast was a gray, lukewarm sludge that Leo tentatively identified as oatmeal, served in chipped plastic bowls.
He forced it down. He needed the calories. His adult brain knew that a starving body couldn't support a growing mind, much less awaken a superpower.
By 7:30 AM, he was sitting on a crowded yellow school bus, his nose pressed against the cool window as the sprawling, futuristic landscape of Sector 4 rolled past.
The school itself was surprisingly mundane. It was a sprawling, brick building that looked like it had been built fifty years ago and hadn't seen a budget increase since. Despite the holographic billboards outside advertising Hero merchandise, inside these walls, everything was depressingly normal.
Sitting in the 5th-grade classroom, Leo felt a bizarre sense of dislocation. He was a thirty-year-old man squeezed into a small wooden desk, surrounded by children whispering about trading cards and who had a crush on whom.
When the teacher, Mrs. Gable, began droning on about long division on a dusty whiteboard, Leo almost laughed out loud.
This is it? he thought, watching her chalk squeak across the board.
For the original Leo Vance, a neglected orphan with no support system, school had likely been a struggle. But for the current Leo, it was laughably easy. He didn't need to pay attention. He already knew this stuff. He had done it two decades ago.
This boredom, he realized, was a massive tactical advantage.
While the other kids struggled with fractions, Leo finished his worksheets in minutes. This freed up his time—and more importantly, it freed up school resources.
"Mrs. Gable," Leo said, raising his hand with practiced politeness during a free study period. "I've finished my work. May I go to the library to do some extra reading?"
Mrs. Gable, overworked and used to Leo being a quiet, unremarkable student, waved him off without looking up from her grading. "Go ahead, Leo."
The library was Leo's target. It smelled of old paper and dust, but in the corner sat four bulky desktop computers connected to the city's network.
He sat down at the terminal furthest from the librarian's desk. His small fingers felt awkward on the large keyboard, but he quickly pulled up a search engine.
His first priority: understanding the mechanics of this world beyond what the action-focused novel had provided.
He typed: "Theoretical frameworks of pre-pubescent ability awakening."
The novel, "The Hero's Will," had been a shonen-style story. It focused on battles, shouting attack names, and the emotional grit of the protagonist. It rarely dove into the dry, scientific theory behind how powers actually worked.
But the internet did.
Leo spent the next hour absorbed in academic articles and public forums dedicated to Ability research. He learned things the novel never mentioned. He learned about "Mana Sensitivity Indexing," a thorny scientific debate about whether potential could be measured before awakening. He read about obscure theories regarding emotional stress triggers versus physical trauma triggers.
He realized the novel had given him the "what" and the "who," but the real world was giving him the "how" and the "why." This theoretical knowledge was dry, boring stuff that would never make it into an exciting webnovel chapter, but for someone trying to survive, it was gold.
As the library period drew to a close, Leo opened a new tab. It was time for the most crucial search of all. He needed to know when he was.
His heart thumped a little harder in his chest. The results of this search would dictate his entire strategy for survival.
He thought back to the novel's prologue. The inciting incident that started Nathan Reed on his path to becoming a Hero. It was a terrorist attack by a villain group known as "The Black Gears" on a summer fair in Azure City. Nathan, terrified and powerless, had been saved by a low-ranking professional Hero who died protecting the civilians. That sacrifice was what lit the fire in Nathan's belly.
Leo's fingers hovered over the keys. If that attack had already happened, the clock was already ticking down toward the major disasters.
He typed: "Azure City Summer Fair Attack."
He hit Enter. The little hourglass icon spun on the screen.
No results found for "Azure City Summer Fair Attack".
Leo let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He tried variations.
"Black Gears Villain sightings."
The search returned a few minor police reports about a small-time gang operating two sectors over, but nothing major. No terrorism. No mass casualty events. They were currently nobodies.
A slow sense of relief washed over him, loosening the knot of tension between his shoulder blades.
The attack hadn't happened yet. Nathan Reed was still just a normal kid, probably sitting in a classroom just like this one somewhere in another city, completely unaware of his destiny.
Leo leaned back in the hard library chair, the sounds of the school filtering back in around him.
He was early. He was incredibly, fortunately early. He had time.
The eight-year gap before the Academy started was real. He wasn't just thrown into the fire; he had been given a preparation phase. Now he just had to figure out how to use it.