One month later, Kai had a routine.
It wasn't glamorous, but it was his.
School by Day
Morning classes. Algebra he pretended to understand. History he kind of liked because Ava whispered fact-checks into his ear and occasionally added sarcastic commentary. Gym class, where every single day was a tightrope walk between blending in and casually rewriting the laws of physics.
He still broke pencils. A lot of pencils.
The first time, Ms. Alvarez glared at him like he was breaking them out of spite. By the fifth, she just sighed and said, "Bring spares, Mr. Gojo."
Kai tried. He filled his bag with half a box of pencils, only to snap three before lunch. Reinforcement leaked into his hands when he wasn't paying attention, and graphite just wasn't designed to survive Gojo-level strength.
The basketball incident had become legendary. He'd jumped for a rebound, "forgotten" to cap his reinforcement, and his hang-time looked like someone had paused the game midair. Coach Donnelly screamed about vertical training programs. Kai fumbled his landing, pretended to twist his ankle, and got away with a reputation for being weird instead of a metahuman.
Students called him "Matrix" now. Letterman Jacket made a show of saying it extra loud in the halls. Kai wore the nickname like a badge. Better to be "Matrix" than "That Quiet Orphan Kid With Creepy Eyes."
Every day, Ava whispered drills through his headphones.
"Breath in, flow out. Reinforce evenly. Don't snap another pen. You are trying to pass for normal, remember?"
Every day, Kai smirked, muttered back, and tried not to look too proud when his Infinity stopped a rogue dodgeball without anyone noticing.
He wasn't perfect at hiding. But for now, people just thought he was eccentric. That was fine. Eccentric was safe.
Training by Night
As soon as the sun dipped and the city's neon came alive, Kai became someone else.
The warehouse had become his dojo, his secret base, his sanctuary. Broken windows let in the moonlight; gulls were his judgmental spectators.
Infinity stretched longer now—ten seconds, sometimes twelve. Ava timed him to the decimal.
"Ten point six. Ten point nine. Eleven point two. Hold it… eleven point eight. Collapse. Again."
Cursed energy flowed steadier. No more accidental mini-explosions that burned holes in the floor. Ava drilled him in precision: pulling a coin an inch instead of blasting it across the room. Pushing air just enough to knock over a bottle instead of pulverize a wall.
One For All was the hardest. His bones sang every time he pushed past five percent. He spent entire nights running laps in circles, learning how to move without shattering pavement or leaving footprints shaped like craters. His calves ached, his lungs burned, but when Ava said, "Eight percent sustained, posture acceptable," he grinned like a maniac.
Six Eyes remained tricky. Too much information, too fast. But Kai had learned to lift his glasses in bursts—fifteen seconds, twenty, sometimes thirty. Long enough to scan a room, catch a subtle movement, or just marvel at the dust hanging like galaxies in the air.
It wasn't perfect. But it was progress.
And progress, Kai thought, was what made training feel like an anime montage—even without background music.
The Job
Then there was the job.
His "normal life" demanded money. The orphan stipend covered rent, but food, school supplies, and pretending to be a functioning member of society added up.
So Kai worked. Stock boy at a corner bodega three blocks from his apartment.
It was… miserable.
Customers were rude. The pay was barely enough to buy pencils (which he needed in bulk). His boss barked orders like a drill sergeant who hated snacks.
One shift, a customer dumped coins on the counter and barked, "Count it for me, kid." When Kai finished, the man sneered, "Too slow."
Another night, his boss shoved a mop into his hands. "Floor's sticky. Don't ask why."
And of course, the gum. Always the gum. One evening, Kai found himself on his knees, scraping dried blobs off the sidewalk with a putty knife. His boss stood over him, arms crossed. "Faster, Gojo. We're not paying you to daydream."
Kai bit his tongue so hard his Six Eyes practically glowed. He could fold space with his mind. He could punch holes in concrete with a toe tap. He could literally be untouchable. And here he was, scraping gum.
That night, he staggered home sore, tossed his bag down, and groaned into his pillow.
"This sucks," he muttered.
Ava's voice floated from the phone on his desk. "Income stream secured. Nutritional stability ensured. Mission accomplished."
"Mission garbage," Kai said. He rolled onto his back. "I didn't get reborn with Infinity to scrape gum off sidewalks."
"Reality requires currency. Unless you prefer starving."
Kai groaned louder. "There's gotta be another way."
"You mean theft?"
"No! I mean… I don't know. Something that doesn't make me want to walk into traffic."
The Lightbulb
Ava paused. "You are powerful, but public heroics will expose you too soon. Attention would compromise your training schedule. Therefore: you require a private revenue model."
Kai sat up, hair sticking everywhere, eyes gleaming. "Private revenue model…"
He looked at the phone. "Wait. Ava. You said you've got everything stored in there, right? All the books, manga, anime, movies, games, songs—every bit of entertainment from my old world?"
"Yes. Complete archives, updated to your death date."
Kai froze. Then he grinned so wide his face hurt. "What if… I publish them here?"
Silence. Then Ava said, "Elaborate."
"Think about it!" Kai jumped off the bed, pacing like a mad scientist. "This world doesn't have Harry Potter. No Naruto. No Lord of the Rings. No freaking One Piece. I've got the greatest library of all time, and nobody here has ever seen it! I could… write them. Release them. Make money. Tons of money. It wouldn't just pay rent—it would make me rich. Legendary. The creator of worlds."
Ava's voice was calm, amused. "So… intellectual property laundering."
"Exactly!" Kai clapped his hands. "It's not plagiarism if it's across universes. Technically, I'd be the original here."
"Morally gray. Financially brilliant. Statistically effective."
Kai spun, pointing a finger at the ceiling like he was about to shout a finishing move. "So goodbye shelf-stocking, hello best-selling author!"
The First Draft
He didn't waste time.
The next night, Kai sat cross-legged on his bed with the phone propped up in front of him. A blank page glowed. Ava's voice guided him.
"Format ready. Word count tracking active. Begin when you're prepared."
Kai cracked his knuckles. "Alright. Let's bring some magic into this world."
He typed: "Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much."
He stared at the sentence, grinning. "Oh yeah. This is gonna work."
Ava auto-corrected a typo before he noticed. "Draft saved. I suggest pacing output. Too much too fast and publishers may suspect."
Kai leaned back, smug. "Ava, this world isn't ready for Hogwarts."
She hummed. "Nor Middle-earth. Nor shinobi. Nor Straw Hats."
Kai laughed, already planning. "Oh, we're doing everything."
Montage: The Month in Review
The days blurred.
School: boring, noisy, full of little close calls. He mastered the art of looking average while being anything but.Training: sweat, bruises, progress. Ava's relentless corrections. "Flow tighter. Hold longer. Don't grin while you're falling."Work: less and less tolerable. By week three, he handed in his resignation. His boss laughed in his face. "You'll be back begging in a month, Gojo." Kai just smiled, sunglasses hiding his Six Eyes. "Nah. I'm leveling up."
Writing filled the rest of his nights. Ava dictated when his memory skipped details, polished clunky sentences, even inserted fake margin notes to make it look like he'd been drafting for months.
By the end of the month, he had a finished book. A whole book.
Kai sat on his bed, staring at the glowing screen. The title gleamed at the top.
Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.
He whispered the words like a spell. And in this world, it really was one.
Ending Beat
Kai slid the phone into his pocket, glasses catching the dim light. His reflection in the cracked mirror looked smug, dangerous, and excited all at once.
"If the world thinks I'm just Gojo Satoru, the quiet orphan kid," he said softly, "they're about to meet Gojo Satoru, the storyteller."
Ava's voice hummed. "Don't get cocky. You are still on track for training at seven a.m."
Kai smirked. "Yeah, yeah. Tutorial level never ends."
But deep down, he knew—he'd just unlocked the next stage.