Lucas lay flat on the rooftop of Olympus High's west tower, staring at the sky as the campus lights dimmed below. The stars above blinked like indifferent eyes—watching, waiting, but offering nothing in return.
He had just finished mapping out three more Olympus social factions and scheduled a stealth coffee meeting with a Tier 3 sponsor candidate. Another long day of pretending to be composed, sharp, and in control.
But now, alone under the sky, Lucas wasn't composed.
He was exhausted.
The wind whispered coldly across the rooftop, but he didn't shiver. His mind was too loud to notice. Every moment of silence echoed with a familiar weight—the same heavy feeling he thought he'd buried when he reincarnated.
The depression was catching up to him.
He hadn't called it that before. He'd told himself it was just fatigue. Adjustment. The pressure of Olympus. But the truth was harder.
He felt like he was wearing someone else's skin.
Because in a way, he was.
This world wasn't his.
He hadn't built this body. He hadn't earned this face, these memories, or this last name. Lucas Grant—the original—had been a genius. An Olympic-level thinker who could code, strategize, and manipulate social dynamics like a born tactician.
Lucas—the one lying on the roof—was just a guy who died broke, disappointed, and invisible.
So much of his success so far… wasn't really him.
It was Lucas Grant's instincts. His subconscious talents. The reflexes and raw power of someone else.
And that realization gnawed at him.
"I'm just a parasite in someone else's potential," he whispered to the sky.
He thought winning the Startup Pitch Week would quiet that voice. It hadn't.He thought making Top 3 would validate him. It didn't.He thought being feared or respected would silence the doubt.
But all of it only reminded him—he was surviving on borrowed genius.
For a few minutes, he let himself sink into that thought.
Back in his old life, he used to get this way too. After every failed job interview, every time he couldn't pay rent, every time he saw people his age traveling the world while he hunted for discount groceries.
He knew this feeling.
The feeling that maybe, no matter how hard he tried, he'd never really win.
But then, something new happened.
For the first time since arriving in this body… he cried.
Not from fear.
Not from failure.
But from the sheer pressure of pretending he wasn't breaking.
Tears slid silently down his cheeks, blending with the wind.
He stayed like that for a while.
Until something strange interrupted the spiral.
A thought. Soft. Quiet. But clear.
"So what if it started as someone else's gift?"
He blinked. Sat up.
"I'm the one using it now."
Yes, the original Lucas was a genius. A prodigy. But he had died. He had given up—somewhere, somehow.
This Lucas hadn't.
This Lucas had studied every inch of Olympus until his eyes hurt.He had built Microvest from scratch.He had survived intimidation, political games, and psychological warfare.He had adapted, not just once, but over and over.
The system didn't want him to succeed.
Yet he was still here.
He took a deep breath and stood up. The night air felt less heavy now.
Maybe he wasn't born with greatness.
But he was learning to earn it.
And maybe, just maybe, what he built with borrowed talent would be stronger than anything the original Lucas ever achieved.
Because he didn't just have genius.
He had hunger.
The hunger of someone who had lost everything once.
The hunger of someone who knew exactly what it felt like to be invisible.
And now, with that hunger, he would make sure no one could look away.
He wiped his face, straightened his shirt, and pulled out his tablet.
He wasn't done.
He was just getting started.
And this time—not for survival. Not for status.
But to prove that even a broken soul, in the right vessel, could build an empire from ashes.
Lucas Grant—reborn and finally ready to take control