Grey Whiteheart awoke with a start, his mind still foggy from the disorienting transition between worlds. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus, but the room around him felt strange, like it belonged to someone else. The cold, hard floor beneath him reminded him he wasn't in some cosmic void anymore—he was in a room, a small apartment that had clearly seen better days.
The faint hum of traffic from the street below and the distant chatter of people outside pulled him into the present. This wasn't the familiar world he knew. This was… a new world.
Grey's gaze swept the room, noting the sparse furniture, old boxes piled in the corner. Dust hung heavy in the air, while peeling wallpaper hinted at years of neglect. It seemed like this had once been a home, but now it was little more than a forgotten space—abandoned after its previous owners had passed on. He moved slowly, his bare feet touching the cold floor with a slight shiver. He tugged at his sleeves, feeling the unfamiliar strength of youthful muscles beneath his skin.
Grey stood, his head spinning for a moment. He was no longer the man he once was. His body had regressed—he was a teenager now, somewhere between the ages of 13 and 16. The knowledge of his new form settled quickly as he surveyed his surroundings, and the reality of his situation weighed on him. He was alone. Completely alone.
But his mind was already shifting gears into survival mode. If he had learned anything in his previous life, it was that nothing came without effort. The only things that mattered were power, influence, and, above all, money. The world ran on wealth, and if he wanted to make it here, he'd need more than just intellect—he'd need to secure his future.
Grey stepped over a pile of old newspapers and moved to the window. The city outside was alive with activity. Cars honked, people hurried along the sidewalk, the hum of life buzzing beneath him. The skyline loomed, familiar yet different, and something inside him stirred. He knew this city—New York. One of the world's greatest financial centers. A city where fortunes were made and broken every day.
He wasn't here just to survive. No. Grey had plans. Big plans. His path was clear. First, he'd need to get rich. But wealth was just the beginning. He wanted control. Power. And it would all start here, in this city, with his supreme intelligence as his advantage.
But his immediate priority was safety. The apartment was too exposed. He would need somewhere no one would think to look for a kid like him.
He sat on the bed and picked up a pen and notebook left on the nightstand, scribbling down thoughts and strategies. He needed information. Knowledge. These would be his greatest assets. He could manipulate financial systems here just like he had in his previous life, using his intellect as his ultimate tool.
Grey's hands shook slightly as he wrote, the enormity of his situation pressing down on him. But he steadied himself. He was no longer a helpless teenager—he was Grey Whiteheart, and he had the mind to change everything.
Money was the first step. But control—control would follow.