Chapter 2, Sparks in the Garage
"Char! Come out and eat! I swear, if you keep doing dangerous experiments in that garage, I'll personally drive you to the police station in my patrol car!"
"Coming, Mum! Don't be mad—I'm doing chemical experiments, not making bombs!" Charles called back helplessly. He took off his gloves and goggles, then pushed open the garage door.
It had been ten years since the Williams family adopted him. For the first few years, Charles lived in a daze. His young brain wasn't ready for complex thoughts. But when he turned four, almost five, he suddenly remembered the young man who had once been struck by lightning in another life.
From that day on, the "genius" label stuck. Being an adult soul trapped in a child's body made elementary school painfully easy. Still, Charles made the most of it.
Of course, not everything was perfect. When he realized he'd been reborn in England, forty years in the past, his old hustler instincts kicked in. Grinning widely, he used his cutest smile and puppy-eyes routine to charm his adoptive father, gentle Dr. William Lancaster, into buying him specific company stocks every birthday.
Once that plan worked, Charles's imagination soared. He pictured himself living carefree, sunbathing on a yacht, sipping juice with a grin. After a life of working himself to exhaustion, he'd finally be free from the rat race—and maybe even become a bit eccentric while doing it.
In his previous life, he'd loved tinkering but never had the money or space. This time, he had both—and a partner in crime. His father, while outwardly calm and cultured, secretly shared the same mischievous streak. Whenever Charles took over the garage for a new contraption or experiment that terrified Mrs. Lancaster, Dr. William joined in cheerfully, offering helpful "safety advice" while grinning the whole time.
That partnership ended abruptly after they blew an entire ant nest five meters into the air. When Mrs. Lancaster pulled up in her police cruiser with the siren still on, she didn't need to say a word—Charles was grounded for a month, and Dr. William was conveniently "on extra hospital shifts."
Still, Charles wasn't just a troublemaker. He also made gifts—like the rainbow-colored gold-plated dagger he crafted for his mother's birthday. Mrs. Lancaster, a proud and justice-driven officer, loved it so much she had it framed and hung in her office. She often bragged to her colleagues that her genius son had made her a "protective weapon." She scolded him for his recklessness, sure—but she adored his brilliance.
Life was good. Until, of course, fate reminded Charles that things never stay simple.
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A Shocking Encounter
It started with an attempted kidnapping.
As in every world, there were plenty of low-life human traffickers—and Charles's sharp mind and striking looks caught their attention. With his delicate features and pale skin, he could've passed for an elf straight out of The Lord of the Rings. Only his black hair broke the illusion.
But the traffickers had no idea their target was a fully grown man inside. When they tried to lure him away with candy and failed, Charles mocked them so mercilessly that they lost their patience and reached for him.
That's when something inside him stirred.
The next thing he knew, his palm lit up—and a hundred thousand volts exploded out. When the smoke cleared, both traffickers lay unconscious in the alley. Charles stared at his sparking hand, dumbfounded.
"…Am I destined to save mutantkind as Professor Charles, or rule the world as Magneto?" He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Or maybe I've turned into a yellow mouse that shoots lightning…"
He sighed. "Whatever. As long as I don't end up a wage slave again, I'll take it. Long live early retirement!"
Whistling, he called the police anonymously to report the "suspicious men," unknowingly adding another solved case to his mother's record.
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Breakfast Trouble
Back in the present, Charles reluctantly sat down at the table under his mother's glare.
"Dear Mrs. Lancaster," he began solemnly, "I think you've got a big misunderstanding about my experiments. That incident in the backyard was purely accidental. You can't label your son a bomb maniac for one tiny mistake!"
"Really?" Mrs. Lancaster smiled sweetly. "Then perhaps you'd like to explain why, a year ago, I could smell a dust-explosion test from the driveway before I even opened the garage door?"
Charles froze. "Uh… point taken. I'll be more careful. But Mum, can you please take sugar off my restricted-items list? It's humiliating needing adult supervision every time I want to add sugar to my milk…"
"What do you think, Mr. Charles Lancaster?" she said, still smiling.
Danger. Every hair on his neck stood up. That tone meant she'd gone full "Household Tyrant Mode." Even his father stayed quiet in times like this.
Charles immediately bowed his head and focused on his lunch.
"Eat slowly," his mother said with a hint of amusement. "Your father's bringing his colleagues and their families over this afternoon. We're all going to the amusement park together. Oh—and they have a daughter your age. I hear she's very pretty. You'd better make a good impression, Charles."
Here we go again, he thought, twitching his lips.
Because of his "angelic" face, Charles was a neighborhood darling—praised endlessly by adults and teased by every little girl nearby. Mrs. Lancaster loved arranging "playdates" just to show off her perfect son.
For Charles—mentally in his twenties—being fawned over by a gaggle of giggling schoolgirls felt like torture. Compared to that, he'd rather play the fool like Momonosuke from One Piece.
The thought made him snicker out loud.