Meanwhile, David—who still didn't know whose body now served as the host for his consciousness—laughed.
Laughed like someone newly reborn as a god.
This euphoria was unfamiliar.
Even back when his illegal business successfully targeted low-IQ patriachs in third-world countries, he had never felt this high.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA…"
He laughed in front of the mirror, staring at the new reflection that radiated power.
"A king…? Yeah…"
Childhood memories crept in slowly, like wind slipping through a cracked window.
His family had starved.
A worn-out television glowed faintly, broadcasting tales of a wise king in a bedtime story.
Little David clutched a tattered toy he found in the park, as if it were a crown.
"I want to be the king," he thought back then.
He glanced at his mother—folding clothes with torn collars.
"My mom should've married a king… not…"
He didn't dare finish the thought.
His father, the preacher of poverty, always said that God loved them...
...because He gave them trials.
"Heaven is for those who are patient," he used to say.
But David, still breathing the same air on this spinning earth, could only see a hell without fire in their kitchen.
As a teenager, fate reignited that fire.
His mother got pregnant again.
Even though they lived in the slums—a land of limits that strangled potential before it had a chance to grow.
But when the universe allowed a "sinless beauty" to be born—
a pure child from a loving mother—
David made a new vow:
No more gratitude. No more bowing.
Only calculations. Only profit.
Only… domination.
He no longer cared about his father,
who kept telling them to praise God until their throats went dry.
What remained in him was pure calculation.
Cost. Benefit. Risk. Projection.
And the will to become a social monster—
one who knew how to distinguish between useful fools and smart people worth befriending.
His young soul, which should've grown by seeking colors,
was instead dragged into a darkness that came too early.
He didn't enjoy the seasons.
He questioned God.
"What kind of being demands endless worship… but never says a word?"
That memory sparked concern again—
but he brushed it off easily.
"The money was quite a lot and…"
a woman's face appeared in David's mind,
"Thank goodness I got close to her early."
He let out a sigh,
but couldn't stay still.
"Hahahah… looks like my mental state has gone back to being a cheerful little boy,"
he said while crossing his arms.
"Ahhh… damn, what kind of speech am I supposed to give later? AHahahaha…"
He recalled the impulsive decision he made just minutes ago.
"Well… now I am a king…"
Behind David's bedroom door,
a female servant stood trembling,
wanting to knock on that wooden door.
She had the intention to knock several times,
but her hand kept pausing—
as if frozen by the constant bursts of laughter from the king inside.
A laugh that sounded like a dictator,
already prepared to fool his poor people
with the elegant nationalism speech.