Chapter 2: The Prank and The Mirror
[Date: April 2nd – First Year of J-High]
Zack Lee woke up with a violent gasp, his hands flying to his chest in a panic.
He braced himself for the cold, crushing weight of steel. He expected the blinding white lights of the truck, the screech of tires, and the sickening crunch of his own ribs collapsing. He waited for the darkness of death.
Instead, his fingers sank into something soft.
"What…?"
He blinked, his breath coming in shallow, terrified rattles.
Harsh, bright morning sunlight spilled across the floorboards. Dust motes danced in the air, peaceful and quiet.
Zack sat up slowly, looking around.
This room… he knew this room. But it was different.
It was clean. Neat. It smelled of lemon pledge and hair wax, not sweat and depression.
His boxing trophies on the shelf gleamed, untouched by the layer of dust that had covered them in his gloomy apartment years later. The Muhammad Ali poster above his desk wasn't peeling at the corners yet. The sunlight hit his school uniform, which hung perfectly pressed on the closet door.
Nothing felt real.
"Am I… in a hospital?" Zack muttered, rubbing his pounding head. He checked his arms. No IV drips. No bandages. No scars from the Ansan fight. "Did I survive?"
He reached for his phone on the nightstand, his hand trembling. He expected to see a cracked screen, bloodstains, or missed calls from a worried Daniel.
What he found was a pristine, brand-new smartphone model that had gone out of style three years ago. The screen was smooth. Untouched.
He tapped the display.
Sunday, April 2nd.
First Year of J-High.
Zack stared at the numbers. He scoffed, a dry, bitter sound, and tossed the phone onto the bed.
"Very funny. April Fools was yesterday, you idiots." He ran a hand through his hair. "Vasco probably changed the date while I was asleep… that muscle-brain thinks he's a comedian. Or maybe Daniel put him up to it."
Zack Lee didn't read webnovels. He didn't know words like regression or reincarnation. He was a fighter, a realist. To him, this was a prank. A weird, painfully elaborate prank designed to mess with his head after the accident.
He swung his legs out of bed and walked to the full-length mirror in the corner of the room.
"All right. Where are the cameras?" he growled, scanning the room. "Come out, idiots. Joke's over."
He looked into the glass.
He froze.
The reflection staring back at him wasn't the battered, exhausted fighter who had been crushed by Ma Taesoo. It wasn't the man humiliated by the pink-haired monster in Ansan.
It was a kid.
His skin was smooth, unblemished by the scars of street fights.
His hair was stiff with way too much wax—styled in that arrogant, trendy spikes he used to think looked cool.
His face still had baby fat.
And his muscles… they were gone.
Zack touched his arms. They weren't weak—he was still an athlete—but they were soft. Untested. Undeveloped. The calluses on his knuckles from punching brick walls were missing.
"No way…" Zack whispered. He touched his cheek, pinching the skin hard.
"Ow!"
Pain. Sharp and real.
It wasn't a dream.
He stumbled to the window and ripped it open. The cool morning air rushed in, smelling cleaner than the smog of the future. Down on the street, cars that he hadn't seen in years rolled by. A billboard down the block advertised a superhero movie that had come out when he was still in middle school.
The realization hit him like a cold bucket of water.
"I… I'm back?" Zack whispered, gripping the windowsill until his knuckles turned white. "I'm really back?"
His heart hammered against his ribs—a mix of confusion, dread, and a terrifying spark of possibility.
Buzz.
His phone vibrated on the mattress.
Zack walked back to the bed, moving as if he were underwater. He picked up the device.
[New Message: Mira Kim]
Don't forget! Tomorrow we're going shopping for school supplies. Coffee is on me! Don't make me wait like last time! ^^
Zack stared at the name. The letters blurred for a second.
Mira.
In his previous life, he'd grown so ashamed of his weakness that he couldn't even look her in the eyes. He'd lied to her constantly—about his fights, about his victories, about the kind of person he was. He had pushed her away to "protect" her, only to die alone on a street corner.
"Shopping…" Zack murmured.
He looked at the date again. April 2nd.
And then the meaning hit him like a sucker punch to the gut.
"If we're shopping tomorrow… then tomorrow is the day."
His eyes widened in horror.
Tomorrow was the day the transfer student arrived.
Tomorrow was the day he first met Fat Daniel.
He dragged a hand down his face, groaning. "Oh… God. I remember."
Back then, he had been an arrogant, insecure brat. He had tried to show off for Mira. He saw the chubby, scared transfer student—Daniel Park—and decided to bully him just to look cool.
He remembered the feeling of his fist hitting Daniel's face.
He remembered the feeling of power.
And he remembered the aftermath.
Someone had filmed it.
And the internet did the rest.
'J-High Boxing Star bullies a fat kid.'
The viral video. The memes. The hateful comments flooding his social media.
And worst of all—Mira's disappointed face. That look of betrayal and sadness that had burned permanently into his memory.
"I was such a loser," Zack muttered, clenching his jaw. "Cocky just because I won a few middle school boxing matches… pathetic."
He clenched his fist. It felt small and light.
"Not this time. I'm not bullying the pig— I mean, Daniel. Not because it's wrong—but because I won't look like trash again. Not in front of Mira."
A rush of adrenaline shot through his veins.
He was back.
He knew the future.
He knew about God Dog. He knew about the Workers. He knew about Johan going blind.
"I can change everything," he whispered. "I can fix everything. I can save Johan. I can prevent the tragedies."
His eyes drifted to the heavy punching bag hanging in the corner of his room.
"I still have my skills," he said, a confident smirk touching his lips. "My brain remembers everything. Fighting the Ansan King. The timing, the angles, the footwork… all of it."
He approached the bag. He didn't take the sloppy, wide stance of his teenage self. He dropped into the grounded, precise stance of a veteran street fighter.
"Let's test this body."
He inhaled sharply through his nose. He visualized the perfect Counter Hook.
Fast.
Sharp.
Deadly enough to rattle a skull.
He threw it with full intent.
Whoosh.
SLIP—
"Whoa!"
His foot slid on the floorboards. His balance collapsed instantly. The punch grazed the bag weakly, and because his wrist wasn't locked properly by the weak forearm muscles, it buckled on impact.
Zack stumbled forward and fell hard onto his backside.
"Ow…"
Zack sat on the floor, rubbing his throbbing wrist. He stared up at the heavy bag.
It had barely moved. It swung gently, mocking him.
"Weak," Zack whispered, his voice trembling with horror. "I'm so weak."
He looked at his arms. Thin. Untrained. Like noodles compared to the iron limbs he had forged in the future.
"I'm not even ten percent of what I was against Jacky Lee. My balance sucks. My bones are soft. My skin is thin."
The realization was terrifying. His mind possessed master-level technique, but his teenage body simply couldn't handle the torque. The hardware couldn't support the software. If he tried to fight a serious opponent right now—like Vasco—he would probably tear a muscle or break his own hand.
He sat on the floor, cold sweat dripping down his forehead.
"I need to train," he whispered. "I can't rely on past glory. This body is trash."
His gaze drifted to the corner of the room.
A metal baseball bat was leaning against the wall.
A familiar, dark thought returned to him.
Should I use weapons?
Future enemies flashed through his mind—God Dog's numbers, Hostel's savagery, the Workers' monsters.
Monsters wearing human shapes.
In the future, he'd fought dirty because clean fighting didn't keep you alive. He had used bricks, chains, and sand.
Zack stared at the bat.
"No," Zack said, shaking his head violently. "Tomorrow is just high school. If I can win with boxing, I'll use boxing. Why use a brick if a jab works?"
He stood up, dusting off his pants. The pain in his wrist was a good reminder. He was starting from zero.
"But if I meet someone I can't beat… if someone dangerous shows up…"
He remembered Ma Taesoo's punch, heavy as a mountain.
He remembered his bones folding like cardboard.
"Then I'll do anything. I'll fight dirty. But only when I have to."
He picked up his phone. Mira was waiting for a reply.
He typed slowly, a small smile forming on his face.
I won't be late. I promise.
Let's try that punching machine game at the arcade too.
He looked at his reflection in the mirror one last time. The arrogant kid was gone. The eyes staring back were old and hungry.
"I might be weak right now," he said quietly to the empty room. "But I still punch better than any high schooler. Tomorrow, I start building my legend again."
[Chapter 2 End]