The yellow school bus groaned as it came to a halt in front of a massive brick building.
Midtown School of Science and Technology.
Looking at the building through the window, I felt a strange sense of unreality. This was the place where Spider-Man, one of the most iconic heroes of the Marvel Universe, studied. And now, I was here too.
"Hey, Matt, are you coming or are you planning to live on the bus?" Sam's voice pulled me out of my thoughts.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," I replied, grabbing my bag.
As I stepped off the bus, the first thing that hit me wasn't the fresh air—it was the noise.
It wasn't just the sound of students talking or cars passing by. It was... everything.
I could hear the scratching of a pen on paper from a student sitting on a bench twenty meters away. I could hear the rhythmic ticking of a watch on the wrist of the bus driver behind me. I could even hear the faint buzz of electricity flowing through the streetlamps.
"Ugh..." I grimaced, pressing my hand to my temple.
"You okay, man? Your headache came back?" Sam asked, looking concerned.
"Yeah, just a little spike. I'll be fine," I lied.
It wasn't a headache. It was information overload. My S-Rank [Mental Strength] was processing every single sensory input at a terrifying speed. It was like upgrading from an old dial-up connection to a quantum supercomputer, but forgetting to install the firewall.
'System, is there a way to turn this down?' I thought desperately.
[Ding~ In response to the Host... Your mind is currently adapting to its new capacity. It's like a muscle you haven't stretched yet. Just focus. Imagine a dial and turn it down. You are the master of your own mind, Host.]
'Right. Focus.'
I closed my eyes for a split second. I visualized a mixing board in a recording studio. I grabbed the 'Sensitivity' slider and pulled it down.
Instantly, the world went quiet. The overwhelming buzz faded into a manageable background hum.
"Better?" Sam asked.
"Much better," I smiled, opening my eyes. And when I did, I noticed something else.
The world was... high definition. No, higher than that. I could see the dust motes dancing in the sunlight. I could count the threads on Sam's jacket if I wanted to.
"Let's go," I said, feeling a surge of confidence.
We walked through the crowded hallways. My new appearance drew some attention. I noticed a few girls—and a couple of guys—glancing at me and whispering.
"Did Matthew get a haircut?" "He looks... taller?" "Who's the blonde guy with Sam?"
I ignored them, feeling a strange disconnection. Looking at them, at their frantic teenage energy, I felt... old. Not physically, but spiritually.
I walked to my locker. According to my memories, my first class was Advanced Chemistry.
The classroom smelled of ethanol and burnt magnesium. I took my seat next to Sam.
Mr. Harrington, the chemistry teacher, walked in looking as tired as ever.
"Alright class, settle down. Today we're continuing with stoichiometry and molecular geometry. I hope you all did the reading," he said, writing a complex chemical equation on the whiteboard.
It was a nightmare of a problem, something that would have made my old self cry.
But now?
I looked at the board, and something strange happened. The skill [Untalented] kicked in.
The moment I focused on the equation, information flooded my brain. I didn't just see letters and numbers; I understood the electron configurations, the bond angles, the energy states. It was as intuitive as breathing.
"Can anyone solve this and explain the reaction mechanism?" Mr. Harrington asked, scanning the room.
The class went silent. Everyone avoided eye contact.
Mr. Harrington sighed. "Come on, anyone? Peter? I know you know this."
My ears perked up. Peter?
I turned my head slightly. Sitting two rows ahead of me was a skinny, brown-haired boy who was frantically scribbling in a notebook, trying to make himself look invisible.
Peter Parker.
Seeing him in the flesh was surreal. He looked young, truly just a kid.
"I... uh..." Peter stammered.
"I'll do it," I said, raising my hand.
The whole class turned to look at me. Even Peter looked back, surprised. Mr. Harrington adjusted his glasses.
"Matthew? You want to solve this?" he asked, sounding skeptical. My predecessor wasn't exactly a star student.
"Yes, sir," I stood up and walked to the board.
I picked up the marker. I didn't even need to think. My hand moved on its own, writing down the solution with elegant speed.
2 C8H18 + 25 O2 → 16 CO2 + 18 H2O + Heat
But I didn't stop there. I wrote down the enthalpy change, the entropy calculations, and even drew the 3D molecular structure of the transition state.
When I finished, I capped the marker and turned around.
The room was dead silent. Mr. Harrington's jaw was slightly unhinged.
"Is that correct?" I asked innocently.
"It's... it's perfect," Mr. Harrington muttered. "Actually, it's more advanced than what I was teaching. Where did you learn to calculate Gibbs free energy like that?"
I shrugged. "I did some light reading over the summer."
As I walked back to my seat, I caught Peter Parker staring at me with wide eyes, filled with admiration. I gave him a respectful, firm nod.
He quickly looked away, focusing on his notebook.
I leaned back in my chair, observing the room.
'It's strange,' I thought. 'Physically, I'm seventeen. But mentally? I've lived a whole life before this. I've experienced death, the void, and rebirth.'
I looked at the students around me—giggling about crushes, stressing over homework.
'It reminds me of Thor and Jane Foster,' I mused. 'Thor was thousands of years old, and Jane was a mortal. The age gap between them wasn't just physical; it was experiential. To Thor, humans must have seemed like children. That's exactly how I feel right now. These kids... they are too young. I can't imagine being romantically interested in anyone here. It would feel like... babysitting.'
[Ding~ Host, you sound like a grumpy old man in a teenager's body.]
'It's called maturity, System. You wouldn't understand.'
Lunchtime was chaotic. The cafeteria was a warzone of noise and flying food.
I sat with Sam and Dave, eating a surprisingly decent burger.
"Dude, what was that in Chemistry?" Dave asked with his mouth full. "Since when are you a genius?"
"I told you, I watched a lot of educational YouTube videos," I joked.
"Yeah, right. Maybe an alien replaced you," Sam laughed.
He was closer to the truth than he realized.
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the other side of the cafeteria.
"Oops! Sorry, Parker. My hand slipped."
I looked over. Flash Thompson, the stereotypical jock, had just 'accidentally' knocked Peter Parker's tray out of his hands. Spaghetti and meatballs were splattered all over Peter's shirt.
Laughter erupted from Flash's table. Peter just stood there, head down, fists clenched but doing nothing.
My blood boiled. It wasn't about romance or heroism; it was about basic decency. I hated bullies.
'System, does my Mental Strength allow me to exert physical force?'
[Ding~ In response to the Host... Telekinesis is a sub-application of mental energy. With your S-Rank power, moving a mountain might be hard, but moving a bully? Trivial. Just visualize it.]
I narrowed my eyes at Flash, who was laughing and walking away.
I didn't raise a hand. I didn't say a word.
I just pushed with my mind.
Trip.
As Flash took a step, an invisible force slammed into his ankle.
"Whoa!"
Flash lost his balance completely. He flailed his arms, trying to catch himself, but gravity was unforgiving. He face-planted spectacularly right into a girl's tray filled with mashed potatoes and gravy.
SPLAT.
The cafeteria went silent for a second, then exploded into laughter. This time, they were laughing at Flash.
Flash sat up, his face covered in gravy, looking furious and confused. "Who did that?!" he yelled.
I took a bite of my burger, suppressing a smirk.
"Nice karma," Sam commented, oblivious to my involvement.
"Yeah," I replied, watching Peter pick up his tray with a small, confused smile on his face. "Karma works in mysterious ways."
My life in the Marvel Universe had officially begun. But I knew one thing for sure: I was walking a different path than everyone else here.