The final bell rang, bouncing off the classroom walls like a sigh of relief. Alexander shoved his books into his bag, his movements stiff, almost robotic, and stepped out into the fading light of evening. He drifted toward the park without really thinking. At the far corner, a pull‑up bar stood, its steel catching the last glow of the sun. His body moved before his mind did— he move attract toward toward pull up bar, hands gripping the cold metal, arms straining. He tried to pull himself up, but his muscles shook, and he dropped back down, defeated.
A boy about his age walked over, white hoodie, black track pants, spotless sneakers. His voice was casual, almost careless. "Hey boii, don't mind. Step aside so I can do some pull‑ups."
Alexander startled, fumbling with his bag, desperate to leave. In his rush, his book slipped out—the biography of Alexander the Great. The boy bent down, picked it up, flipping the cover with interest. "This is written beautifully. I'd love to meet him in the afterlife. But before that, I'll match my standards with his. Did you finish reading it?"
Alexander's eyes darted to the boy's physique—arms, shoulders, legs, all carved with discipline. He said nothing, snatched the book back, and bolted. The boy only shrugged, turning back to the bar.
When Alexander glanced over his shoulder, his breath caught. The boy had flowed from pull‑ups into a muscle‑up, then into a perfect front lever, body rigid and balanced like steel. The sight stunned him so badly he tripped, crashing into a gutter. Even as he fell, he clutched the book tight, saving it from the filth. He looked at the cover and, despite everything, smiled faintly.
At home, Haru spotted his ruined clothes. "Did you fall in a gutter? You're so lame," she teased, though she noticed something strange in his eyes. Their mother laughed instead of scolding. After cleaning up and bathing, Alexander sat down with his book. He read so deeply that night blurred into dawn. He hadn't touched dinner, but his mother, seeing his trance, let him be.
"Mann… is this really the end?" he whispered. Then, answering himself: "No."
He rose, tidied his messy room, folded blankets, swept the floor, cleared the clutter. With a strange fire in his chest, he opened a notebook and wrote down the things he wanted to change:
Intelligence
Physique
Face and looks
Academic improvement
Business sense and earning money
Laws and taxes
Creation of values
He scribbled methods to reach them, mixing Alexander the Great's ancient training with modern routines— strength drills, endurance, agility, martial arts. His plan was complete. He smiled, cosmic and determined. Tomorrow would be the beginning.
The next day, on his way home, he passed the park again. The boy in the white hoodie was there, moving through pull‑ups with effortless rhythm. Alexander swallowed his nerves, stepped closer, and forced a smile. "From how many days have you been exercising?"
The boy look with a strange look then replying flatly. "Three."
Alexander's eyes widened. "Ohh, three days! I've made my plan too. I'll start tomorrow. I'll catch up to you soon."
The boy's expression hardened, his voice slicing sharp. "Three years. Without missing a single day. Even in your dreams, you'll never catch me. You make a routine, brag about starting tomorrow, and act like you've won a prize. You're just a small ant in a vast desert. Don't annoy me—I'm already in a bad mood. Mark my words: tomorrow will never come. You'll remain an ant."
He slung his bag over his shoulder and walked away.
Alexander stood frozen. His fragile progress shattered. Tears welled, silent rivers streaming down his face. He hung from the pull‑up bar, dead‑hanging until his sobs ran dry. Dropping to the ground, he clenched his fists, twisted his hips, and hurled a punch against the steel frame. "Mark my words! I won't just surpass you—I'll dominate you!"
From the bushes, the boy appeared again. Alexander flinched, thinking him a ghost. "You'll dominate me? Go ahead, try. When you fail, come back here and cry on the bar again."
Ashamed, Alexander muttered, "What were you doing there?"
"I think I went too far," the boy admitted. "I came to apologize… then saw you crying from the fence."
"You don't need to apologize," Alexander said quietly. "I'm just weak."
The boy punched his chest lightly. "You were weak a minute ago. But you evolved. Don't wait for tomorrow—keep going."
Alexander felt a strange relief in those words. "Do you come here every day?"
The boy shook his head. "No. I live in Seoul, South Korea. I'm only here at my uncle's house for a family gathering. I leave today."
Alexander blinked. "South Korea? That's so far… What do your parents do? And what's your name?"
The boy's eyes narrowed. "If you want my name, surpass me. If you want to know my family, dominate me."
"Just for a name, I need to do all that?" Alexander asked incredulously.
"You're a fool," the boy smirked. "Fine. If you can touch me in a fight, I'll tell you everything. But if you fail, then chase domination. In five years, I want someone better than me. It'll be nearly impossible by then."
Alexander's pride flared. "It's not that tough." He lunged, reaching for the boy's shoulder. In an instant, the boy vanished from his grasp, reappearing behind him. Alexander swung his leg backward, but the boy balanced effortlessly on one hand atop Alexander's head, using gravity to drive a kick into his stomach.
Alexander collapsed, coughing, dizzy. Through the haze, he heard the boy's voice: "April 27. Seoul, South Korea. Five years from now. Find me, Alexander."
His eyes widened. How does he know my name? Darkness swallowed him as he fell unconscious.
An hour later, at 7 p.m., Alexander awoke. Dizzy but determined, he staggered to his feet. As he ran home, one thought echoed in his mind: Just who the hell is that boy?