For once, Alex woke up and didn't have to play chicken with the alarm clock. Sunlight slipped across his messy sheets—real sunlight, forking gold onto the carpet. For a moment, he just stared at the ceiling, letting the quiet hum of a new day warm his mind.
Sun in Forks? He grinned. If that's not reality-bending, nothing is.
Coffee in hand, leaning on the kitchen counter, Alex let his thoughts drift. He was used to taking things as they came, but since unlocking his powers for real, mornings felt different. There was a bright, buzzing anticipation under even the laziest stretch.
He sat at the table, steam rising from his mug, and thought back to the mental "buffs" he'd quietly given himself: Avalon's gentle regeneration, the always-there shield like Gojo's smooth "nah" to trouble, and the low-key energy and strength of a dragon elixir.
Each one fit him, made his days flow easier, let him focus on the little joys. But now, he wondered—if the universe is handing out upgrades, why stop at the greatest hits?
He doodled on a napkin, list style, half-wishing, half-planning:
Recall on Command: What if he could instantly remember anything—names, passwords, or where his keys wandered off to—just by thinking about it? No more feeling dumb at roll call.
Perfect Temperature: His ideal level of coziness—never too cold in bed, never too hot in the sun, not even in a packed bus. He'd just wish the air comfortable.
Luck Magnet: Not superstition, but subtle luck—the grocery lines always shortest, green lights when you're running late, always finding a parking spot in town.
Universal Understanding: Instantly read or speak any language, or "get" any local in-joke—making Forks, or anywhere, feel like home on the first try.
"Undo" Button: A quiet, private power: the ability to undo the last five seconds. Not for drama—just for those cringey tongue slips or accidental texts.
Empathy Filter: To sense moods in a room, or catch when someone needs a pause. The world would be just a bit more navigable.
Soothing Presence: Not charisma, just the ability to make people naturally feel at ease—smoothing over awkward silences or tense first meetings (the kind only otakus dread).
Creative Spark: Never run out of ideas, jokes, or solutions—even when the world feels stuck on repeat.
He chuckled, sipped his coffee, and pictured each power weaving gently into daily life. He didn't need to leap tall buildings. Maybe he just wanted to never spill his instant ramen again, or always know what to say to a lonely friend.
As he washed dishes, testing out Avalon, he ran a finger across a shallow scrape from yesterday—a paper cut, nothing more. It closed, disappeared. No fanfare, just his body quietly righting itself.
He thought about his shield. He tapped a spoon against his knuckle, and the impact softened, gentle as a pat. Alex tried not to smirk.
It's like bubble wrap for life. I could get used to this.
Then his mind wandered to anime, specifically Gojo's Infinity. "Man, if some Sukuna wannabe ever tried to 'Gojo me' and slice me in half, pretty sure my Absolute Defense would just glitch reality for a second, then pop me back together with a snarky error message." He laughed,
picturing his own halves doing a goofy fist bump before merging—zero drama, all style.
The dragon elixir's boost was subtler.
Grabbing the heavy laundry basket, he noticed his arms didn't tire. Carrying groceries, he almost tossed them in one-handed, feeling light. Sports day nightmare? "Try me now," he whispered, amused, to the universe.
Later, sprawled in the yard, Alex looked up at the clouds and let himself imagine even more outlandish upgrades. Teleportation for the never-ending school commute, he mused. Or a "synch music to the mood" option, so every walk had the perfect soundtrack. Maybe, someday, even the power to make anyone's day slightly better, just by wishing it.
His mind wandered. Would it be weird to enchant his sneakers—no more wet socks? Or a "find the cat in under thirty seconds" effect for any future lost-and-found emergencies. If I can make my car look like John Wick's, he reasoned, I can at least make chores less tragic.
But beneath all the wishlists, Alex felt steady. It wasn't about being unbeatable. There was no maniacal laugh, no "I rule the world!" moment. He just felt safe. Relaxed. Like he could actually live—and not just survive—every weird day Forks tossed at him.
No fear in biking after dark. No dreading the next surprise test or social fail. No heavy weight of "what if" holding him down.
He knew some powers, in stories, came with a catch—loneliness, arrogance, envy. But his felt… kind. Useful. Like putting a fuzzy blanket over the world and making room for both big adventures and small joys.
And that, Alex decided, was the real magic.
Before heading inside, he doodled one last line on his napkin:
"Power doesn't have to make you a hero—sometimes it just makes you a little bit luckier, and a lot easier to be around."
He stuck the doodle to the fridge—a reminder to himself, and maybe, in some strange way, a wish for everyone he'd meet.
As dusk slipped in and the clouds pulled back over Forks, Alex padded to the kitchen for one more cup of coffee. When he finally turned in, he scrolled through his playlist, thumb pausing on "Wonderwall."
"Yeah, feels right," he murmured, smile tilting as the familiar chords played.
The room was quiet—rain at the window, moonlight on the floor, and those easy, hopeful lyrics carrying him into sleep.
For Alex, sometimes magic was just the right song at the right time.
..............XXX...................