Chapter 2
Sainz didn't find a family to adopt him. Not because he lacked opportunity—but because he couldn't bring himself to lie. For a grown man reborn as a child, it felt dishonest to treat complete strangers as parents. Even if he could play the role convincingly, the thought of faking familial affection left a bad taste in his mouth.
Instead, he found another way.
He sought out a homeless man—someone overlooked by society, someone unlikely to be questioned—and used a subtle form of hypnosis on him. It wasn't ideal, but it was clean. He didn't hurt anyone, and the man was well compensated. With a legal identity established under that man's guardianship, Sainz quietly stepped into the adult world without ever truly leaving childhood.
Armed with future knowledge, he began to test the waters.
Long before the explosion of musical talent in 1990s East Asia, Sainz—disguised behind a shell company—began "borrowing" golden hits that hadn't been written yet. With the advantage of time on his side, he cherry-picked classics from the future. Before the original artists even dreamed of composing them, Sainz was registering them.
His company, Qiufeng Music, began as nothing more than a name on paper. But within a year, it became the most talked-about music label in Hong Kong. Audiences were stunned by the flood of iconic Chinese songs coming out of a supposedly British-backed firm.
"How can a foreign company produce so many genius-level Chinese composers?" people asked, half in awe, half in outrage.
Even established artists found themselves overshadowed. For some singer-songwriters, it felt like the very air of their careers had been stolen by this mysterious force—a storm that swept in from the west, silent and suffocating. They called it "the spreading autumn wind," both admiring and resenting the impact.
But Sainz didn't linger in the spotlight. Once the label was stable, with hired ghostwriters and managers to keep it afloat, he stepped back and returned to his primary passion: superpowers.
As a lifelong fantasy and sci-fi enthusiast, Sainz never intended to limit his understanding of powers to the Star Warsframework. Sure, he admired the grandeur of the Jedi—using Force lightning to vaporize steel, harnessing the Force to manipulate the curvature of space, even tear open wormholes—but he knew those feats relied on something external: the Force Sea.
And as far as he could tell, there was no such thing here. No galactic Force field, no omnipresent energy flow connecting all life. This Earth—his new home—was too grounded, too physical.
So, if the power didn't come from the outside…
Then it had to come from within.
This was the cornerstone of his second phase of research.
If the superpower was inherently his, not drawn from the environment, then there should be no limit to how he used it. It was his energy—his essence. And that meant he could mold it however he liked.
Although he had been raised in Scotland this time around, his mind remained thoroughly Chinese. The values, the stories, the frameworks of thinking he absorbed in his previous life—those hadn't vanished with death. On the surface, he was Sainz Autumn, but inside, he was still Min Ke.
And Min Ke approached problems the way Min Ke always had: with the mindset of someone raised on wuxia, xianxia, and cultivation novels.
In those tales, one's internal strength—true qi—was everything. No matter how dazzling your techniques were, if your foundation was weak, everything else was meaningless. Supernatural powers were just window dressing. Without internal refinement, they were castles built in the sky.
It had always bothered him how, in American comics, superheroes could wield cosmic-level powers while still having the physical durability of glass. If someone can throw cars, fly faster than sound, or blast energy from their palms, how are they not tearing their own muscles apart with every move?
Power without body control was absurd.
At eight years old, Sainz was still very much a child—but one with powers far beyond normal. And yet, that contrast made him feel… vulnerable. His ordinary physical body was a liability, like walking around in a porcelain shell with a lightning bolt inside.
So, he began to explore how to internalize his power.
To cultivate it.
To turn it into something that would reinforce him, not just act through him.
He experimented for months with various mental visualizations—trying to circulate energy through imaginary meridians, mimic techniques from the martial arts novels of his past. Nothing stuck. His "qi" wouldn't form into any controllable current.
Eventually, he let go of the meridian model altogether and imagined his power instead as a kind of rainfall—soaking into his muscles, bones, and skin rather than flowing in channels.
And that worked.
He called it Force Body Building.
By letting his powers permeate every cell of his body, he slowly transformed himself. His strength, speed, balance, and stamina all improved exponentially. By the time he turned ten, he could overpower full-grown adults effortlessly. His muscles didn't tear, his bones didn't bruise. Even falling headfirst from two stories high no longer left a mark.
He had quietly left behind the realm of ordinary humans.
To the world, he was still just an unusually tall, quiet boy in an orphanage. But he knew better. At nearly twelve years old, he could play with a fully-grown Siberian tiger like it was a housecat.
Late March, 1989
Sainz graduated from primary school. There was no strict obligation—orphans weren't always expected to pursue higher education—but he did it anyway. With top marks in every subject, he could've easily coasted through, but he put in the work regardless.
Dean Brulie, ever his quiet champion, had gone out of his way to find a good secondary school. He came to Sainz one day with hopeful eyes and a manila folder in his wrinkled hands.
"Sainz, lad," he said, placing the folder on the table, "I want to recommend you to Dundee Seaside School. It's a prestigious private institution—not far from here, but very respected. Some families from Edinburgh even send their kids there."
Sainz blinked. He didn't expect Brulie to go so far for him.
"Don't worry about tuition," the old man added quickly. "Your grades alone qualify you for a full scholarship. The Dundee Children's Aid Foundation will help as well. And—oddly enough—a music company in Hong Kong donated a sizable sum just last month, earmarked for you. No explanation given, but I suppose some good deeds don't need one."
Sainz chuckled. The circle was complete.
He accepted the offer with a quiet nod. Though he still dreamed of eventually heading east—of returning to China, or somewhere closer to his roots—he was still too young. Though nearly 1.7 meters tall, towering over his classmates, he was still legally a minor.
Better to grow stronger here first.
July 7, 1989
It happened early in the morning. A soft but insistent tap, tap, tap came at his window, waking Sainz from a light sleep.
He opened his eyes slowly, annoyed with himself.
Something's outside the window. I didn't even sense it until it made noise. My perception's gone dull...
Just months ago, during his sensory development phase, he could detect movement within a five-meter radius with ease.
He sat up and walked to the window, brushing aside the curtain—and froze.
An owl.
Tapping on the glass.
A letter tied to its leg.
"Ha! An owl? A letter? An acceptance letter? So… this really is the Harry Potter world?!"
He opened the window and let it in. The owl—a small, nimble thing with grey feathers and sharp, intelligent eyes—hopped in and gave him a scrutinizing look, as if confirming he was the intended recipient.
"Good thing I have a room to myself," he muttered. "That would've been hard to explain."
From what he remembered of the Harry Potter series, these owls weren't ordinary birds. They were magical familiars—smart, loyal, and precise. Unless blocked by a spell, they rarely lost their way.
Sainz reached into his drawer and pulled out a bit of sausage, offering it as a peace token. The owl accepted, then immediately extended its leg.
He untied the envelope, took a deep breath, and looked down at the address written in looping, emerald-green ink:
Mr. Sainz Autumn
Room 201, Children's Quarter Dormitory
Dundee Charity Federation Children's Welfare Home
Dundee, Scotland
He exhaled slowly, heart pounding—not with fear, but with excitement.
The real journey was about to begin.