As an ordinary genius

The morning air was crisp and quiet, the kind of stillness that felt unusual for Starling City. At the front steps of the Eastside Children's Home, a faint cry pierced the calm.

It was the sound of a baby.

Mrs. Delaney, the head of the orphanage, was the first to hear it. She adjusted her shawl as she opened the heavy wooden door, frowning at the sight before her. There, wrapped in a threadbare blanket and nestled in a makeshift basket, was an infant no older than a few weeks.

The baby blinked up at her with wide, curious eyes, his tiny fists grasping at the air.

"Dear God," she whispered, bending down to pick him up.

A note was tucked into the folds of the blanket. It was hastily written on a torn piece of paper:

"His name is Ethan. Please take care of him."

Mrs. Delaney sighed, cradling the baby in her arms. "Well, little one, looks like you've had quite the rough start."

She carried him inside, where the other staff gathered around.

"Another one?" one of the caretakers asked, shaking her head.

"Left on the doorstep," Mrs. Delaney replied. "No clue where he came from. But we'll give him a home, won't we?"

The staff nodded, and just like that, Ethan became a part of the Eastside Children's Home.

The orphanage wasn't much to look at—a drafty old building with creaky floors and chipped paint. But for Ethan, it was the only home he'd ever known.

From the very beginning, Ethan was quiet and observant, a child who seemed to watch the world more than participate in it. He didn't cry much, which the caretakers appreciated, but it was his curious nature that stood out the most. By the time he was two, he was taking apart toys to see how they worked.

"Ethan, sweetie, you're supposed to play with the train, not dismantle it!" one of the caretakers laughed, watching as Ethan held up a tiny wheel, examining it like a scientist.

"I wanna see how it moves," Ethan replied with a toothy grin.

By the time he was five, Ethan had developed a knack for fixing things. Whether it was a broken clock in the common room or a jammed cupboard door, Ethan always found a way to make it work again.

"Mrs. Delaney, I fixed it!" he said proudly one day, holding up an old radio that had been collecting dust.

"Did you now?" she replied, ruffling his hair. "You're a clever one, Ethan. Maybe you'll grow up to be an inventor."

Life in the orphanage wasn't easy. Resources were stretched thin, and the children had to share everything—from clothes to school supplies. Ethan quickly learned how to make do with what little he had.

"You've got to be resourceful here," said Tom, one of the older boys, as he showed Ethan how to patch a hole in his shirt with scraps of fabric. "Nobody's gonna do it for you."

Ethan nodded, soaking up every bit of advice like a sponge.

Despite the hardships, there were moments of joy. Ethan loved climbing the old oak tree in the yard, its branches stretching high above the building. He would often sit there for hours, lost in thought, watching the city skyline in the distance.

"What're you thinking about up there, Ethan?" asked Clara, one of the girls from the orphanage.

"Dunno," Ethan replied, swinging his legs. "Just… wondering what it's like out there. Past the city."

Ethan's natural curiosity and intelligence made him stand out, even among the other children. He would often sneak into the library after bedtime, poring over books about science and engineering.

"You're going to get caught," Clara whispered one night, peeking around the corner.

"Not if you keep watch," Ethan whispered back with a grin, flipping through a book about machines.

But life wasn't all curiosity and exploration. There were plenty of challenges too. Ethan was small for his age, and some of the older boys liked to pick on him.

"Hey, brainiac," one of them sneered, shoving Ethan against the wall one day. "Why don't you invent a way to grow some muscles?"

Ethan didn't fight back. He just stared at the boy with those same calm, observant eyes.

"Maybe I will," he said quietly.

The bullying didn't stop, but Ethan learned how to avoid trouble. He spent most of his time alone, tinkering with scraps of metal and dreaming of the future.

On Ethan's seventh birthday, Mrs. Delaney gave him a gift: a small toolbox filled with basic tools.

"Happy birthday, Ethan," she said with a warm smile.

Ethan's eyes lit up as he opened the box, his hands trembling with excitement.

"This is… this is amazing!" he exclaimed.

"I figured you could use some proper tools for all your little projects," Mrs. Delaney said. "You've got a gift, Ethan. Don't waste it."

From that day on, Ethan spent every free moment building and fixing things. He turned an old shoebox into a functioning battery-powered lamp, repaired broken furniture around the orphanage, and even rigged up a crude alarm system for the pantry.

"You're a little genius, you know that?" Clara said one evening, watching as Ethan soldered wires together.

"Not a genius," Ethan replied, his tongue sticking out slightly as he concentrated. "Just… curious."

By the time Ethan was ready for junior school, he was known as the "fix-it kid" of the orphanage. But while he had a knack for making things work, there was still a sense of longing in him—a feeling that he was meant for something more, even if he didn't know what it was.