Jason woke up with a pounding headache and a mouth so dry it felt like he'd swallowed sandpaper. The room was small and unfamiliar—too quiet except for some distant traffic noise humming through the windows. He blinked a few times, trying to clear the thick fog clouding his brain. Something was seriously off.
He should be dead.
Last thing he remembered? Screeching tires, headlights barreling toward him like a freight train, then pure white. No pain, no blackness—just… nothing.
And yet, here he was. Somehow, still breathing.
He cracked open his eyes again, and everything suddenly sharpened like someone had slapped a high-def filter over reality. The cracks in the peeling paint looked like deep canyons. Dust floated lazily in one sunbeam, each speck lit up like a damn spotlight. Too much detail. Way too much.
Dragging himself out of bed, he shuffled down the hallway, still trying to figure out where the hell he was. Then something caught his eye—a framed photo hanging crooked on the wall. It wasn't just any photo. It was him, standing next to a guy in a red-and-blue suit straight out of the comics he used to binge-watch. The cape was a dead giveaway.
Superman.
He blinked, then blinked again. How did he have a picture with Superman? And why did it look so real, like some souvenir from a parallel universe?
His heart kicked into overdrive. This wasn't just some random place—this was a world tied to all those superhero stories he'd half-believed as a kid. Real or not, it was close enough to freak him out.
He pushed open the bathroom door and faced the cracked mirror. The face staring back was unmistakably his—same sharp jawline, unruly dark hair falling over his forehead, same tan skin tone. But his eyes were different. Pale blue, glowing softly, with multiple faint rings swirling beneath the surface. It wasn't just a change in color—it was like his vision itself had shifted.
Jason blinked, studying the strange patterns. The Six Eyes. The name came to him without effort, memories flickering—Gojo Satoru, the strongest sourcer of the modern era whose eyes gave him the precision to control the Limitless technique to its fullest potential —the power to bend and manipulate space itself.
If he really had these eyes, then the Limitless technique had to be inside him too. His pulse quickened with a mix of excitement and nerves. He lifted his hand slowly, curling his fingers as he focused on the space in front of him.
The air wavered, shimmering like heat rising off pavement. But the effect was weak, flickering out before he could hold it.
Jason let out a dry breath. "Not exactly Gojo-level yet."
He stared back at his reflection—the glowing eyes already hinting at power he barely understood. He wasn't Gojo. Not yet. But if he wanted to survive in this world of real heroes, he'd have to learn—fast.