There were two kinds of people in this world.
The ones who were born with power…
…and the ones who were born to be reminded they didn't have any.
Illium Price learned that truth early.
He learned it in the way children looked at him when the teacher asked them to introduce their quirks. In the way the classroom went quiet, not out of respect, but out of discomfort—as if his existence was something awkward that didn't belong in the same room as everyone else.
He learned it in the laughter that followed.
He learned it in the smiles that didn't reach anyone's eyes.
He learned it in the whispers.
Quirkless.
Useless.
Geek.
At first, he tried to ignore it.
That was what adults always told him to do.
"Don't let it get to you."
"Kids can be cruel."
"You'll grow out of it."
Those words were always spoken with the same calm voice, the same gentle expression… the same empty understanding. As if saying it was enough. As if the world could be fixed by pretending it wasn't broken.
Illium wanted to believe them.
He really did.
Because if he didn't… then it meant the world was exactly what it looked like.
And Illium didn't want to live in that kind of world.
So he kept his head down.
He studied.
He worked harder than anyone else in his class. Not because he wanted praise—praise was a fantasy for someone like him—but because he wanted something more important.
A future.
He didn't want to be a hero. Not really.
Heroes were… distant. Larger than life. Bright smiles on television screens. People who saved others and posed for cameras, and got applause for doing what the world already expected them to do.
Heroes belonged to the gifted.
Illium didn't.
But engineers?
Engineers didn't need a flashy quirk. They didn't need to be admired.
They just needed to be smart.
They built the things the world depended on. The systems that made life possible. The quiet machinery behind society's bright lights.
Electricity fascinated him most.
There was something comforting about it.
It was invisible, but it was real. It flowed through walls and wires, powering entire cities, keeping hospitals alive, keeping trains moving, keeping the world awake.
People didn't think about it until it was gone.
Illium liked that.
He liked the idea of being something the world depended on… without needing to be loved.
It was almost poetic.
To exist without being seen.
To matter without being praised.
To become necessary.
When he was alone, he would sit by the window of his room and watch the streetlights outside. He would stare at them like they were alive, like they were speaking a language only he could understand.
Sometimes he imagined designing those lights. Building the grids that powered them. Becoming the reason the city stayed bright.
He imagined standing on a rooftop and looking out over a skyline that glowed because of him.
It was the closest thing to hope he had.
But hope was a fragile thing.
And Illium's hope didn't survive middle school.
It died slowly, in pieces.
It died the day a boy shoved him into a locker and the teacher walked past without stopping.
It died the day someone spilled juice on his homework and laughed as he tried to wipe it off.
It died the day they took his bag and threw it into the trash, and everyone acted like it was funny.
It died the day they cornered him behind the gym and told him he should be grateful they were even acknowledging he existed.
And it died completely when he realized that no one—no teacher, no student, no hero—was going to save him.
Because saving people wasn't free.
And Illium wasn't worth the effort.
Even his name started to disappear.
People stopped calling him Illium.
They called him Geek instead.
Like it was more fitting.
Like it was all he deserved.
He hated that word.
Not because it was insulting…
…but because it was true.
He was the kid who spent his lunch break reading books about circuits. The kid who could tell you how voltage worked, how currents moved, how a city could collapse if one major station failed.
He was the kid who dreamed of building something greater than himself.
But he was also the kid who couldn't fight back.
And in a world like this, that was the only thing that mattered.
Illium's birthday arrived in late February.
The day itself was gray and cold, with the kind of overcast sky that made the world feel distant. Like it didn't care what happened beneath it.
He didn't tell anyone it was his birthday.
There was no point.
His mother had kissed his forehead before school, told him she'd make something special for dinner. His sister had smiled at him and promised she'd buy him something small later.
They tried.
They really did.
But they didn't know.
They didn't know what it felt like to walk into a classroom and feel the air change as soon as you entered. To feel eyes on you like you were prey. To hear laughter that didn't need a reason.
They didn't know what it felt like to exist as a reminder of weakness.
Illium left home that morning with his hands in his pockets and his head down, walking through streets lined with power poles and overhead wires. He stared at them as he walked, the way he always did.
The wires stretched endlessly, connecting everything.
He envied them.
They had purpose.
At school, the teacher announced they were going on a field trip.
A zoo.
The class cheered.
Illium didn't.
He had learned to hate field trips. Field trips meant time outside the classroom, time where teachers weren't watching closely, time where the bullying could become physical without consequence.
Still, he went.
He always went.
Because refusing would only make it worse.
The bus ride was loud and full of excitement. Kids leaned across seats, showing off their quirks in small ways—sparks of fire from fingertips, little gusts of wind, skin turning hard like stone for a moment.
Illium sat alone.
No one sat with him unless they had to.
He watched the scenery pass by the window. Streets, buildings, power lines.
More wires.
More electricity.
More things that mattered.
He wondered, briefly, what it would feel like to control it.
The thought was stupid.
Illium had never even pretended he might develop a quirk. He had accepted the reality long ago.
Some people were simply born to lose.
The zoo was crowded. Families and kids and bright voices filled the air. The smell of food and animals mixed together in a way that made Illium's stomach tighten.
The teacher told them to stay together.
No one listened.
Groups formed instantly, students running off in packs, laughing and calling each other's names.
Illium trailed behind.
He always did.
Eventually, the class reached an indoor exhibit. A large glass tank filled with water sat in the center of the room, with warning signs posted around it.
ELECTRIC EELS.
DO NOT TOUCH THE WATER.
Illium stared at the tank.
The eels moved like shadows beneath the surface. Long, smooth bodies gliding silently through the water.
There was something hypnotic about them.
Something beautiful.
They carried power inside themselves.
Real power.
The kind Illium had never been allowed to have.
A group of students gathered around the tank, pressing their faces close to the glass. Laughing. Pointing.
Someone behind Illium chuckled.
He didn't need to turn around to know who it was.
A hand shoved his shoulder.
Hard.
Illium stumbled forward.
His hands hit the glass.
A few students laughed.
"Careful, Geek," someone said. "Wouldn't want you to die before lunch."
Illium's face heated.
He swallowed, forcing himself to breathe.
He stepped away from the glass.
He tried to leave.
But someone stepped in front of him.
Another shove hit his back.
Then another.
He stumbled again.
The laughter grew louder.
Illium's heart pounded as his mind raced for a way out. Teachers were nearby, but they weren't looking. They were talking amongst themselves, distracted, unaware.
Or maybe they just didn't care.
Illium's foot caught on something.
He lost balance.
Time slowed.
His arms flailed as he tried to catch himself.
His fingertips brushed the edge of the tank railing.
And then—
The world tilted.
His body went weightless.
And Illium Price fell into the water.
Cold hit him like a knife.
His mouth opened instinctively, swallowing water as panic surged through him. The sounds outside the tank became muffled, distant, like they were happening in another world.
He tried to kick upward.
His fingers scraped glass.
His lungs burned.
And then he felt it.
A presence.
Something moving in the water.
Smooth.
Fast.
The electric eels.
Illium's eyes widened underwater.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
He tried to scream, but only bubbles escaped.
The eel's body brushed his arm.
For a single second, everything went silent.
Then the electricity hit.
It wasn't like pain.
Not at first.
It was… light.
A violent burst of white-hot sensation that ripped through his nerves and spine. His muscles locked instantly. His entire body convulsed as if it no longer belonged to him.
The water around him flashed.
The tank exploded with brightness.
Illium's vision turned to pure gold.
And in that instant—between life and death, between consciousness and darkness—he felt something impossible.
He felt the electricity.
Not just the eel's shock.
He felt the current in the lights above.
He felt the wiring inside the walls.
He felt the humming of the building itself, like it was alive.
He felt it all.
And for the first time in his entire life…
Illium wasn't powerless.
The lights in the exhibit burst.
Glass cracked.
A shockwave of electricity surged outward from the tank, frying the security system and killing the cameras in an instant.
The entire building went dark.
Screams echoed.
People ran.
But Illium didn't hear them.
Because in the darkness…
something inside him woke up.
Something that had been waiting.
Something that had been starving.
His fingers twitched.
And electricity crawled across his skin like a living thing.
The water around him vibrated.
The eels recoiled.
Illium's eyes opened wide beneath the surface.
They glowed.
A faint gold halo in the dark water.
He could feel every wire in the zoo.
Every light.
Every circuit.
Every spark.
He could feel the city outside too, like a distant heartbeat.
The power grid.
The veins of the world.
And suddenly, Illium understood.
This world didn't respect kindness.
It didn't reward patience.
It didn't care about dreams.
It cared about power.
And now…
he finally had some.
His body rose slightly in the water as if the electricity itself was lifting him.
A strange calm washed over his mind.
The fear faded.
The pain became background noise.
Illium stared upward at the surface of the tank.
He could see blurred silhouettes of students peering down.
Faces pressed against the glass.
Their mouths open.
Not laughing anymore.
Not smiling.
They were afraid.
Illium blinked slowly.
A thought passed through his mind, quiet and sharp as lightning.
So this is what it feels like.
To be seen.
His lips parted underwater.
And though no one could hear him…
Illium Price smiled.
Above the tank, the emergency lights tried to flicker on.
They failed.
Outside the zoo, the streetlights went out one by one.
And across the city…
the power trembled.
Because somewhere beneath the surface of a glass tank…
a boy who had been ignored his entire life had finally found the one thing the world could never ignore.
Electricity.
And the first thing it whispered to him was simple.
Take it.