The harsh ring of the alarm clock sliced through the morning haze, jolting Leon awake with a start. His hand flew to his chest instinctively—no searing pain from broken ribs, no sticky warmth of blood, just the steady thud of a heartbeat that felt too strong, too alive.
He blinked hard, staring at the ceiling above. It wasn't the cold, water-stained concrete of the abandoned warehouse, but the familiar off-white plaster with a tiny crack he'd pointed out to his mom a hundred times. Sunlight filtered through the half-drawn blue curtains, casting soft stripes on the old wooden desk by the window—on which lay a crumpled math homework sheet and a dog-eared copy of The Great Gatsby.
This… this was his bedroom. His bedroom from when he was a kid.
Leon scrambled out of bed, his legs nearly giving way as he stumbled to the mirror hanging on the closet door. The reflection staring back at him wasn't the 30-year-old man broken by betrayal and failure—no gaunt cheeks, no tired eyes ringed with dark circles. Instead, he saw a boy: messy brown hair, a faint smattering of freckles across the nose, and the too-big school uniform that had always slipped off his shoulders.
He reached up, pressing a finger to his cheek. The skin was smooth, unmarred. Not a single scar from the fights he'd gotten into in his 20s, not a trace of the stress that had etched lines into his forehead by his late 20s.
"Is this real?" he whispered, voice cracking.
Then his gaze fell on the calendar taped to the mirror. The date stared back at him in bold red ink: September 1st, 20XX.
Seventeen. He was seventeen again. The first day of his third year of high school— the year everything had started to go wrong. The year he'd met Mike, who would later steal his company. The year he'd brushed off his parents' warnings about "getting too caught up in stupid dreams." The year he'd let his grades slip because he thought "school didn't matter if you had big plans."
A wave of emotions crashed over him—relief so sharp it made his eyes burn, anger at the naive kid he'd been, and a fierce, desperate hope. He wasn't dead. He hadn't been left to rot in that warehouse. He'd been given a second chance.
The alarm clock rang again, louder this time, yanking him back to the present. Leon grabbed it, slamming the button to silence it. His hands were still shaking, but there was a new fire in his eyes—one that hadn't been there in years.
He pulled open the closet, yanking on the school uniform with a urgency. The fabric felt foreign against his skin, but he didn't care. Today wasn't just the first day of school. It was the first day of his new life.
Downstairs, he heard his mom's voice calling from the kitchen—"Leon! Hurry up, or you'll miss the bus!"—warm and alive, not weak from hospital stays. Leon practically ran down the stairs, skidding to a stop in the kitchen doorway.
There she was. His mom, in her favorite floral apron, flipping pancakes on the stove. His dad, sitting at the table with a newspaper, looking up to grin at him. Both of them healthy, happy, right in front of him.
"Whoa, easy there, tiger," his dad chuckled. "You're never this eager for school. Did you finally decide to stop skipping math?"
Leon didn't answer. He just crossed the kitchen and pulled his mom into a tight hug, ignoring her surprised "Leon? What's gotten into you?" Then he turned, hugging his dad too—something he hadn't done since he was a teenager, too busy being "cool" to show affection.
When he pulled away, his eyes were shiny, but he was smiling—a real smile, not the forced one he'd worn for years. "Sorry," he said. "Just… glad to see you guys."
His mom exchanged a confused look with his dad, but she just patted his shoulder. "Well, glad you're in a good mood. Now sit down—pancakes are getting cold, and you don't want to be late on the first day."
Leon sat down, picking up his fork. The pancakes were warm, sweet, and perfect—exactly like he remembered. As he ate, he watched his parents talk, laughing about something his dad had read in the paper. For a second, he was afraid to blink—afraid this was all a dream, that he'd wake up back in that warehouse.
But when he finished eating, grabbed his backpack, and headed for the door, his mom called out, "Leon! Don't forget your lunch money!" and his dad yelled, "Study hard—we believe in you!"
He turned, waving. "I will!"
As he walked to the bus stop, the morning sun on his face, Leon felt like he was walking on air. Seventeen. A clean slate. This time, he wouldn't make the same mistakes. This time, he'd protect his family. This time, he'd build something real—something that couldn't be stolen.
And when he saw Mike waiting at the bus stop, grinning that familiar, too-friendly grin, Leon's jaw tightened. But he didn't look away. He just nodded, a cold, calm determination settling in his chest.
Game on.