The first thing Ethan Vale noticed was the ceiling.
Faded glow-in-the-dark stars still clung to it, half-peeled and useless. The second thing was the cold. Not air-conditioned chill—poverty cold. No heating. Drafty window. Thin blanket. The kind of cold that reminded you who you were.
He sat up slowly, eyes narrowing as they adjusted to the dim room. Wood-paneled walls. A scratched desk in the corner. A tiny mirror above a chipped dresser. Then he saw it—the calendar on the wall. A freebie from a corner-store dentist. The date:
"March 4th, 2042!?"
His throat clenched.
"No," he whispered.
A surge of adrenaline struck him. He swung out of bed and rushed to the mirror. The reflection hit him like a bullet. Gone was the beard, the angular jaw carved by age and testosterone. In its place was a younger, leaner face. No forehead lines. No crow's feet. His hair was thicker. Jaw softer.
He was nineteen again.
He staggered back, breathing hard. "What the hell—"
Memories rushed in like a dam bursting. His mansion in Moscow. His company: Vale Corp. The betrayal—gunshot in a luxury suite. Blood soaking into white carpet. A whisper at the end.
A fading voice: "You were ten moves ahead, Ethan. But someone else was eleven."
Now he was here. Back in his college dropout days. Working part-time at a convenience store. No startup. No money. No network. Just broken dreams and student debt.
He opened his phone, shaking fingers brushing the cracked screen. The same cheap model he once hated. No password. It unlocked.
Messages:
[MOM]: "Ethan, the rent's due this Friday. Can you cover the electric?"
[LIORA]: "Let's talk. I can't keep doing this."
He winced. Liora. She'd leave him two weeks from now. He remembered every fight. Every word. Every second he wasn't ready.
But this time… I am.
He dropped the phone and sat back on the bed, staring at his hands like they were a stranger's. A million thoughts buzzed in his skull—but beneath it all was a calm, ruthless voice.
(You've seen the future. You know how this ends. So make it end differently.)
He inhaled deeply." This was a gift. No—not a gift. A code. A chance to crack the Male Timeline."
He stood and opened the closet. Nothing had changed. Three shirts, two jeans, a jacket that smelled like stress. He dressed fast, tied his shoes with the mechanical calm of a soldier, and grabbed a worn leather notebook from the drawer.
On the first page, he scribbled in bold black ink:
THE CODE: DAY 1
---
RULES:
1. No friends. Not until you're powerful.
2. No relationships. Not until you're untouchable.
3. Train daily. Lift heavy. Move fast.
4. Work two jobs. Build one business.
5. Master money. Learn markets.
6. Control desire. Delay gratification.
7. Track everything. Every day.
8. Outwork everyone silently.
9. Study psychology, persuasion, and power.
10. Never forget: The world lied to you. Rewrite the script.
---
His stomach growled. No breakfast. No money for it. Didn't matter. Hunger would be fuel now.
He turned to the mirror once more. A crooked grin broke out.
"Welcome back, old man," he told his younger self. "Now let's fuuucking do this right."
---
Later That Day
The job sucked as much as he remembered.
His name tag still read ETHAN (IN TRAINING) even though he'd worked here for two months before quitting the first time. Customers shuffled in and out of the run-down gas station mini-mart. His manager, Tom, was half-bald and full of complaints.
"Restock the energy drinks, Vale. Don't stand around looking pretty."
He could've mocked him, like he used to. But this time, Ethan just nodded. "On it, sir."
Tom blinked, suspicious. "Sir?"
Ethan smiled. "Just trying to be better."
As he bent to lift a box of GigaVolt, he felt something shift. Not in his back, but in the air—like the universe was watching, waiting.
This is no simulation. No divine redo.
This is a test.
(Let's see if a man can win the game… if he knows the rules early...)
---
Midnight
He came home and didn't crash like the old Ethan would have. Instead, he opened his notebook and wrote:
DAY 1 SUMMARY:
Calories: 0 (fasted)
Reading: 40 pages (48 Laws of Power)
Training: Bodyweight—pushups, squats, plank
Action taken: Applied to 3 freelance platforms, began writing e-book notes
Mood: Hungry. Focused. Dangerous.
He flipped the page and began sketching a 3-year plan, based on everything he remembered from the markets, tech booms, and social media trends to come.
His time wasn't now.
But it will be.