Greatest Idol C2 Nephilim

I stared at my diary in frustration, racking my brain for the names of future successful companies, breakthrough products, anything I could invest in—but the knowledge had vanished like smoke through my fingers.

Nothing. Despite my mature mind, these crucial details seemed to have been stripped away.

Damn it, where are those billion-dollar companies I should remember?

It felt as if those specific memories had been surgically removed, locked away in some inaccessible vault.

Wait... Could it be? A second chance at life, yes, but with rules—no cheating my way to success with future knowledge?

The thought struck me like lightning, and it made a cruel kind of sense. Still, the loss stung.

If I couldn't leverage my future knowledge, what was the point of returning?

But as soon as that ungrateful thought surfaced, I pushed it away. I should be thankful for this chance alone. Knowing about the cancer that awaits means I can prepare, fight it differently this time.

With a sigh, I accepted that I'd have to succeed the honest way—through exercise, entrepreneurship, and hard work.

Though grateful to be alive at all, even as a broke teenager, I couldn't help wanting to experience life from the other side of the tracks this time around.

The clock caught my eye—time for my fast-food shift. I rushed through a shower, attempted to tame my hair, threw on some casual clothes, and hurried to work.

The moment I pushed through the door, my coworkers' eyes locked onto my fresh bruises, though none seemed surprised.

"Oh, kid. Got roughed up again, huh? Way of the world." Kyle Turner flashed his characteristic easy smile, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. Always the charmer, always ready with a glib comment.

"No one's got time for pity parties here, kid. Get to work." Mallory Gray's sharp features twisted into their usual sneer. Classic Mallory—acting superior while being nothing more than another cog in the same machine.

I remembered how she used to dump her tasks on me, treating me like her personal assistant. Not this time around—this older mind wasn't about to let her push me around anymore.

I fell into the familiar rhythm of work, awash in nostalgia. There was Kyle, using me as his personal comedy prop to show off. And Alan Pierce—the resident ghost who treated friendship like a communicable disease.

At 25, Alan was the veteran, though you wouldn't know it from looking at him. His perpetually unkempt hair and hollow eyes told the story of someone who'd seen too much of life's underbelly and decided he wanted no part of it. His cynicism hung around him like a shield, keeping everyone at arm's length.

Then there was Veronica Ruiz—the antithesis of Kyle and Mallory's chaos. She moved through her shifts with mechanical precision, each task executed flawlessly. But her competence came wrapped in an impenetrable layer of ice; she barely acknowledged my existence.

And presiding over this circus was our boss, Samantha Clark. Early thirties, clawed her way up from server to manager—and never let anyone forget it.

She ran the place like a military operation, wielding efficiency metrics like weapons. Her cold eyes seemed to take special pleasure in finding my flaws, treating me like a replaceable cog in her well-oiled machine. Unfortunately, she wasn't wrong about that last part.

That's exactly why I threw myself into the work with renewed purpose. Mallory's frustration at losing her personal assistant was palpable, but I couldn't bring myself to care.

Samantha prowled the floor, her sharp gaze catching everything. When she passed by my station, I could feel her searching for something to criticize. Finding nothing, she moved on with a barely perceptible frown.

---

As my shift ended and I headed for the door, Mallory materialized with Kyle in tow.

"What's gotten into you, kid? You're acting strange..." Mallory's voice dripped with fake concern.

I had to suppress a laugh. Even now, she couldn't drop the patronizing act. "Nothing's wrong with me."

"Come on, man!" Kyle jumped in, his voice carrying that familiar mocking edge. "Something's definitely up!"

I knew exactly what bothered them—their puppet had suddenly developed boundaries.

"You can tell us, kid. We're here for you." Mallory's attempt at kindness couldn't mask the calculation in her eyes.

I met their concerned faces with practiced politeness, while inwardly sneering at their transparent act. "I'm fine, really."

After enduring their performance for a few more minutes, I made my escape. Twenty years of added perspective made their little power plays seem almost comically obvious.

***

The next day flowed like clockwork—acing the exam with my mature mind, enduring the usual beating, returning home to exercise, then off to work. This routine repeated until finally, at the end of March 2019, junior high drew to a close.

But even on our last day, Liam and Ryan couldn't resist one final show.

They dragged me to the school courtyard, turning me into target practice with basketballs while our classmates recorded everything on their phones. A digital farewell gift, I supposed.

Through the crowd, I spotted Emily watching from a distance, her green eyes cold with indifference. Beside her stood Sophia, barely containing her laughter.

I could read their lips as they exchanged glances of disdain. "Look at that fool," Emily said, shaking her head. "Even on our last day, he's still their favorite target."

Sophia smirked. "And to think he believed he had a chance with you, the queen of our school? Pure delusion."

"An ugly duckling like him?" Emily's laugh cut through the air. "He never stood a chance."

I told myself their words meant nothing now, with my adult mind, but they still stung more than I wanted to admit.

After the bullies finally tired of their game, I made my way out of the school. Students parted around me like water, their whispers following in my wake. Emily and Sophia stood among them, deliberately turning away as I passed.

"Why does he even bother coming to school?"

"I would've quit ages ago if I were him."

"Got to admire his persistence though," someone snickered.

Their laughter echoed behind me as I walked away, my shoulders straight despite the weight of their mockery. Twenty years of life experience hadn't made their cruelty any easier to bear—it just taught me better ways to hide the pain.

I limped back to my apartment, only to find an unexpected visitor—my mother, Clara, waiting at the door.

Her eyes widened in horror at my appearance. "Jacob, my son! What happened to you?"

She rushed forward, fingers hovering over my bruises. But I barely registered the pain, too shocked by her presence. "You didn't tell me you were coming..." Though even as I spoke, the memory of this day surfaced from twenty years ago.

She pulled me into a tight embrace. "I wanted to surprise you..." Her voice cracked with emotion. "I'm so sorry I can't be here more often... Please forgive me."

I chuckled softly. "Mom, I understand. You work in another city to support us."

Clara's eyes welled up at my response. "Oh, Jacob..."

***

We spent precious time catching up, my injuries forgotten as she cooked my favorite dishes. I savored every bite, knowing moments like these were rare.

Too soon, she reluctantly explained she needed to return to the city. Three hours—that's all we had. But I understood, holding her tight before she left, waving until she disappeared from view.

Back in my empty apartment, I sighed heavily.

I promise, Mom... I'll give us a better life.

A sudden thud broke through my thoughts. My eyes snapped to my desk, widening at the sight before me.

Perched there was a creature no bigger than my hand, with leathery wings folded against its back and tiny curved horns sprouting from its temples. Its skin gleamed like polished copper in the dim light, and its eyes held an ancient intelligence that sent shivers down my spine.

"Wh-what are you?" Even with my decades of experience, I'd never encountered anything like this. "A demon?"

The creature's mouth curved into an amused smile. "Fear not, human. Though my appearance might suggest otherwise, I am no demon."

"Then what exactly are you?" I asked, leaning closer for a better look.

"I am the Great Nephilim, Lux the Great!" it announced with a flourish.

"Nephilim?"

Lux nodded sagely. "A Fame Nephilim, to be precise." Its tiny chest puffed up with pride. "And I am the being who will transform your life!"