The orphanage dormitory was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of old sheets and the distant sound of city traffic. Leo sat cross-legged on his thin mattress, the worn wool blanket pulled tight around his scrawny shoulders against the drafty room.
The initial panic of transmigration had faded to a dull, throbbing anxiety in the pit of his stomach. He was Leo Vance now. Ten years old. Orphan. Nobody.
But he was also a man who had read nearly a thousand chapters of "The Hero's Will." He knew the rules of this game better than almost anyone alive.
He closed his eyes, using his adult focus to quiet the childish fears of his new body. He needed to take stock. He needed to understand the most critical element of this new reality: Abilities.
In this world, superpowers weren't a rare anomaly; they were a biological fact. Almost everyone had something that set them apart from the baseline humans of his old world. But having an ability and being a "Hero" were two vastly different things.
It all came down to proficiency and control.
According to the novel's lore, the vast majority of the population possessed abilities that were, frankly, useless for combat or crisis situations. Someone might be able to change the color of their hair at will, or make a small coin hover an inch off their palm for ten seconds, or perhaps make their skin slightly warm to the touch. These were parlor tricks, quirks of genetics that offered no real advantage in a world crawling with monsters and psychotic villains. These people lived normal lives, working normal jobs, their powers just a footnote on their medical records.
Then, there were the others. The prodigies, the obsessive hard workers, the lucky few born with inherent destructive potential. These were the people who could level city blocks, outrun sports cars, or shield an entire neighborhood from an explosion. They had high proficiency—a deep, intuitive understanding and control over their gifts.
These were the people who got into the elite Academies. These were the people scouted by the powerful Hero Associations to be trained, licensed, and branded as the protectors of society.
Becoming a Hero was the universal dream. Every kid in this orphanage, Leo assumed, probably fell asleep imagining themselves in a gleaming cape, saving the city while adoring crowds cheered.
But Leo knew the grim statistics. The number of active, licensed Heroes was actually very low compared to the total population. Finding out what your ability actually was, understanding how to trigger it, and then grueling years of training to make it combat-viable was a massive filter. Most people just gave up. It was easier to be a salaryman with slightly glowing eyes than to risk your life fighting a sewer beast.
Leo opened his eyes and looked down at his small, trembling hands.
I don't have the luxury of giving up, he thought grimly.
He knew what was coming. He remembered the plot twists, the sudden villain attacks that wiped out entire city sectors, the monster waves that overwhelmed even veteran Heroes.
He couldn't rely on others for safety. In the novel, bystanders died in droves. They were collateral damage to rampaging villains or incompetence by rookie heroes. If a Tier-3 Villain decided to blow up this orphanage tomorrow, there was no guarantee Captain Aegis would show up in time to save Leo Vance.
Survival in this world was predicated on personal power. He had to be able to defend himself.
Therefore, his absolute top priority was discovering his ability.
But how?
The novel was clear on this point: awakening was an intensely personal experience. There was no universal trigger word, no radioactive spider. It usually happened during puberty, between the ages of twelve and fifteen, when the body and mind were undergoing massive changes.
Some people's powers announced themselves violently—a kid gets angry at school and accidentally blows out all the windows. Those were the easy ones to identify.
But for many others, the ability was subtle. It might manifest as a faint intuition, a slight shift in perception, or a tiny physical sensation that was easily ignored. If a person didn't notice that subtle cue, if they didn't grab onto that thread and pull, they might live their entire lives thinking they were powerless, never realizing they were sitting on a goldmine.
Leo was only ten. He was early. But his adult mind was disciplined.
If it's there, I'll find it. It's in this body somewhere.
He shifted on the bed, straightening his spine against the cold wall. He took a deep, slow breath, exhaling the tension from his small frame. He closed his eyes again, cutting off the depressing visuals of the dormitory.
He turned his focus inward.
It was a strange sensation, trying to "listen" to a body that wasn't really his. He focused on the rhythm of his breathing, the rapid thumping of his small heart, the itch of the rough blanket against his skin.
He mentally scanned himself, starting from his toes and moving upward. He was looking for... anything. A hum under the skin. A spot of heat. A sense of pressure in his head. A feeling that didn't belong.
Is there energy in my fingertips? Do my eyes feel different?
Minutes ticked by. He sat frozen, concentrating so hard his brow furrowed.
Nothing.
He felt hunger pangs. He felt the cold draft. He felt a slight cramp in his left leg from sitting still too long. But he felt nothing supernatural. No surge of power, no whisper of hidden potential.
He opened his eyes, letting out a frustrated sigh. The bleak room rushed back into focus.
He hadn't expected a miracle on the first try. The novel had emphasized that self-discovery was often the hardest part of the Hero's journey. Nathan Reed, the protagonist, had struggled for months to understand the basics of his Body Enhancement.
Leo wasn't discouraged. The absence of immediate results didn't mean the absence of power. It just meant it was buried deep.
He clenched his small fists. He wouldn't stop. He would spend every spare moment, every quiet night, searching the depths of this new body until he found the trigger. Finding his ability wasn't just a goal; it was the only lifeline he had in a world destined for chaos.