As Ethan's sixth birthday approached, it became glaringly obvious to his parents that their son was something else.
Something greater than any of them had ever imagined.
It wasn't that Tom and Jennifer Cain hadn't expected great things from their son. No, they'd always known Ethan was special in his own way, from the moment he entered their lives as that cute baby, so calm and easy all their friends and relatives envied them. But nothing could have prepared them for just how... different he was turning out to be.
Five-year-olds threw tantrums. They whined. They fought against bedtime, got picky with their food, and insisted on toys they didn't need. But Ethan? No, Ethan never seemed to follow those rules. He was almost unnervingly calm, thoughtful beyond his years, and always asking questions—big questions.
Sometimes, it felt like he was testing them.
"Mom," he had asked one evening, as Jennifer folded laundry in the living room, "how many languages can you speak?"
"Well," she had smiled, pausing mid-fold. "Just English, sweetheart."
Ethan frowned slightly, not out of frustration but as though he was genuinely contemplating something deeper. "I think I'd like to learn another one. Maybe French? Or Spanish?"
He said it casually, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
Jennifer had blinked, her hand frozen mid-motion. What kind of five-year-old asked to learn foreign languages? They'd be happy if he could speak English properly, it would make him much better than most people out there for sure.
But they took it in stride, and the next time she went shopping for some books, she grabbed him some picture book in French along with a dictionary…and a book on how to deal with precocious children for her and Tom.
One book turned into two, and after a few weeks of him devouring picture books, she decided to invest in a library card.
She loved her son, but her wallet wasn't that heavy.
It wasn't just the languages. Ethan's entire demeanor had shifted in ways that were both thrilling and—she'd admit it—more than a little unsettling.
That's just part of growing up, the couple knew that, but to change so much so fast…
He never threw tantrums, never demanded attention, and instead seemed content when left to his own devices. Spending long hours quietly absorbed in books, quickly outgrowing the colorful, oversized picture books meant for his age group.
Now, Ethan preferred newspapers—Tom's copies of the Daily Bugle—and would sit next to his father, his tiny brow furrowed as though he truly grasped the politics of the day.
"You really like reading that, buddy?" Tom had asked one Sunday, half-expecting the boy to parrot some phrase from a comic section.
"Yeah," Ethan replied absentmindedly, without looking up. "But I don't understand why the mayor didn't just resign. He knew what he was doing would come out eventually. Better quit as a winner than burn all those bridges for a few more days in the limelight."
Tom had nearly choked on his coffee.
Where did Ethan get this from?
Tom and Jennifer were no strangers to intelligence. They were both educated, hard-working, and valued knowledge. But this? This level of awareness, of clarity, coming from their five-year-old son—someone who barely came up to their waists—was more than they ever expected.
They weren't the only ones to notice. When Ethan played with other kids at the park or attended his various "playdates," he seemed... disconnected.
Not lonely or sad, but detached, as if whatever they were doing wasn't worth his time. Instead, he gravitated toward older children, teenagers even, striking up conversations about things no five-year-old should care about.
Now it went as well as one could expect, but he quickly find out that being a cute little boy gave him access to foul creatures that none dare cross.
Teenage girls.
"My son the lady killer," Tom said on the verge of tears, seeing his child getting pampered by the neighbor's daughter and her friends in the park as if he were an oversized plushie.
She made sure to hit him hard…and tried not to think about how Ethan seemed to like the attention a bit too much.
Five-year-olds didn't do this, they feared cooties and hated boring stuff.
Nor did they casually discuss science fairs or ponder the intricacies of political scandals. Maybe, just maybe, they were raising a genius. But with that realization came the weight of worry. Was he happy? Was he lonely?
Jennifer sighed softly as she watched Ethan through the window, sitting on the porch, nose-deep in a book. The other kids were playing tag, their shrieks and laughter echoing in the early evening air.
Ethan didn't seem to mind their absence, but that didn't make it any easier to watch. How much further ahead was he? How long before he felt even more isolated by his brilliance?
He wasn't a social idiot, but most of the time he barely seemed to bother, not even Peter could truly get him out of his shell…and the boy was his best friend, the two were practically brothers!
"Tom," she murmured that night as they lay in bed, "do you think Ethan is… different?"
"Different how?"
"I don't know. It's just—he's so bright. So calm. He doesn't throw tantrums, he asks about politics…I don't understand the stuff he says half the time. And now, he wants to learn foreign languages at six. What kid does that?"
"A smart one. Maybe he's just... a little ahead of the curve." Tom chuckled softly, pulling her close.
. . .
Surviving in this new world meant he needed to stay sharp, stay ahead of the curve, but not too ahead. Shine enough to be a freak, not so much that those around him would be alarmed.
A five-year-old showing off college-level knowledge would only get him labeled as a little freak, and Ethan had no interest in becoming anyone's science experiment.
So, he tried to ease his parents—and the world—into the idea that I was just a bit smarter than your average kindergartener.
He knew he wasn't some genius, he wasn't delusional, he'd never reach the level of Spider-Man, much less Tony Stark or Reed Richard.
No, he wasn't dumb, but true genius wasn't his birthright.
What he did have though was the sense and wisdom of a man who lived and died, a young man who knew the kind of madness that would befall him—and the world, aliens walked the streets and monsters lurked in shadows.
To survive, he needed to use every advantage at his disposal, and that included child brain, it was like a sponge, soaking up information and integrating it with an ease that would make his former college-depressed self cry in envy.
Every day was part of the grind. Telekinesis practice was essential, but control was the focus. Strength was pointless without precision, so he kept it subtle. Move a pencil, then a spoon, then something heavier, always refining, always sharpening his focus. Could he push himself harder? Sure, but despite his basic understanding of how his power worked, he knew that increasingly the quantity and magnitude would make refining his control an absolute nightmare, so better take the easy way while he still could.
The Sakura-Way, hopefully it won't expand his forehead though.
Then there was the learning. Foreign languages were at the top of his list. He already started learning French, starting with the frog tongue due to his very basic understanding of it in his past life, with plans to learn Spanish, German and Russian in the coming years—because why not? The way his brain absorbed new information now was incredible, and he wasn't about to waste that gift on something as useless as video games.
Once he got the languages down, he'd move on to more practical skills. Computer science. Engineering. The stuff that could give him a real edge in the future, no matter which path he takes.
To nerd or not to nerd, that was the question. But looking at the sheer number of big brains in this world meant the answer was a big fat 'Yes' if only to avoid being left in the dust.
No way in hell he's making the second coming of Jarvis, which is probably for the best given the whole Ultron thing, but then again, he didn't need to.
He just needed an extra tool in his arsenal.
It wasn't like he didn't exercise either. Ethan wasn't about to let his body fall behind while his mind raced ahead. Stretching in the morning, a bit of running during recess at school while socializing with those little blighters he needed to mimic—it was basic, but it worked.
He could try the Saitama routine, but he would likely die or turn into some uunderdevelopedtwerp with chronic illnesses.
So play-excericing was the best for now, while his body is still so immature.
Plus, recess was a perfect opportunity to study the other kids. They were all predictable, easy to read. He wasn't hanging out with them because he liked them. No, this was research. Ethan was studying their behavior, learning how to replicate it so he could pass as just another average kid.
What Ethan didn't realize, though, was how badly he was miscalculating. He thought he was pulling off the "bright but normal" routine perfectly.
In reality, he was coming off as a genius. Between his calm demeanor, his curiosity about foreign languages, and his tendency to ask deep, adult-level questions, people—including his parents—were starting to notice.
But Ethan didn't see it. He was too busy grinding, too focused on the next goal, to realize that his attempts to blend in were backfiring.
Perhaps it was for the best.
As for Peter? The kid was a nuisance, plain and simple. Not a threat, but definitely an annoyance.
He always seemed to show up when Ethan was in the middle of something important. Reading, practicing, strategizing—didn't matter. There was Peter, with his shy smile and endless curiosity, wanting to hang out or talk about some project.
It was distracting, and it grated on Ethan's nerves more than he cared to admit. He didn't hate Peter—he just didn't have time for him.
Whatever the reason, Ethan found himself toying with Peter in small, harmless ways—asking leading questions, steering conversations just to see how Peter would react.
It wasn't malicious, just... entertaining.
And besides, as long as Peter was around, Ethan had a pretty decent metric for what "smart" looked like in this world. As long as he didn't stand out too much more than Peter, he figured he was safe.
Safe enough, anyway.
Author's Note:
If you're enjoying the story and want to read ahead or support my work, you can check out my P@treon at P@treon.com/LordCampione. But don't worry—all chapters will eventually be public. Just being here and reading means the world to me. Thank you for your time and support