The sun had barely crested the horizon when Lysander woke, golden light filtering through his bedroom curtains. Unlike his first childhood, where mornings had meant reluctant trudging and his mother's increasingly desperate attempts to rouse him, he now found himself alert well before his alarm sounded. The gift of perspective made even mundane moments like early mornings feel precious—opportunities rather than obligations.
He dressed quickly and made his way downstairs, drawn by the scent of coffee and toast. To his surprise, his father was still at the breakfast table, reading through documents with a steaming mug at his elbow. Typically, Robert Everett would have left for the office by now, the demands of his position requiring early starts and late returns.
"Morning, Lysander," his father greeted him, glancing up from his papers. "Sleep well?"
"Yes, sir," Lysander replied, pouring himself a glass of orange juice. "You're home late today."
Robert checked his watch. "Conference call with Tokyo got rescheduled. I've got about twenty minutes before I need to head out." He took a sip of coffee, then added casually, "I was thinking that if you're still interested in seeing what happens at the office, why don't you come with me next week? Maybe Tuesday afternoon?"
The suggestion caught Lysander off guard despite his earlier request. In his first life, he couldn't recall his father ever inviting him to the workplace until he was much older, and even then, the visits had been formal affairs, lessons in professional conduct rather than genuine bonding opportunities.
"Really?" Lysander couldn't hide his enthusiasm. "That would be great!"
Robert smiled, the expression warming his typically serious face. "I'll clear my calendar for a couple of hours. Margaret can pick you up from school and bring you over."
Margaret his father's long-time assistant. Lysander remembered her clearly, a sharp-minded woman who had run Robert's office with military precision for over twenty years. She had sent flowers when Isabel died, one of the few corporate connections who had seemed genuinely affected by the loss.
"Is Tuesday a good day?" his father asked. "I don't want to interfere with your after-school activities."
The consideration in the question touched Lysander deeply. How often had his father made such accommodations in his first childhood? Had he always been willing, and Lysander simply hadn't noticed? Or was this new attentiveness part of the butterfly effect already altering his timeline?
"Tuesday's perfect dad," Lysander assured him. "No activities that day."
His mother entered the kitchen then, tying her robe. "What's perfect dear?"
"Mom! Dad's taking me to his office next week," Lysander explained, unable to contain his excitement.
Isabel raised her eyebrows, shooting her husband an approving glance. "That's wonderful! Your first taste of the business world, hmm?"
If only they knew. Lysander had navigated boardrooms and billion-dollar deals, had dismantled companies and built empires. Yet standing here in his child's body, the prospect of accompanying his father to work felt like a precious opportunity rather than a return to familiar territory a chance to understand the man behind the father in ways he'd never bothered to explore before.
As his siblings joined them and the kitchen filled with the usual morning chaos, Lysander's mind raced with possibilities. His father's office could provide access to financial news and resources he couldn't easily obtain elsewhere. Perhaps, with careful questions and suggestions, he might even plant seeds for future investment opportunities. The butterfly effect worked both ways small actions now could yield significant results later.
Still, as he watched his father kiss Isabel goodbye and ruffle Sophia's hair affectionately on his way out, Lysander reminded himself of his new priorities. Yes, financial security remained important, but this time it would be a tool, not a master. And finding Eliza again that dream still felt distant but vital, like a star to navigate by rather than an immediate destination.
Friday mornings on the school bus always carried a different energy a collective anticipation of weekend freedom that manifested in louder conversations and more restless movements among the students. Lysander settled into his usual seat beside Marco, who was enthusiastically describing his plans for a Saturday video game marathon.
"My mom said I could invite friends over," Marco was saying. "Do you want to come? Kevin and Raj are already in."
Before Lysander could respond, he noticed Gabrielle boarding the bus, her posture tense as she scanned for an empty seat away from David and his friends, who were already huddled at the back. Without hesitation, Lysander waved to catch her attention.
"Gabrielle! Over here!"
Her surprise was visible even from across the crowded bus, but after a moment's hesitation, she made her way toward them. Marco raised his eyebrows but said nothing as Lysander moved closer to the window, making space on their seat.
"Thanks," Gabrielle murmured, settling beside them with her backpack clutched protectively against her chest.
"You remember Marco, right?" Lysander asked.
Marco gave a casual wave. "Hey."
"Hi," Gabrielle replied softly, her discomfort at the social interaction evident in her rigid posture.
The conversation might have stalled there had Erica Santos not appeared at that moment, pausing by their row with a friendly smile. "Morning, everyone. Mind if I sit here?" She indicated the empty space across the aisle.
"Go ahead," Lysander offered, feeling a familiar flutter in his chest that was both childish and amusingly nostalgic. His adult consciousness recognized the absurdity of experiencing a schoolboy crush at his mental age, yet the physical responses of his young body seemed impervious to rational analysis.
As Erica settled in, Lysander made quick introductions. "Erica, have you met Gabrielle? She's in our class too."
"I think we worked on a science project together last year," Erica recalled, smiling warmly at the quiet girl. "You did an amazing diagram of the water cycle."
Gabrielle's cheeks flushed slightly at the recognition. "Thanks. I like to draw also."
"She's really good," Lysander added, seizing the opportunity to draw her further into the conversation. "She was showing me some sketches yesterday."
This wasn't entirely accurate Gabrielle had briefly mentioned her interest in art during their walk home but hadn't actually shown him any drawings. Still, the small exaggeration served its purpose, giving her a foothold in the interaction.
To Lysander's satisfaction, Erica immediately engaged with the topic. "Really? I'm terrible at drawing. Everything I try turns out looking like blobs with stick arms."
A ghost of a smile touched Gabrielle's lips. "It just takes practice."
As the girls continued talking Erica's natural warmth gradually drawing Gabrielle out of her shell Lysander felt a small sense of accomplishment. Creating connections, building bridges between people this had never been his priority in his first life, where relationships had been evaluated primarily for their utility rather than their intrinsic value.
The pleasant moment was interrupted by a sharp sting at the back of his head. Turning slightly, Lysander spotted a crumpled paper ball on the floor beside him. From the corner of his eye, he could see David and his two companions snickering at the back of the bus.
"Ignore them," Marco muttered, having noticed the projectile as well. "They're just mad because you're not letting them mess with Gabrielle anymore."
Another paper ball struck him, this one containing a small pebble that added a painful edge to the impact. Lysander remained facing forward, determined not to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. His adult consciousness recognized this for what it was petty intimidation tactics from children whose understanding of power was limited to physical dominance and social cruelty.
In his corporate life, he had faced far more sophisticated opponents, individuals who wielded influence and money as weapons far more devastating than schoolyard bullying. Those confrontations had taught him that sometimes the most effective response was no response at all a lesson he applied now, continuing his conversation with Marco as though nothing had happened.
After several more attempts failed to provoke him, the barrage of paper missiles stopped. Yet when Lysander glanced back, the calculating expressions on the boys' faces suggested this wasn't surrender but regrouping. They were whispering intensely, occasional glances in his direction confirming that he remained the subject of their discussion.
As the bus pulled up to the school, students began gathering their belongings and filing toward the exit. Lysander allowed Gabrielle to go ahead of him, positioning himself between her and the back of the bus where David and his friends were waiting.
The preventative measure proved necessary. As they neared the front of the bus, David deliberately stepped into the aisle, shoulder-checking Lysander hard enough to make him stumble. The smirk on the larger boy's face as he passed communicated clearly that this was merely the opening move in a longer game.
"Watch your step, Everett," he muttered, just loud enough for Lysander to hear. "Things can get slippery around here."
The childish threat might have seemed laughable to Lysander's adult mind, but he recognized the genuine malice behind it. Children could be remarkably creative in their cruelty when motivated by wounded pride or perceived challenges to their social standing.
Once they were clear of the bus, Erica approached him, concern evident in her expression. "What was that about with David? Did something happen?"
Marco answered before Lysander could. "David and his goons have been picking on Gabrielle, and Lysander told them to knock it off. Now they're being jerks about it."
Erica's gaze shifted to Gabrielle, who had hunched her shoulders again, clearly uncomfortable with being the center of attention. "That's horrible," she said with genuine indignation. "You should tell Ms. Gonzalez."
"No," Gabrielle interjected quickly, her voice barely audible. "That would just make it worse."
"She's probably right," Lysander admitted. "Right now, it's just stupid pranks. I can handle it."
Erica didn't seem convinced. "Boys like David don't usually just let things go. They're used to getting away with being mean."
"What do you think they'll do?" Marco asked, a note of worry creeping into his voice.
Lysander shook his head. "Nothing worth worrying about. Come on, we'll be late for class."
As they walked toward the school building, he maintained an outward appearance of unconcern, but inwardly, he was evaluating the situation with the strategic assessment skills honed through decades of business conflicts. David was clearly the leader, with the other two boys following his lead. The challenge to his authority—small as it was—had triggered a defensive response. Lysander's refusal to engage or show fear would likely escalate matters before they improved.
Yet despite the potential for unpleasantness, Lysander couldn't bring himself to regret intervening. Glancing at Gabrielle walking beside Erica, already engaging in more conversation than he'd heard from her all week, he knew he had made the right choice. Whatever childish revenge David might be planning, it was a small price to pay for protecting someone vulnerable.
They reached their classroom just as the first bell rang. As they settled into their seats, Lysander caught David watching him from across the room, the calculating expression still fixed on his face. The boy quickly looked away when their eyes met, turning to whisper something to his friends that elicited malicious grins.
Lysander turned his attention to Ms. Gonzalez as she began the day's lessons, but a part of his mind remained alert, wondering what exactly David was planning. The stakes might be small in the grand scheme of his unusual life, but he had learned the hard way that even minor conflicts could spin into unexpected territories when pride and public perception were involved.
Whatever was coming, Lysander would need to navigate it carefully—balancing his adult perspective with responses appropriate for his apparent age, protecting Gabrielle without escalating the situation unnecessarily, and somehow managing to maintain his focus on the larger goals that had brought him back to this pivotal time in his life.
As the morning lessons proceeded, he found himself occasionally glancing toward the classroom windows, where April sunshine illuminated dust motes dancing in golden shafts of light. There was something oddly comforting about the mundane beauty of the moment—a reminder that despite the extraordinary nature of his situation and the complexities of navigating this second chance, some experiences remained simple and precious.
Friday stretched before him the last day of the school week, with all its small dramas and petty conflicts. Beyond it lay the weekend, his upcoming visit to his father's office, and the gradual unfolding of plans that might someday lead him back to Eliza. For now, though, the immediate challenge was clear whether it was the weathering whatever storm David was brewing, while continuing to build the connections and relationships that would form the foundation of his new life.