The Tor Browser finished installing. Leon sat motionless in front of the monitor, the glow of the screen reflecting in his wide, expectant eyes as his heart beat faster. This was it—the hidden library. If ordinary people believed superpowers were impossible, then perhaps the people who possessed them simply hid the truth. History was written by those in power, so why would anyone willingly share something capable of changing the world?
He clicked. One onion address led to another as the browser crawled through encrypted relays before finally opening a crude-looking webpage. His eyes widened, but not with awe. He found weapons, counterfeit documents, drugs, illegal marketplaces, and forums discussing crimes that sounded like they belonged in movies.
Leon blinked. "...Huh."
He kept digging, certain this wasn't all. There had to be hidden communities discussing supernatural phenomena, and hours passed as he searched every keyword his young mind could imagine: *superpowers, psychic abilities, Qi, magic, cultivation, alchemy, immortality, reality manipulation, ancient techniques, and government experiments.* Every search led somewhere, and every destination disappointed him. There were only conspiracy theories, roleplaying forums, scammers claiming to sell psychic awakenings, and people insisting they had become gods after eating mushrooms. Nothing survived basic scrutiny.
By sunrise, Leon leaned back in his chair. "...So the Deep Web isn't a secret library." It was simply another internet—a messier, more hidden, and far more dangerous one, but fundamentally it was still just people, opinions, and nonsense. "...That was disappointing."
He closed the browser, feeling a little emptier rather than angry. For nearly a year he had imagined this moment, believing that somewhere beyond the visible internet, someone had already found the answer. Instead, there was nothing.
...
The following weeks became strangely productive. Without the Deep Web to chase, Leon redirected every spare moment into understanding computers themselves. Programming fascinated him because, unlike most subjects, computers rewarded precision. They didn't care about popularity, they didn't laugh, and they didn't dismiss impossible ideas. If the code was correct, it worked; if it was wrong, it failed. It was simple, logical, and fair.
He learned variables, loops, functions, algorithms, databases, networking, operating systems, memory management, and eventually cybersecurity. If hidden information existed anywhere, then understanding how it moved became another necessary tool. The deeper he went, the more one realization became obvious: computers weren't stupid; they simply followed instructions. Almost every successful attack relied on fooling a human rather than defeating the machine. That observation quietly lodged itself inside his growing worldview. People were usually the weakest link.
...
Near the end of summer vacation, Leon closed another programming tutorial. His notebook had grown surprisingly organized. Unlike his school notebooks, this one contained no homework, holding only observations, questions, failed hypotheses, and possible future experiments.
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He tapped his pencil against the page. *If superpowers weren't hidden on the internet, where else could they be?* He began making categories: religion, history, science, military, medicine, ancient civilizations, martial arts, mythology, occult practices, meditation, and psychology. Every possible path became another branch in an ever-growing research tree. Instead of looking for answers, he started looking for where answers *could* exist. It was a subtle difference, but an important one; finding a destination without first mapping the roads leading there was impossible. If one path failed, there would always be another.
...
His reading speed continued increasing as the techniques he'd learned months earlier paid off enormously. Most children his age still struggled through simple storybooks, but Leon devoured entire textbooks. He wasn't reading every word anymore, as his eyes moved in smooth jumps—grouping phrases, recognizing structures, and predicting sentences before they ended. It wasn't magic, just lots and lots of practice. The more efficiently he consumed information, the more time he could spend connecting seemingly unrelated ideas. Knowledge alone wasn't valuable; the relationships between knowledge were.
...
One evening his father looked into his room. "What are you reading now?"
Leon looked up. "Computer architecture."
His father blinked. "...You're seven."
Leon nodded. "I know."
"...Do you understand it?"
"Not all of it."
His father smiled. "Good answer." He closed the door without another word. Leon appreciated that; adults usually tried simplifying things, but his father simply let him continue.
...
As Grade Two approached, Leon reviewed the past year. He had found no superpowers, no hidden organizations, no secret manuals, and no breakthroughs. Objectively, he had failed. Yet strangely, he didn't feel like he had accomplished nothing. He now read several times faster, understood computers better than many adults, and had learned basic programming, networking, security, and research methodology. Most importantly, he had learned how often the obvious answer was wrong. The journey hadn't brought him closer to superpowers, but it had made him far more capable of searching. Maybe that was progress.
...
The first day of Grade Two arrived. Leon adjusted his backpack before entering the classroom. Around him, children chatted loudly about cartoons, games, and summer vacations. He smiled politely, joined a few conversations, laughed where appropriate, and then quietly returned to his seat.
No one noticed the difference, and that was exactly how he wanted it. His dream had become private, not because he was ashamed of it, but because protecting belief had become part of achieving it. Some dreams grew stronger when shared; his needed silence.
He had learned something else over the past year. Most people searched for confirmation, but Leon searched for contradictions. If an idea survived every attempt to disprove it, then perhaps it deserved another day of belief. Blind faith wasn't enough, but neither was blind skepticism; both could stop someone from finding the truth.
...
Leon slowly opened his eyes. The forest canopy swayed gently overhead as the hunting party marched toward their next destination. "...So that's where it started."
He had been walking alone—not physically, but mentally. The moment he stopped needing validation, his path had truly become his own.
Ahead of him, Ethan stretched lazily before yawning. "You zoning out again?"
Leon smiled. "For a bit."
"You thinking about cultivation?"
"A little."
"Liar."
"...Mostly."
Ethan laughed. "I knew it."
Leon laughed too. Some roads had to be walked alone, and that much hadn't changed. But every now and then, having someone willing to walk beside you for part of the journey made the road a little less quiet.