"YOU GOT A 93% ON THE FINAL YEAR EXAM?!"
The words echoed in the mind of the young man lying on the master's bed. Again and again, he tossed and turned like a child trapped in a terrible nightmare, until he finally woke up, startled at first, then gradually relieved as he realized it had only been a dream.
Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead, slid along his neck, and drenched his entire face.
"It's already morning?" he gasped, a jolt of panic running through him, not because he had missed some grand opportunity, but simply because he might be late for school. He flung open his wardrobe and grabbed the first clothes he could find: a white cotton top streaked with dark stripes and black polyester trousers. He pulled them on in a rush and bolted toward the door.
But then his eyes caught the full-length mirror on the right side of the room. He froze, heart sinking. Slowly, almost unwillingly, he walked back and stared. The reflection staring back at him was painfully familiar: the same outfit he'd worn for the past three days.
'How could I be this careless?' he thought, a knot of guilt tightening in his chest.' Everyone at school will think I don't care about myself… and what about my parents' reputation? My own hardly matters, but theirs…'
Back at his wardrobe, he began searching for something more original. He rifled through the clothes stacked on the top shelf. As he moved aside a pile, something tucked between the garments caught his eye—a photograph, yellowed with age.
It was a picture from more than five years ago, back when he was still in elementary school. In the photo, he stood between his parents, smiling. They held him as if he were the most precious thing in the world. At the time, he hadn't thought much of it; he was too young to grasp its significance.
The old days were gone. Now, he lived under constant pressure from his parents, as if they wanted him to achieve the life they had never been able to live. In eighth grade, they had pushed him to take extra classes so he could earn his high school diploma four years early. Through sheer hard work and relentless dedication, he had managed it.
Now, at the country's best school of finance, his goal was clear: to be the best and one day sit at the head of the World Bank.
He was in his third year, and the final exams loomed closer than ever. The goal remained the same—score 95% or higher to be among the top 3% selected for the elite class reserved for the very best.
For days, nightmares had haunted him, each one a cruel rehearsal of failure. In every dream, he fell short of the 95% mark, and the sinking dread followed him into his waking hours.
He put the photo back and closed the wardrobe. Walking past the mirror again, he paused, and this time, he liked what he saw.
He moved past the door and descended the stairs, finally arriving in the empty living room.
He was alone in the mansion; his parents were away, traveling for work. They were at the helm of the largest conglomerate in the country.
They had clawed their way to the very top through sheer determination, despite starting with nothing—their own parents had been poor, leaving them at a significant disadvantage. Yet they had become the richest couple in the world.
And now the pressure was on him to follow in their footsteps. Unlike his parents, he was starting from the best possible position, with every advantage handed to him, but the expectations were no less immense.
Nevertheless, he had to strive for excellence, exactly as was expected of him. And he understood the task; he had never once relinquished his spot at the very top of his class.
The pride of the Walton family had to be preserved, and Bruce, due to unforeseen circumstances, was now unfortunately the last in line to carry that legacy.