Chapter 3. Curator Assigned

I reread the SMS carefully. Once, twice, three times… The letters on the smartphone screen did not change, but the meaning inside me refused to line up into a neat logical chain. Way too convenient. I had just put a bold full stop on my career by quitting my job, and in that exact same moment the government politely informed me, “A curator Daniel Kim has been assigned to you.”

A worm of paranoia stirred in my head. Was this total real-time surveillance? Or just a striking, almost mystical coincidence?

If I were a fifteen-year-old comic book kid, I would probably already be climbing the barricades. A burst of righteous anger, calls to opposition media, grand speeches about human rights violations, and a secret headquarters in a basement where my team of equally spiky teenagers and I prepare a revolution against the State. But I am thirty-two. At this age you already understand too well that the state machine, honed over decades, is always three steps ahead. Fighting it head-on is like trying to stop a glacier with a toothpick. So I just let out a heavy sigh, slipped the phone into my pocket, and shrugged. Fine. I will wait for this curator. I will look him in the eyes, and the questions will come on their own.

Before returning to the four-walled comfort of my apartment, I needed to stop by the store. But first, a ritual. I took out my phone and dialed a familiar number.

“Hello, Mom? Yeah, it is me. Listen, I am heading into the store now. Text me a list if you need anything, okay? I will be home in about thirty minutes.”

“So early?” undisguised surprise slipped into her voice. “You usually only get back around midnight.”

“I know,” I said, trying to keep my tone as casual as possible. “I just wrapped everything up faster than I thought today. Management got generous and let me leave early. By the way, do not plan dinner. I want to pick up some seafood.”

Our neighborhood store was one of those tiny places that smell like fresh bread and, just a little, household chemicals. There were no bright signs with weekly deals, but you did not have to burn gas and crawl through endless evening traffic on the way to a hypermarket. For a second, I felt genuinely wistful. I had built my routine, settled in, gotten used to the steady rhythm… And now all of it was going to hell. Instead of quiet evenings, there would be some vague running around and the prospect of saving the world.

I wandered between the narrow shelves, picking up a simple set: a pack of pasta, a couple of firm tomatoes, a can of corn, and a hefty bag of frozen shrimp. If the System insisted on seafood, I decided not to argue. After all, shrimp are delicious, unlike some bony fish.

“Mom, I am home!” I called from the doorway, setting the bag on the floor. “I grabbed a whole pile of food, we are going to feast.”

While the water was coming to a boil, I could not resist. Curiosity burned inside me stronger than any superhero flame. I needed to understand who I would be dealing with. I turned on the computer and, out of habit, went to Awakened, the very same legendary forum, a haven for everyone obsessed with the awakened and the rifts.

God, the nostalgia hit harder than the smell of shrimp. The same toxic green font on a black background that makes your eyes hurt after five minutes. The same clunky section system and endless holy wars in the comments. I had spent my entire childhood here, arguing with other anonymous users about whose idol was stronger and which conspiracy theory was more believable. Of course, you would not find the whole truth here, those secrets are locked away in the Pentagon. But junior soldiers always lingered here, leaking bits of information, along with true fanatic nerds who could piece together what the government tried to hide from indirect clues.

I typed into the search bar: “Daniel Kim.”

Whoa. So many results poured in that they could fill a small encyclopedia. Daniel had his own separate, constantly updated thread. An American of Korean descent, an awakened from San Francisco. His element was fire in all its forms. But that was not the main thing. Unlike most “superhumans” who quietly disappeared into portals, Daniel was a true media star. A local superhero.

There were no stories on the forum about catching robbers, the government strictly controlled every move of the gifted. Heroes did not rescue kittens from trees. They worked where ordinary technology was powerless. Kim, for example, was the perfect forest fire “eliminator.” I scrolled through the photos: in each one he flashed a dazzling smile at the camera, chin slightly lifted with a hint of arrogance. Handsome, confident… and only twenty-two years old.

Ten years younger than me.

A memory from college surfaced immediately, our one forty-year-old student in the group. It had been awkward for everyone, for him, for the young professors, and for us. I imagined this “star boy” trying to teach me about life and grimaced. Just five minutes ago I had been dreaming of a mentor with superpowers, but now… now I sincerely hoped my curator would turn out to be just a complete namesake. An older, boring guy who knew nothing about flames but knew everything about bureaucracy.

At dinner it was time for the heavy artillery. The conversation was as inevitable as a hangover after a celebration.

“Mom… I am awakened,” I exhaled the words along with the steam from the pasta and handed her the phone with a copy of the draft notice.

I methodically chewed a shrimp, trying not to look her in the eyes, and carefully watched as she slowly read the text.

“I do not understand anything,” she took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “It says here… that you have superpowers now?”

“That is true, Mom.”

“Show me.”

I hesitated. “It is… not that simple. I cannot shoot lightning from my fingers or fly up to the ceiling. I cannot visualize them.”

“Then what exactly is your power?” she narrowed her eyes skeptically.

“In short… my muscles grow much faster from training than those of ordinary people. My body runs at a different pace.”

Silence hung in the room.

“Huh…” Mom shook her head in disappointment. “Is that even a superpower?”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

At that moment I physically felt something snap inside me. As if I were falling in a long drop without a parachute. If even Mom, a person who sincerely believes I am the crown of creation, considers my abilities a joke, then what will professionals say? I could already see the mocking looks of my future colleagues.

“And they, over there in their Pentagon, seriously think you will defend the country?” she threw her hands up indignantly. “Do they not have enough soldiers with rifles? You never even knew how to fight, you were always sitting at the computer!”

“Thanks for the honest evaluation of my talents,” I let out a bitter sigh.

“Find me their number. The Pentagon or whoever wrote to you. I will call them myself and explain just how wrong they are!”

For a moment, that idea felt almost like salvation. I imagined Mom scolding generals, and it almost made me feel warm. Because really, what kind of fighter am I? What is the point of my muscles if even a battalion of trained soldiers dies against an unknown enemy in a portal?

But the fantasy faded as quickly as steam above the plate. As much as I wanted to believe in Mom’s omnipotence, the harsh reality was simple: a group of generals would always outweigh one angry housewife.

“There is no need to call anyone, Mom. It is pointless. Besides, my curator is coming tomorrow.”

I mentally put everything on the line. If the government had assigned me this Daniel, then he had to be a professional. Let him take the hit. Let him explain to Mom what will happen to me and why they even need me. I would just sit aside and listen.

“Tom, maybe you should talk to Megan? She is one of them too, one of the awakened.”