(MY OVERPOWERED FANTASY ISN’T GOING AS PLANNED) CHAPTER ONE

Takashi had always prided himself on one quality above all others, and that was his refusal to lie to himself.

He knew he was arrogant, cruel when it suited him and dismissive when it did not, and he treated most people as obstacles to be navigated or inconveniences to be ignored. There had never been any reason to pretend otherwise. For as long as he could remember, the world had rewarded certainty, and he had been the most certain thing in it.

The name Deo had never been chosen purely out of vanity or youthful affectation. When a being possesses absolute authority over existence itself, calling oneself a god was less a boast and more an acknowledgment of reality as he understood it.

God did not need to justify himself.

Yet that certainty had abandoned him since that morning. 

As he moved through the house, he found himself hoping—also something he never did—that no one would notice. He hoped his power would return before anyone noticed its absence, before it mattered. He hoped he could pass through the day unnoticed, lie low, and let whatever had caused the error correct itself, just as everything else always had. Surely this was temporary, so all he needed was time. 

It was a small hope, but hope all the same, and he despised himself for relying on it.

Hope was for people who lacked control over their lives, for those who prayed upward and waited. It was not for someone like him. 

The shower had been an exercise in indignity. He stood beneath the spray like any ordinary man, adjusting the faucet by hand, misjudging the temperature and flinching when the water ran hotter than he preferred. He hated thinking about how things were, but normally, the water would have automatically been comfortable before the first drop even touched his skin, if he even decided to use it. 

He wondered how people tolerated such constant minor discomforts without losing their composure. The entire process felt inefficient and slightly crude, an unnecessary expenditure of effort for something ultimately pointless.

Dressing was no better. More than once he felt the reflexive impulse to make it better with a passing thought, and each time he reached for his power, nothing happened. He forced himself not to react. Panic had never suited him, even when he was younger and as prone to dramatics as some of his family members.

By the time he stepped out of the bathroom, the light coming through the windows had shifted noticeably. Afternoon already. He had lost more time than he intended, which meant he had been standing there longer than he cared to admit.

Then he heard it.

The sound drifted up from the lower floor and into his bedroom door. It was crying, but not the restrained sort that could be ignored. It was raw and unrestrained, the kind that tore at the throat. Takashi found himself leaving the room and stopping at the top of the stairs, one hand resting against the banister as his body stilled.

For a brief and deeply irrational moment, he considered retreating to his room. Whatever crisis had emerged, it could wait until his power returned. There was no reason to involve himself before he was fully equipped to resolve it. The idea was absurd, cowardly even, but it was honest and tempting in its simplicity.

Then he heard his father’s voice crack.

The sound dispelled the hesitation more effectively than any argument could have.

Takashi descended the stairs slowly, as though moving too quickly might confirm something he was not yet prepared to confront. The living room came into view. His mother sat on the couch with a rigid posture, her hands clasped together so tightly that the knuckles had drained of color. His father, on the other hand, stood near the window, one hand covering his mouth, shoulders trembling despite his visible effort to remain composed.

They both turned at the sound of his footsteps.

Relief transformed their expressions with startling immediacy, their spines straightening and breath steadying. It was instinctive and devastating, a reflex born of years of watching him solve the unsolvable. 

That belief struck him harder than the crying had.

“Takashi,” his mother whispered, her voice hitching as she exhaled. “Thank God.”

The irony did not escape him.

He suppressed the annoyance their expressions stirred in him and turned his attention to the matter at hand, though he could not entirely determine whether the irritation was directed at himself or at them.

“What happened?” he asked, doing his best to keep his tone level.

Neither of them answered right away. His father lowered his hand slowly, swallowing as though the words themselves were difficult to form.

“It’s Marie,” he said at last, and his voice broke despite himself. “She’s been kidnapped.”

The room seemed to constrict around him.

Takashi processed the words clinically, the way he always did in a crisis. His sister had been taken, and the motive was obvious. Over the years, he had accumulated enemies the way most accumulated trinkets from vacations. They had nursed grudges against him, unable to confront him directly due to his power. It was not unusual that one of them had decided to strike indirectly, targeting one of the few points of vulnerability he had.

Under normal circumstances, it would have been almost laughable. An inconvenience that would have taken literal seconds to correct. He would have located her before the kidnappers finished congratulating themselves, and perhaps, if in a generous mood, allowed them to remember their mistake for a few moments before erasing them from life entirely.

Instead, his heart began to race.

His parents were watching him with naked expectation. They did not question whether he could fix this. They believed he could, so they were simply waiting for him to be who he had always been.

They were waiting for reassurance.

He gave it to them.

A thin smile curved across his lips, followed by a casual lift of his chin that suggested this development was beneath serious concern.

“It’s fine,” he said calmly. “I’ll handle it.”

His mother sagged back against the couch as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. His father exhaled shakily, some measure of composure returning now that the problem had been placed, as always, in Takashi’s hands.

He turned away before they could see his hands tremble.

Fuck his life.

This is the first chapter of my book, My Overpowered Fantasy Isn’t Going As Planned. You can read it for free by donating any amount to my GoFundMe. It really means a lot and helps support my dream of learning how to animate. But if that’s not your thing, you can also find it available for purchase in my Patreon shop here.

By the way, if you missed my comment on AFK Worm’s latest update: my mom has stopped bleeding, which I’m really relieved about. She still has a few more tests to go, but this feels like a step in the right direction. Thanks for your well-wishes.