[Owen POV]
A week before the movie release.
In May, two blockbuster movies had already stormed theatres: Twister, a disaster flick, and Mission: Impossible, an action spectacle.
And then there was The Sixth Sense, dropped right in the middle of the summer blockbuster lineup—a risky gamble if there ever was one.
Horror films were supposed to belong to Halloween, at least according to Hollywood executives. To release one in summer? They called it stupid. But counterculture was huge in the '90s, and we were banking on that wave.
We rented out a big screen for ourselves, called in some reviewers, and prayed the word of mouth would carry us.
A few days later, Elena burst into my room holding a copy of the Chicago Sun-Times.
"Roger Ebert already wrote his piece," she announced, eyes sparkling. "Straight out of Chicago, where 4CLOVER did those test screenings across a few states."
She cleared her throat dramatically and read aloud:
'For the director—George Burnett—this may be his best work yet. After a string of uneven projects, he rediscovers the spark that made his early films resonate—intimate, human stories, but wrapped here in dread so thick you can almost breathe it in.'
Elena flipped the page, grinning ear to ear. "And get this—he singled out the performances: 'Owen Chase, the child actor, carries the film with a haunted intensity in a mesmerizing breakout performance."
She squealed, stomping her legs excitedly before continuing, "Ralph Macchio is startlingly raw, the most real I've ever seen him; and Jenny Ortega, at last, shines with a presence that lingers long after the credits roll. But the main lead of the film, is undoubtedly Owen Chase.'"
I leaned back, stunned. "He actually said that?"
"And wait," Elena said, tapping the column again. "Here's the kicker: 'The chemistry between the three anchors the film. They don't act together so much as live together on screen. That, combined with a soundtrack that slithers under your skin, creates not just scares but memories.'"
I couldn't help but smile. "Guess the movie's good enough to make some money."
"And that's not all," Elena added, waving a glossy magazine.
"God how many magazines did you buy?" I looked at her with disbelief.
She ignored me and said, "Entertainment Weekly just dropped their advance review. They're leaning hard into the buzz from that airplane incident."
She put on her best announcer voice and read:
'Call it kismet, call it bad luck, call it genius marketing—after Owen Chase's name hit tabloids thanks to that now-infamous flight, his latest project lands smack in the middle of summer's popcorn chaos.
But here's the twist: it's a horror movie. And not just any horror movie—it's The Sixth Sense, the kind of skin-crawling ghost story that makes you check the shadows when you get home.'
I chuckled. "They gave us a grade?"
"A-minus," Elena confirmed. "And they ended with this: 'Don't be surprised if this underdog ghost story is the one people are still whispering about come fall.'"
But not everyone was convinced. Elena pulled out another clipping, this time from Variety. Her tone grew more serious as she read:
'The performances are strong, the atmosphere effective, but one wonders why anyone would risk slotting a ghost story in June. Horror thrives in the shadows of October, not under the bright glare of summer popcorn season. Masterful storytelling and striking images, but will audiences bite?'
"Eh, they still praised it," I shrugged, feigning nonchalance.
With the attention the movie was already getting, as long as the story didn't flop, it could have a solid run at the box office.
The airplane incident interview had drawn a mountain of public attention. Reporters and news outlets even praised my so-called "marketing instincts," which, ironically, elevated my status as an actor.
By the time filming wrapped, Disney had reached out, offering me the lead in their next project. They wanted to cash in on my rising fame.
But the second they saw my backend contract with George, they went silent. Disney had no intention of sharing profits on their cash-grab projects.
Still, offers poured in from directors and independent studios, each dangling scripts in front of me.
One project in particular caught my eye. I planned to meet the director after the Sixth Sense marketing tour wrapped.
…
Three days before the release.
While George and Claire worked themselves to the bone meeting deadlines, I finally began administering the esper serum to my sect members.
"Good god, you slept for thirty-six straight hours. You're like a sloth," Micheal complained as I rubbed my eyes, stumbling into the courtyard.
I had grown to five-foot-three—about 161 centimeters—and shed the last of my childlike features, shifting into the early-teen stage.
My hair was cut into a curtain style, my jawline sharper than before. From a distance, I probably looked like a teenage heartthrob—almost on the same level as Rider Strong from Boy Meets World back in the '90s.
"Shut up and take off your clothes." I said begrudgingly as I picked up the esper serum, version 21.
Their chances of survival and awakening were greatly increased when they built up a foundation. Micheal and Elena were the best one of the bunch, so they became the first one to try the awakening.
Esper abilities were separated into five tiers, each representing not just power, but how much a person could handle, control, and integrate into their life.
The esper abilities could be categorized into five tiers.
Tier 1 — Sensory Awakening: Most people wouldn't even notice they had a latent power. Psychometry allowed someone to touch an object and feel its past, thoughtography let them record fleeting images in their mind, and aura sensing showed faint glimpses of emotion.
Physical enhancements were subtle too: slightly faster reflexes, minor bone or skin hardening. Everyday life didn't change much—these powers were tools, not weapons.
Tier 2 — Minor Kinesis: Small objects could move under the mind's guidance. Sparks could arc from fingertip to fingertip.
Physical users could jump higher or hit harder than normal humans, their skin slightly tougher. It was the stage where people first realized they weren't like everyone else, but the effects were manageable.
Tier 3 — Functional Psionics: This tier was where things got noticeable. You could push or pull people with the mind, fry small electronics, or plant fleeting thoughts in someone's mind.
For physical espers, Steel Skin became real—muscles dense as steel, skin tough enough to resist blades, reflexes bordering on superhuman.
Tier 4 — Advanced Psionics: Espers at this level could affect entire rooms or even buildings. Firestorms, telekinetic walls, or mass mind influence were possible.
Physical types could shrug off bullets, leap across streets, or punch through concrete walls.
Tier 5 — Apex Espers: Rare, almost mythical. Reality-bending powers, controlling probability, tearing through steel and stone with ease.
Physical espers could regenerate from near-fatal injuries, leap dozens of meters, or crush tanks with bare hands.
Progression wasn't just about strength—it was about control, perception, and discipline. Many never left Tier 2, some plateaued at Tier 3, and reaching Tier 5 was just a dream.
In the sci-fi world where I had transmigrated as a clone, I rarely met Tier 3 or Tier 4 espers, but Tier 1 and 2 were abundant. Their abilities were basically useless on the battlefield, so they were cannon fodder.
'Wait—were we clones… the cannon fodder? Since the espers were ordinary soldiers.
"Are you ready?" I asked Micheal and Elena.
We sat in the courtyard of my newly renovated Montecito-style building. The work was finished, and everyone had begun moving into their units with me.
Wearing only the lightest clothes, Micheal and Elena nodded, though nervousness still lingered on their faces.
"You know I can't help if the serum goes wrong," I reminded them.
They clenched their fists and nodded again.
I had already explained to them the truth about esper abilities—how some gifts made living a normal life impossible.
Still, they accepted the risk.
I didn't know why that male god wanted me to build a sect in the first place. But as I continued to learn about this world, I realized it was necessary to protect my people.
"I'll begin," I said, pulling out a syringe. "The serum needs to reach your brain, so… I'll inject it into your neck."
"I'll start with Micheal."
"Why me— I mean, okay." Micheal stammered.
"You can still bow out if you don't want to do this," I offered.
He shook his head. "No. I want to. I… can't handle being as vulnerable as I was anymore. I need this, to help people… like my sister, who was a victim of—OWW!"
I stopped listening and pushed the serum in mid-sentence.
"I was still talking!" he yelped.
"You kept dragging on with those long pauses," I shot back, annoyed. "I thought you were finished."
Done with him, I turned to Elena. She smiled nervously and whispered two words:
"Do it."
I complied, plunging the syringe into the back of her neck. Both of them convulsed in agony as the serum rewired their brains.
I pressed my hands to their heads and began channeling my QI to smooth the process.
Micheal finished first, collapsing unconscious to the floor.
Elena took longer, and by the time her awakening was complete, I was nearly drained of internal energy.
The two of them lay still as the other sect members carried them back to their rooms.
"I wonder what abilities they've awakened," I muttered, eyeing the esper fluid bottle again. "Should I inject it into myself too?"
I decided to wait until everyone else completed their awakening. It would take me a few days before I could guide another.
The next day, Micheal and Elena finally woke up and began exploring their new abilities.
"Wow… I feel really strong," Micheal said, clenching his fists. His physical strength and reflexes had tripled, making him a physical-type esper.
"Wait. I can also do this." He casually walked up the wall at a ninety-degree angle, standing on it as if it were flat ground.
I named his esper ability Magnet, since he could stick to any surface.
Elena's gift was more metaphysical—a mind-type ability.
Owen, can you hear me? Her voice rang directly inside my skull.
"I can hear you," I replied aloud.
She could read surface thoughts, project ideas into someone's mind without their awareness, and most importantly, link multiple people together.
She demonstrated by connecting me, Micheal, and herself. Suddenly, the three of us shared a mental channel, like a private radio station in our heads.
We tested the range—she could hold the link for two hours and across a distance of roughly two kilometers.
"Let's call this ability, Mind Channel."
Elena nodded excitedly, saying, "I'll be sure to train with this ability so that I can help you when the time comes."
"I thought for sure you would awaken a prophetic type ability." I told her.
In my intergalactic soldier life, esper ability level was fixed. But Elena and Micheal told me that they could stimulate their ability using internal energy cultivation.
They might be able to grow from their Tier 2 level if they kept training. It hasn't been confirmed yet that it could evolve, but I have a strong feeling about it.
…
Spago Restaurant, Beverly Hills.
A high-end spot, frequented by the city's rich and influential, with a cozy ambiance and strict dress code.
I waited at an outdoor table under the dappled shade of a tree, casually eating lobster while disguised as Jack Kennedy.
The tall, hefty frame—well, I'd slimmed down the belly this time since the seats were cramped—made me look like a strongman from behind.
My white snake, Shiryu, sculpted my back into a muscular sweep and carved out large biceps as I shrugged off my jacket.
He even erased my double chin, sharpening my jaw and making me far more attractive than what my Jack Kennedy persona was supposed to be.
The transformation wasn't at my request. Shiryu was vain by nature—he cared obsessively about looks, even when simply helping me alter my appearance.
He didn't want to look ugly, so he reshaped me as if I had gone through a strict diet. He picked an expensive Italian suit for me and an even more expensive watch, ensuring every detail screamed sophistication.
As his strength grew, so did his intelligence. I found myself excitedly waiting for the day he could finally communicate with me in human speech.
A red Ferrari pulled up to the restaurant. Adrian Cross stepped out alone, and his presence immediately stirred murmurs among the patrons.
The waitress rushed to greet him. "We can give you the best table—"
"Sorry. I'm here to meet a friend." He brushed her off and made his way toward my table.
As he sat across from me, all eyes seemed to follow us. He smiled wryly. "You know, we could meet somewhere more private."
I wiped my mouth with a napkin. "I like the ambiance here."
From the opposite building, Elena—disguised in a skin mask I'd crafted to alter her facial structure—activated her mind-linking ability.
She looked unrecognizable: seductive, confident, a sexy Latina rather than her usual sweet vibe. Micheal sat beside her, also disguised. Without him, people would've swarmed her.
Adrian froze slightly as my voice echoed directly in his mind.
'You're being followed. Pretend I'm your friend.'
A van had been tailing his Ferrari, and a few skilled observers had slipped into the restaurant, hoping to eavesdrop. In my eyes, their blending in was amateurish at best.
'I was followed?' Adrian's mind buzzed in surprise.
'Yeah. It's probably a supernatural agency. Ask me about my company in your real voice. The new company is named 4CLOVER.'
"How's 4CLOVER doing?" he asked, following my instructions.
On the surface, it looked like we were catching up over lunch, chatting casually. Beneath it all, an entirely different conversation unfolded in our minds.
"I bought two movies to distribute. The company I bought is in worse shape than I thought," I answered aloud, then in my mind, I asked, 'Why do you want to meet me?'
'I'd like to learn how to defend myself,' he replied before saying aloud, "Oh, what kind of movies are they?"
Adrian wanted to learn how to do what he saw the masked man do on the plane. I was his only contact to the hidden world, so he was grasping at straws.
He was in a tough spot since his stepmother wanted to kill him. I told him that if she sensed the energy in him, there was no doubt she would strike immediately.
'You can use their obsession against them. What is your stepmother's motive? If she wants control of the company, give it to her. You can still save your life this way.'
Adrian furrowed his eyebrows slightly. "Do you think that's a good idea?"
"What? Blowing off all my money? It's a gamble, I know," I replied aloud, though the words also pertained to our mental conversation.
'It will take the heat off you for a while. These beings… their obsession is their bane. If it's greed, it won't leave the company since they think they would miss the opportunity to make more money if they walked away.'
'If it's control, her mind will be too preoccupied with the company to think about anything else.'
'Give her what she wants, then get far away. You can live peacefully for a while before she eventually comes for you.'
Adrian sighed and asked mentally, 'Can't I fight her on my own?'
I replied, 'You can. But you'll need time to train. If she notices you growing stronger, she might strike early to eliminate the threat. Either way, you'll have to move away from the company to act. We can't help directly; she's much stronger than we are.'
I asked aloud, 'Do you still want to learn despite that?'
He went silent for a while, both in real life and in his mind.
Then he decided, 'I'll do it. I'll give her control for now, and I'm going to train hard before reclaiming my rightful position.'
I rolled my eyes at the billionaire heir in front of me. Even without the job, his net worth was 300 times mine.
We settled on an amount for me to provide the training. He offered 300 million, but I settled for just one-tenth of that.
I would provide him with internal cultivation techniques, a spirit weapon, a few defensive talismans, practical training, a safe place, and supernatural knowledge for an entire year.
I didn't want to get involved with him at first, but Elena insisted he could be a good ally for our sect. So I reluctantly agreed to Adrian's request.
He could see vengeful ghosts without any awakening, which meant his talent was even greater than Elena's. Once he matured, he would become a strong ally in case I needed backup in a fight.
Before we end the conversation, I told him to stay in LA for now. I would come for him after the movie premiere, and would bring him into my version of witness protection.
"The money will be good since I basically have blown off all of my savings." I told Elena on our way back.
…
May 31, 1996 – Midnight Premiere
June 1 falls on a Saturday, so we had to pull the release date a day earlier. George said it didn't matter, as he still wanted to use the JOI.
The neon glow of the theater marquee cut through the warm night air, announcing The Sixth Sense in bold letters.
"Damn. People are lining up already," Micheal exclaimed as the car pulled up to the red carpet. We rented a nice car for the event and didn't take Micheal's minivan.
A small but eager line had already formed, snaking down the block. Fans whispered among themselves, clutching tickets, jackets wrapped tight against the spring chill. Some teenagers pressed their faces against the glass doors, trying to peek inside. A few parents shushed their children, only for the kids to giggle nervously at the excitement in the air.
It wasn't pandemonium—it wasn't Star Wars-level—but the buzz was undeniable.
"I've never seen something like this happen before," I muttered.
Basically, I'd never seen people lined up to buy a movie ticket. In 2025, at 18 in my first life, theaters were almost replaced by streaming, and people bought tickets using apps. Seeing the hype around the movie theater itself was an intriguing sight for me.
Claire Donovan—4 CLOVER Pictures' CEO—had orchestrated the perfect build-up. Using my infamous airplane interview as a hook, she had crafted press releases, teaser trailers, and late-night interviews that hinted at mystery, chills, and the unforgettable performance of a young actor.
Every local news crew, every entertainment columnist, was ready to cover the release.
Word had trickled down to fans through both tabloids and morning newspapers, and the anticipation was enough to make the midnight crowd tense with excitement.
"Are you sure Jack Kennedy doesn't have to go?" Micheal asked, concern in his voice.
"I'm sure," I replied. "Claire will handle anything that deals with the public eye."
I arrived with George Burnett and Ralph Macchio on the red carpet. Photographers snapped pictures, flashes lighting up the night, while reporters shouted questions.
Jenny Ortega took pictures with Scarlett Johansson and they answered some questions too with the other actors.
"Owen Chase, how do you feel right now with your first movie being released in theatres?" a reporter asked.
I smiled, acting grateful and humbled. "Gosh, I didn't think this many people would line up tonight."
The reporter chuckled. "You took the chance to plug your movie promotion when the plane landed. A lot of people became your fans right then."
We talked a bit, exchanging jokes here and there. George looked at me with a confused expression, wondering if it was really me on the red carpet. It was a stark contrast from my normal personality, which creeped him out a little.
Lines of twenty to thirty people stretched along the sidewalk. Teenagers clutched notebooks, hoping for autographs. A few parents held hands with their kids, whispering excitedly about reviews they had read from Roger Ebert and Entertainment Weekly.
The chatter was electric yet controlled—a hum of anticipation rather than a roar. Some fans nudged each other, whispering about jump scares they expected from the movie.
Inside, the theater smelled faintly of popcorn and polished seats. George gave a quick nod toward the projection booth, confirming the reels were ready.
Ralph adjusted his tie nervously, fidgeting with his hands, while I leaned back in my seat, letting the weight of the moment sink in.
"My first movie in this world…" I muttered with some excitement.
The crowd murmured as the lights dimmed and the opening score began. A few gasps, soft laughter, and whispered predictions about the story floated around.
Claire had done her job flawlessly. The plane incident had already made "Owen Chase" almost a household name, but now the hype was concentrated precisely where it mattered—the premiere. Fans felt like insiders, experiencing something special.
"I hope people will like the movie," Jessica muttered, clasping her hands in prayer. The test audiences had loved it, but Jessica was still nervous.
The budget for the movie was $8 million. I spent $20 million on marketing and distribution. To break even, the movie had to make double that at the box office—$56 million.
During the screening, there were moments when the audience nearly jumped out of their seats.
When my character, Cole, was asleep and something suddenly pulled his leg from the bed, a few teenagers screamed.
A man clutched his armrest tightly, while a child whispered, "Mom, what was that?!"
The movie earned a PG-13 rating, but the mixture of eerie music, precise scares, and the final twist kept the theater engaged. Gasps, laughter, and quiet murmurs punctuated key scenes, making the audience a part of the experience.
"Oh my god. Ralph Macchio was a ghost all along!" Someone clamored.
As the credits rolled, applause swept through the theater. People stood to cheer for the production team and the actors—including myself.
Some clapped enthusiastically, others wiped away tears at the ending's emotional weight. Ralph really did a good job showing the final moment of solace, when he accepted the fact that he needed to let his wife go and move on.
The scene where Jenny Ortega and I had a heart to heart talk inside the car made a lot of the audience members teared up.
The midnight premiere had done exactly what Claire had planned. The buzz, the lines, and the reactions inside the theater confirmed that The Sixth Sense had made an unforgettable first impression.
(Help me review the story! It will help out a lot)