The past week blurred by like a montage in his head.
Each school day was filled with eyes watching, whispering, wondering who Jalen Creed really was.
But once the bell rang, and the Rolls-Royce glided through Seoul's evening traffic, Jalen went to work.
Not on homework.
On himself.
Every. Single. Night.
The butler would have dinner prepped and ready. But Jalen often skipped the table, heading straight to the private gym.
Push-ups. Sit-ups. Pull-ups (with difficulty). Squats. Burpees. Shadowboxing.
Sweat soaked through his designer tees.
Every time he collapsed on the mat, panting, he reminded himself:
"This body isn't built for combat... but it's learning."
And it was.
He noticed it first in the mirror. A little more definition in his arms. The faint outline of abs that hadn't been there before. A straighter posture. Stronger legs.
No huge changes not yet.
But they were real.
Every punch snapped cleaner. Every dodge was tighter. His balance? Better. His speed? Slowly ticking up.
This body remembered.
Or maybe... it adapted faster than it should.
Either way, the results were addicting.
Now it was Monday.
Festival week.
Jalen stepped out of the Rolls-Royce that morning with a slight breeze in his wake and a cold drink in hand.
The school was a canvas of chaos.
Banners were going up. Stages were half-built. Students ran around in team shirts, practice outfits, and cosplay prototypes.
Laughter echoed through the yard. Music blasted from the dance team's Bluetooth speaker.
And when Jalen walked through the gates?
The whispers returned.
"He looks even better this week…"
"Was he always that toned?"
"Did his jawline get sharper?"
"I heard he's in the fashion show."
"He's going to break the school."
But Jalen barely registered it. His mind was on something else entirely:
Gun Park.
If the timeline plays out the way he remembers...
Gun will appear during the festival. Maybe not day one. But soon.
Jalen walked through the courtyard, eyes scanning everything. He wasn't worried.
He was preparing.
Even now, his fingers twitched like they missed the heavy bag. Like they were waiting for the chance to fight.
But not just any fight.
The real one.
The one coming.
Festival week had begun.
And so had the countdown.