[Chapter 1: Hello, New World]
January 1st, 1995.
Outside the gates of the Saint John's Orphanage in Los Angeles, two figures stood under the pale winter sun. One was a Black man in his mid-30s, dressed plainly but with steady eyes. Beside him stood a pale-skinned teen with sharp features -- black hair, blue eyes, and the calm air of someone far older than fifteen.
"John, let's go," the man said, letting out a soft sigh.
The teen nodded silently, glancing one last time at the orphanage that had been his home for the past fifteen years. Then he followed the man to an old pickup truck parked by the curb. They drove off slowly, the city already stirring with New Year's energy behind them.
In the back seat, St. John Leighton leaned back, eyes closed, his face blank. On the surface he seemed calm, but his thoughts churned restlessly beneath.
Zach, the cheerful driver, glanced into the rearview mirror. He smiled at the boy's silence, never guessing how much was unfolding behind those shut eyes.
...
St. John Leighton was an orphan at St. John's Welfare Home in Los Angeles, a church-affiliated orphanage. His name had been chosen as a tribute to the institution that raised him.
Fifteen years earlier, when he first opened his eyes to this world, he had been stunned. His body had felt soft and powerless, his limbs tiny and fragile. But having read countless rebirth novels in his previous life, he had immediately recognized what had happened -- he had been reborn.
He hadn't known whether to cry or laugh. Fortunately, he had lived alone in his former life as well, so the transition didn't come with a deep sense of loss. Still, he had sighed in regret, thinking of all the homes, cars, and savings he had left behind.
In that past life, he had been born in 1980 in a small, inland rural town. His father had died early, and his mother had abandoned him soon after. Raised by his grandfather, he had grown up quietly until, at sixteen, his only guardian had passed away as well.
With a few thousand dollars raised by selling what little land and property they had, he had moved to Hangtown, a modest city in Southern California.
At eighteen, he discovered PC gaming -- and quickly became obsessed. The internet was spreading, and LAN-based multiplayer games were exploding in popularity. He got a job managing one of the early gaming cafés. At the time, they were places where people came to play StarCraft, Counter-Strike, and Quake all night for a few dollars an hour. The job wasn't glamorous, but to John, it was a gateway.
By the early 2000s, John had become indispensable to the café's owner, running day-to-day operations across multiple locations. He organized tournaments, handled rowdy teens, kept machines running, and built a loyal customer base. While others treated it like a job, he saw it as an industry poised for growth.
As regulations around public gaming spaces began tightening in the mid-2000s, John struck out on his own. He opened a few cafés in less regulated areas -- urban outskirts where licensing was looser and demand was still strong. Business boomed. He ran his cafés lean, built a strong network of suppliers, and even dabbled in selling custom gaming rigs on the side.
Eventually, through contacts and timing, he acquired a large, legitimate café near a college campus. He expanded from there, creating a small chain of high-end gaming lounges. By 2012, he had seen the writing on the wall -- mobile gaming and home consoles were taking over. He sold his chain at its peak, paid off his mortgage, and by his early thirties, he had a house, a car, and a few million in the bank.
Maybe because of the way he grew up -- losing everyone early -- he never settled down. After the sale, he lived off interest, coasting through life as a carefree bachelor with no responsibilities.
In June 2017, during a heavy summer thunderstorm, he made the mistake of using his phone while walking home. A bolt of lightning struck him.
Everything went black.
When he opened his eyes again, he was a baby -- his tiny frame wrapped in cloth, his limbs weak. An elderly woman leaned over him, cooing.
He realized then: he had been reborn.
Over the following days, he learned this was 1980s Los Angeles -- one of the most vibrant, fast-paced cities on Earth. He was starting over from the very beginning. But this time, he had memories, skills, and the experience.
This time, he would rise faster.
...
Perhaps reincarnation across time and space came with a golden finger of its own. Even John Leighton couldn't have imagined that he would be accompanied by the lingering memory of an extraordinary figure -- a magic god named Einstein from the mystical continent of Alistair.
Well, whether it was the Einstein who mastered arcane forces or the one who proposed the theory of relativity, maybe anyone named Einstein was simply destined to be a genius.
The continent of Alistair was a realm steeped in magic, and as one of its most powerful beings, the magic god Einstein lived a leisurely life -- eating, sleeping, and occasionally dabbling in minor magical experiments.
Perhaps the gods of that magical world had grown impatient. During one small experiment, Einstein accidentally triggered a reaction with the element of space, unleashing a spatial storm.
Even a magic god couldn't fully control space magic. He was caught in the chaos and consumed by the storm. What remained was only a fragment of consciousness, drifting through the void -- until it somehow reached Earth.
Riding the bolt of lightning that struck John in 2017, that trace of awareness fused with his soul, carrying his consciousness back to Los Angeles in 1980.
No one knew exactly how or why it happened. All that was certain was that the legendary magic god had perished, leaving behind only a remnant of his memories. And now, those memories belonged to John -- his greatest asset in carving out a new life in this world.
...
A few days earlier, Sister Mary -- the longtime director of St. John's Welfare Home -- had passed away and returned to the embrace of the Lord. She had been the only person in the orphanage who had ever shown John any genuine kindness. After her death, John finally decided it was time to leave, and formally requested permission to move out.
The new administrators of the welfare home approved his request without hesitation. And so began the next chapter of his life.
Judging by the lack of fanfare when he left, it was clear John hadn't been well-liked during his years at the orphanage. That wasn't surprising. His quiet, withdrawn personality had made it difficult to connect with others. For over a decade, he had kept to himself.
What no one knew, of course, was that John had carried with him the memories of a great magical figure. From the moment he could walk, he had begun to familiarize himself with magic and secretly practiced in solitude.
Three years earlier, he had reached the level of an apprentice mage and could barely cast a small fireball -- useful mostly for keeping warm. Now, he had reached the peak of that stage, and was on the verge of becoming a full-fledged magician.
From his current perspective, the most immediate benefit of his magical training wasn't flashy spells -- it was physical enhancement. His strength, stamina, and general resistance to illness were far beyond normal human limits.
At age fifteen, John stood around five feet nine and looked deceptively lean. But his strength was monstrous -- he could throw a punch with over 500 kilograms of force. Any boxing coach who saw him in action would've begged to train him.
John had occasionally entertained the idea of becoming a boxer. Legends like Muhammad Ali and Mike Tyson had made fortunes in the ring. It wasn't a bad path. But then again, he reminded himself -- he was a time traveler with cheat codes. A boxing title felt... underwhelming.
In the web novels he had read in his previous life, protagonists who traveled through time didn't stop at sports -- they became tech billionaires, crushed Gates and Buffett, and dated Oscar-winning actresses.
Compared to that, becoming a world champion boxer just didn't seem impressive enough.
Maybe, he thought with a smirk, the world had missed out on its greatest boxing legend. But John Leighton was aiming much, much higher.
He kept it hidden. In a world, where even minor anomalies attracted many eyes, it would have been suicidal to stand out.
So John waited. And planned.
...
Without realizing it, the truck rolled into the southeastern part of Los Angeles, eventually stopping in front of a run-down ten-story apartment building nestled in a poor neighborhood.
Zach, the middle-aged Black man who had come to pick John up, lived there -- and for now, so would John.
To be honest, John was unfamiliar with Los Angeles of 90s. Though he had technically lived there for fifteen years, most of his time had been spent inside the welfare home or shuttled to and from school on buses.
"John, what are your plans?" Zach asked casually.
Zach never underestimated him. From the moment they'd met, he had sensed something different in the boy. John was calm, mature, and always thinking two steps ahead -- more like a composed adult than a teenager.
Zach also knew that the fifteen-year-old standing next to him was worth tens of thousands of dollars -- far wealthier than he was.
When it came to physical abilities, Zach liked to joke that John's parents must be extraordinary. His strength and speed were already beyond ordinary. Zach often encouraged him to take up sports -- boxing, track, anything that could showcase his talents. He believed John could easily become a world champion if he tried.
"No real plans yet," John replied. "I'll settle in for now and figure things out after."
"Good plan," Zach said with a grin.
They laughed and joked as they stepped into the building and took the rattling elevator up to the twelfth floor -- the top floor of the apartment complex.
The floor had four units. Zach and John would be neighbors.
At the doors of apartments 1201 and 1202, Zach unlocked 1202 and smiled. "This one's yours," he said, nodding at 1201. "Mine's right across the hall. If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to knock."
He handed over the keys, set his own luggage down inside, and quietly disappeared into his apartment.
...
John took a moment to look around his new space. It was about 650 square feet -- modest but comfortable. One bedroom, one living room, a small kitchen, a clean bathroom, and even a narrow balcony facing the street. The place was fully furnished, stocked, and ready for him to move in.
Everything from the welfare home had already been brought over and arranged, saving him the hassle of shopping for new supplies.
After unpacking a few essentials, he dragged a chair out onto the balcony. Sitting down in the warm afternoon sun, John looked out over the unfamiliar streets of the city -- and began to think seriously about the future that lay ahead.
...
Over those ten-plus years, John had lived like any other ordinary kid -- except he had quietly practiced magic in secret. He kept a low profile, never daring to show off his abilities. If he'd gone around throwing fireballs like some overpowered character from a fantasy novel, the FBI would've likely paid him a visit by now. In the United States, underestimating the reach of the government was a mistake only fools made.
Still, John hadn't remained idle. He made his first real move the previous year, in 1994 -- during the FIFA World Cup, which was held in the U.S. for the very first time.
With $300 he had managed to save over time, he launched his first attempt to make real money.
Although he had never been a soccer fan, he had paid attention to the World Cup that summer. It was hard not to. The entire country had tuned in out of curiosity and national pride. The U.S. team had qualified and was playing on home soil for the first time in decades, and even casual sports watchers had taken notice.
John's edge, however, came from memory. In his previous life, he had been vaguely aware of the tournament and its standout moments. That knowledge had lingered just enough to give him confidence in predicting match outcomes -- especially in the knockout rounds.
Starting from the Round of 16, with odds paying out nearly ten times the bet, John had carefully placed wagers based on his memories. The quarterfinals and semifinals brought odds around six-to-one, and the finals followed a similar pattern. By the end of the tournament, his original $300 had grown into over $500,000 after taxes -- enough to comfortably secure his place in the middle class.
It was around that time that Sister Mary introduced him to Zach -- a somewhat scatterbrained but honest and good-hearted Black lawyer who, like John, had grown up in the same orphanage. Though not particularly successful, Zach was cheerful, loyal, and had always stayed connected to his roots.
As John began winning larger sums, managing the money became increasingly difficult for a teenager. Thankfully, neither Sister Mary nor Zach had a greedy bone in their bodies. Together, they helped him open a bank account, handled the necessary paperwork, and ensured the money was kept safe.
When it finally came time to leave the orphanage, it was Zach who stepped in to become John's temporary legal guardian. As a minor, John needed an adult to handle all official matters, and Zach took on that role without hesitation.
...
"John, let's go have lunch. My treat today," Zach called out.
"Okay, world, here I come!" John shouted to the balcony before following Zach out of the apartment.
*****
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