I took the stairs two at a time, my mind racing faster than my feet. Mom stood in the kitchen, hospital scrubs already on, her night shift fatigue visible in the shadows under her eyes. In 2035, she'd finally retired, spending her days managing our charitable foundation. But here, now, she was still carrying the weight of raising a teenage son alone.
"There's eggs on the stove," she said, checking her watch. "And Marcus, Principal Williams called yesterday. Said you've been sleeping in class again."
In my other timeline, I'd dropped out senior year to focus on music. It had worked out – more than worked out – but I'd always seen the worry it caused her, the sleepless nights before success proved me right.
"I'm good, Ma," I said, loading a plate with eggs. "Actually been thinking about some new ideas for the future."
She gave me that look – the one that said she loved my dreams but feared they'd leave me broke. "Ideas don't pay bills, baby. Education does."
If she only knew. The neural production software I'd patent in 2015 would revolutionize how music was made. The streaming platform I'd build would transform how it was distributed. The education initiative I'd launch would ensure kids like me had paths to both dreams and degrees.
But in 2002, I was just another kid with a bedroom studio and a mother who deserved better than sleepless nights.
"Trust me, Ma," I said, hugging her. "Everything's going to be different now."
She patted my cheek, her smile tired but genuine. "Go on, you'll be late. And Marcus?" She paused, her expression serious. "Rico called. Said there's a battle tonight at the warehouse. I know you're going, just... be careful."
Rico. My future VP of Global Operations was still just a local promoter, running beat battles in abandoned warehouses. Tonight's battle would be where it all started – my first beat sale, my first industry connection, my first step toward an empire.
"Always am," I promised, heading for the door. The weight of my backpack felt strange compared to the briefcase I'd carried for decades, but my mind was already racing with calculations. I had eight hours of classes to sit through, pretending to learn things I'd known for thirty years, before tonight's battle.
But more importantly, I had to figure out how to build a music empire without revealing that I knew exactly how the next three decades would unfold. One wrong move – one song released too early, one technology unveiled before its time – could alter the entire timeline.
As I stepped out into the Bronx morning, the familiar sounds of the neighborhood hit differently. Car alarms and distant sirens mixed with the boom of stereos pumping out tracks that, to me, were classic hits but here were fresh releases. Somewhere in Brooklyn, Jay-Z was probably putting the finishing touches on "The Blueprint 2." In Houston, Beyoncé was likely rehearsing with Destiny's Child, months away from the solo meetings that would change everything.
And here I was, a teenager again, carrying the future of music in my head and a healthy fear of butterfly effects in my heart. Time to write history. Again.