The next day, it's a Tuesday morning I wake up feeling like I just chugged an entire gallon of energy drink.

  The excitement of yesterday's discovery still buzzed through me, making me jump out of bed before my alarm could even start blasting me with its PTSD-inducing blare.

  The sunlight peeks through the edges of my window, and with a thought, the curtains open themselves as the morning sunlight casts a warm glow on everything in my room through the windows and I felt like I was seeing it all for the first time.

  I never like too much sunlight in the morning, especially when I'm sleep-deprived and my eyes are all sensitive, but I think today would be a good day, so I'm feeling a little bright even though I could still feel that my head is in its usual sleep-deprived haze.

  The mirror in my bathroom reflected the same old me—bedhead, droopy eyes, and all. But now, I see things a little differently. I knew I could change it with just a thought. Maybe it was the desire to keep my experiments low-key or the fact that I didn't know if that had any consequences. Either way, bodily experimentation can wait for now.

  I tried floating the toothbrush again. This time, I didn't just stop at levitation; I controlled its movement, letting it brush my teeth for me. It felt a bit weird at first, like using my non-dominant hand to stroke the snake for the first time, but with a bit of deliberation and the great lube called 'repetition', I managed to pleasurably get used to it soon enough.

  Since Mom and Dad have an early schedule almost every day and my dear sis, Ein, no longer lives here to cook me some breakfast, nowadays, I would usually just drink a cup of coffee with an untoasted sad slice of bread straight from the plastic of loaf which I did yesterday.

  But If I'm not feeling lazy or about to be late because I got up way too late as usual, I'd toast a slice and then lather it with whatever condiment is available, which is what I'll be doing today. This time, though, I decided to do it without touching anything.

  So, after brushing my teeth and taking a shower, I stepped into the kitchen, imagining perfectly browned bread popping out of the toaster as I arrived. Not a moment later, the toaster sprang to life with that familiar sound that could make a cat jump high up in the air in surprise; two golden slices flew out and landed neatly on a plate.

  "Noice," I mouthed, grinning to myself.

  Oh, wait, it must have been my sleep-deprived brain acting funny again, but how is bread in there when I hadn't put any? Huh, well, I suppose that's another ability I can play with.

  So I could create something from nothing now huh?

  Next, I took note of the jar of peanut butter and chocolate spread on the counter. With a mere intent of thought, the lids unscrewed themselves, and then two butter knives from the drawers dipped into the jar of peanut butter and chocolate, both swirling around to gather a generous dollop.

  One knife then spread the peanut butter smoothly over one toast and the other knife as smoothly over the other. I couldn't help but feel a swell of pride as the slices floated towards each other in front of me and kissed, making me a perfect chocolate butternut sandwich that gently fell into my hand as it descended from the heavens.

  I savored each bite, of course, the nutty chocolatey taste somehow more satisfying, knowing I hadn't lifted a finger. For someone as lazy as me, this ability is indeed very, very, very convenient!

  After devouring my diabetes-inducing breakfast, I went to the old habits of routined doomscrolling on short vids before finally heading for the bus, but since I awoke earlier than usual and had hit my dose of dopamine from scrolling much earlier, I didn't have to chase after it.

  Once I arrived at school, I chucked my bag into my locker, and seeing that I was early enough to get on the first bus, still having half an hour or so before the first class, I took out my soccer ball in the locker and made a beeline for the field.

  No one was there yet, which suited me just fine. The early morning air was crisp, the grass still damp with dew, and the whole field seemed to shimmer in the morning light. But then, as if on cue, dark clouds started rolling in, and a drizzle began to fall. Great, just my rotten luck.

  Oh, wait, this might be an excellent opportunity for a most daring experiment indeed!

  Directing my eyes at the dark clouds above, rudely hurling drops of water at me, I glare at it with narrowed eyes. I imagined clear skies replacing it, visualizing the perfect sunny summer weather, and within moments—the clouds began to dissipate, the drizzle stopped.

  The sky cleared up, revealing a brilliant blue expanse. The sun gleamed down, warming the field and drying the slightly damp grass, which I somehow 'thought up' to be an instant process. Perfect weather, sunny but not scorching with a bit of breeze, noice.

  Experiment success: Weather manipulation? Check.

  I can now control the weather like the gods in myths.

  Hell yeah!

  I couldn't help but grin rather giddily at this notion. This was going to be very convenient; now, I don't have to worry about the weather ruining plans for outdoor activities. Heck, I could even do a 180 and turn the weather terrible if I don't feel like going.

  But moving on, I proceeded to start playin', but I encountered an issue. 'Skill issue', to be specific, as the ball just goes everywhere without control, and I have to chase after it every time, leaving me exhausted and frustrated. Well, it's only been a week since I started playing 'cause the P.E. coach picked it, so that's expected, but damn, am I bad at it. I've only ever played hoop and our version of 'football' until now.

  Why'd he pick soccer anyway? We have a very comfortable indoor basketball court inside with all the ACs to keep us cool. But anyway, enough complaining, not like I can do anything about it...

  Oh, wait...

  I can!

  And so, I scheduled the weather to be a little more breezy and less scorching for the rest of the day, which I strangely feel will work somehow. But that doesn't solve my skill problem.

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  Thus...

  I significantly increased my soccer talent.

  With a kick for a start, the ball seemed to have a mind of its own as I weaved through imaginary defenders with ease, masterfully kicking it in all sorts of angles and directions so precise that it spun just the way I wanted it and always spinningly coming back to me from all angles even if it looked like I violently kicked it away which makes for a nice faking trick. It all feels instinctive and natural as if my body just understands certain things about the game of kicking balls.

  Finally, with a kick so precisely controlled and with force being transferred with utmost efficiency, the ball flew toward the goal at such an awkward trajectory at first that it seemed it would completely miss as it hit the ground far right away from the goal. But it then violently spun like a tornado and flew into the very top left corner in a curve as the net caught it with the most resounding 'swish' I've ever heard from a soccer net!

  "OOOOOH YEAAH BABY~!" I celebrated, feeling the rush of success. "That's what I've been waiting for! That's what it's all about!"

  So...

  Self-modification? Most definitely, check!

  I spent the first half of my half-hour of free time practicing in this way, playing with my new god-level talent that Ronaldo or Messi could only ever dream of. I made the ball curve in seemingly impossible trajectories, controlled its speed and direction effortlessly, and even did some seemingly impossible trick shots straight out of that Shaolin kung fu movie, which I'm not athletic enough to do but did anyway.

  Each successful seemingly impossible goal boosted my confidence, making me feel invincible. Halfway through my free time, Eric, with some other acquaintances, came by, which was perfect as we played a few games. Needless to say, I 'subtly' won all of them.

  They couldn't believe it, of course; I mean, even me the day before yesterday wouldn't believe it if you told him I'd win over people who had better physical stats like Tom, Dick, and Harry.

  Well, I feel like I wasn't really conscious the entire match. It's like I was just letting my body move instinctively as if I were in the 'zone'. Or perhaps I have some sort of soccer-specific Ultra Instinct now?

  But the day before yesterday me was no longer me, or at least, I was not the same as he, who is I, was...

  Huh, that sentence is very confusing, but anyway...

  I now have superpowers.

  And not only some minor superpower, it seems. It's a superpower among superpowers! Ain't that just great? I mean, it certainly is convenient. Eric and co probably suspect me of it now, of course, but I'll just pitch it up to another one of my own genius usage of tricks if he asks.

  Actually, I was planning to stay low-key but I figured all that 'practicing' before would have gone to waste if I'm not gonna use it anyway. Besides, if I'm gonna associate myself with them further, it would be better if they start getting used to losing to me now and play our future games with them already mentally defeated! Hahaha!

  And so, after that rather 'eventful' game in the morning as precedent, the rest of the day passed in a blur of more experiments.

  In the first class, which was the damning subject of the mind-numbing tedious play of numbers that is Mathematics, there was another pop quiz that Mr. Richards so liked to give. So came an experiment where I made my pencil solve equations on its own as it effortlessly guided my hand that was holding it.

  It wrote the numbers, letters, symbols, graphs, lines, exponents, and brackets in the same messy careless way I do them, which was the subtle part, and the not subtle part was writing the utmost correct answers step by step, which I with my dumb ass could only vaguely understand the tedious need for since the answer seemed pretty obvious enough in the calculator.

  The answers that Mr. Richards promptly graded—probably to lecture us on our wrongs again—as being 101% correct. Which, I admit, was my own silly little thought of payback as another experiment.

  The 1% seems to have baffled him to the depths of his mind as he starts mumbling 'How!?' again and again, louder and louder as he keeps redoing the grading to no avail. Eventually, Mr. Richards walked out of the classroom with the final 'HOW?!' being an uncontrolled scream of madness.

  He walked out disheveled while clutching at his hair in a seeming frenzy under everyone's gaze and did not return as another teacher took over the class after announcing that Mr. Richards was feeling sick and went home to rest. Well, it seems I just drove a teacher to insanity.

  A bit of an overreaction if you ask me. The other students seemed to think so as well, as they gave me a confused, questioning look, to which I just responded with a shrug to convey my similar confusion.

  Just how strange is it for just an extra 1% to appear in a test designed to only get you 100% utmost? I don't know, nor do I care, but apparently, Mr. Richards seems to know and cares quite a lot.

  After the period was over, it was History class, which I found to be the most boring class ever with rote memorization being the key point of everything. I mean, why would anybody care whichever caveman took a giant heap of shit in some ancient era that propelled the most prestigious art of 'taking a shit' forward as we know it?

  However dull it was, it definitely did become more fun when I managed to make little animated characters and cartoon imagery appear on top of the textbook that I could only see or hear as they visually and acoustically showed to me alone what happened in that part of the book which mere informatively written text or a slide show presented by a teacher's mock enthusiasm could only covey so boringly.

  Yeah, I could definitely create stuff out of thin air now.

  So Creation? Check!

  By the time the bell rang, I felt like History class was a little more bearable and maybe even entertaining, as it felt like I was watching a cartoon show the whole time. And yeah, with the passage of time and dirt and stones piling on it, that caveman's pile of shit was definitely what we now call the Everest.

  At lunch, in the cafeteria, I bought a sandwich stuffed with ham and cheese, which I devoured within seconds, but maybe because I used a great deal of energy this morning while straining my muscles, which are yet used to my newly acquired ball-kicking talent, I felt that it was not enough.

  So showing my empty cafeteria carton lunch box to Eric on the chair in front of me in a magician-like manner, I closed it and gestured towards it like a magician, blowing on my closed fist and throwing it at the lunchbox as I very smoothly pulled out another sandwich.

  Or at least that's what he thought would happen.

  What I pulled out from my little lunch box, however, is--

  A whole roasted chicken.

  His jaw dropped like a fat man on Nagasaki, and his eyes were so wide they almost popped out of their socket as they eyed the roasted chicken served on a silver platter, which was definitely too big for the little lunch box to even fit a quarter of.

  "What the fuck!?" Eric cried in disbelief, blinking his eyes so rapidly as if thinking they were lying to him and he was refreshing them or maybe he was about to start seizing.

  "A magic trick, of course; what else could it be?" I said with a smile, but underneath, thinking that it might have been a bit too much of a trick as I easily severed a leg from the tender juicy roasted chicken and started devouring it.

  Eric starts darting his eyes around in total confusion as if to see if he was dreaming, maybe he was checking if cameras were filming him around for a prank show, or perhaps he's starting to think he just saw a glitch in the matrix.

  Poor guy, maybe I shouldn't have been so showy. But I was really hungry, so hungry that I thought I could eat a whole chicken, and so I created a whole chicken to see if that was true.

  Thus, I started devouring the chicken while Eric started inspecting my lunchbox to see if it had some hidden mechanism that allowed it to fit a whole darn chicken served on a big silver plate, which he also partook in eating after I invited.

  When he found out that it was still hot, he became even more intrigued as he asked me all the questions his mind could muster which I could only all answer cryptically along the lines of 'a magician do not reveal his secret'.

  Hehehe, now he's even more confused.

  Well, I'm just as confused as he is, to be honest. I mean...

  Just what the hell had I turned into?