From the memories of this life, I learned that about ten percent of Earth's population had superpowers. Some were born with mutations. Others gained them through magic, human experimentation, or came from off-world entirely.
And then there's me.
I'm not really part of that ten percent—not in the way this world understands power. I'm something else. Even though I can still use ki, it's a flicker compared to the raging storm I once wielded. If I had to estimate, my current power level is maybe five hundred, six hundred at most.
That's barely ten percent of what I used to be.
Back then, I could level mountains. Now... I might dent a wall if I try hard enough.
"Nathan! What are you doing up there?" a woman's voice shouted from downstairs. "Hurry up or you're going to be late for school!"
It took a second to register. Nathan. That's me now.
I let out a sigh and stood up. I wasn't used to this kind of morning—no alarms, no combat drills, no blaring sirens from space fleets. Just a voice. A mother's voice.
Yeah. I have a family now.
My father is a man in his early forties. He works as a technician for an electronics company. My mother, in her late thirties, is a stay-at-home mom. And me? I'm fifteen years old in this world.
I even have an older brother—twenty, already working as a registered superhero.
That's right. In this world, being a superhero isn't some noble calling—it's a job. A regulated, salaried profession. You get medical insurance, paid time off, retirement benefits, and performance-based bonuses. The fewer buildings you accidentally destroy during a mission, the higher the payout.
It's strange.
Back in my old life, we fought because we had to. Because if we didn't, we died. There were no bonuses. No fame. No interviews or endorsements. Just battle after battle, until the day you didn't get up again.
"Nathan!"
The second shout came sharper, more impatient. I snapped out of my thoughts and scrambled to get dressed. I threw on my school uniform, grabbed the lunchbox Mom had made, and headed out to the car where she was waiting to drive me to school.
As I slid into the passenger seat, I caught a glimpse of myself in the side mirror.
I looked... normal.
No scouter. No armor. No battle scars. Just a teenager with messy black hair and tired eyes.
But under it all—beneath this body, beneath the name—I'm still me.
A warrior without a war.
And I have no idea what I'm supposed to do with that.