The morning sunlight crept through the cheap curtains of the old apartment, casting warm lines across the dusty floor. I stood by the window, shirtless, watching Daniel go through his training routine in the small courtyard below. His movements were now perfect, there was power now—form and focus where there had once been nothing but flailing limbs and fear.
He was evolving.
A months ago, he couldn't even lift his knees properly. Now? He was executing Kyokushin perfectly with grit in his eyes. My son—my Daniel—was awakening something terrifying inside him.
And it was just getting started.
I slipped on my jacket—black, military-cut, clean—and glanced over at my wife, who stood in the kitchen brewing tea. She looked… radiant. Wrinkles that once deepened from stress were softening. Her eyes shone brighter, not dulled by fatigue or worry like before.
"Where are you headed today?" she asked gently, her voice now steady and proud.
"Going to buy our new home," I replied with a wink, reaching for the duffel bag and black card. It wasn't filled with clothes. Just thick stacks of cash—millions I had carefully moved from various hidden investment accounts I'd prepared long ago. It was time to enjoy the life I never got to in my last one.
It didn't take long.
Within a few hours, I was walking across marble tiles the color of moonlight. Towering glass windows opened to a view of the mountains in the distance, the city skyline to the right, and a secluded pool surrounded by cherry blossom trees to the left.
This mansion—no, this fortress—had everything.
A private gym large enough for three boxing rings, reinforced walls, personal large garage, indoor and outdoor swimming pool, smart security systems, even a dojo I'd personally convert for advanced martial arts training.
"This'll do," I muttered to the realtor, handing her the suitcase of cash without a second thought.
She blinked. "You're… paying in full?"
"No mortgage. I don't owe anyone anything," I said sharply. "Consider this done."
She gave me the kind of stunned look reserved for lottery winners or mob bosses. I didn't care which she thought I was.
Because this was my war trophy. Proof that the past I suffered through would never return.
--
The mansion was secured, furnished, and staffed before the sun set. But I wasn't done. The next stop?
My personal garage.
I walked into the showroom like a general inspecting weapons. One car immediately caught my eye—sleek, aggressive, painted in obsidian black with a custom matte finish.
A latest Bulletproof Audi RS Q8.
I purchase it on system store. Reinforced armor plating, anti-explosive undercarriage, tinted one-way glass, reinforced titanium bumpers, and fully blacked-out rims. Inside? Custom leather stitched with dragon-scale texture, embedded AI dashboard, and a voice assistant tuned to my exact needs.
This wasn't just a car. It was a mobile command center. My ride for the battles to come.
Then I moved toward a different section of the showroom, stopping in front of something… more vibrant.
A Lamborghini Huracán EVO Spyder, painted in a fierce cobalt blue that shimmered like electric sapphire under the lights. It had razor-sharp angles, a low-slung frame, and a rumble that sang of raw, unrestrained power.
This wasn't for me.
This was for Daniel.
Not yet, of course. Not until he earned it. But I could already picture the moment—him walking out of that old apartment, sweaty from training, only to find this beast waiting for him with a key in hand.
Let the world see him for who he will become.
--
By nightfall, I was back at the apartment. I could've stayed at the mansion, but this wasn't about comfort. Not yet.
Inside, Daniel was shirtless, drenched in sweat, muscles trembling as he held a push-up position with one hand. His form is perfect—and his eyes? Focused. Sharp. Determined.
"How many?" I asked.
"Two hundred... sir."
I grinned. "Good. Now the real training begins."
He collapsed to the mat, panting hard, but he looked up at me with something I hadn't seen before.
Hunger.
"Dad," he said slowly. "I want to learn more. Fighting technique… real fighting. Not just strength. I want to know what I was missing."
Ah. There it is.
The moment he realized brute force alone wouldn't be enough. That Logan Lee—despite his size and weight—had control and instinct.
"I'll teach you another martial arts," I said without hesitation. "muay thai and taekwondo. But know this—martial arts isn't just about beating people down. It's about controlling yourself. Your center. You lose that, and you'll become just another monster."
He nodded. No words, just pure seriousness.
Good.
--
We began the very next morning.
I took him outside, barefoot on cold pavement. The dojo was just an open space, the sky our ceiling.
"muay thai is full-contact," I explained. "You'll fight without fear. No gloves, no pads. You'll learn to break through muscle, bone, and will."
We started with kihon—the basics. Stances, punches, elbow kicks, breathing.
Then came elbow knees, the structured patterns. He stumbled at first, awkward and clumsy.
"Again," I said.
And he did it better.
"Again."
Even better.
--
On the fourth day of training, I demonstrated a more advanced counter-throw from aikido. A smooth redirection of momentum, barely a blur.
He stood still.
Then repeated it—perfectly.
The Copy Talent.
The same monstrous ability that made Daniel Park such a terrifying force in the canon timeline. The power to mimic any technique he saw—even just once—and eventually surpass the original user.
I smiled to myself. In this life, he wouldn't have to stumble into that discovery late. I would weaponize it now.
"Good," I said. "We'll accelerate your training."
He grinned.
--
Another three months were brutal.
Wake at 4 AM. Cold showers. Roadwork until his lungs burned. Punching trees until his knuckles bled. Weightlifting with sandbags tied to his back. Endless repetition of techniques until he could perform them blindfolded.
Slowly, all the fat melted away.
Muscle grew—more dense, lean, explosive.
His chest broadened. Shoulders thickened. Triceps like cables, core like steel. By the time spring arrived, Daniel stood at 6'4", 79 kilograms of power and grace—more looking like Gun.
He looked in the mirror one morning, stunned. He said "Im looking more stronger and handsome now?"
I clapped a hand on his shoulder. "It's only the beginning."
--
I returned to the mansion that evening. My wife met me at the door, now dressed in designer clothes, a quiet elegance in her step. She smiled, holding up a glass of wine.
"How's Daniel?"
"Transforming," I said simply.
I stepped into the living room. The Lamborghini key sat in a crystal case on the mantle. The black Audi was parked beneath the house in its own private bay.
From here, I would plan. Strategize. Build contacts. Prepare for what was coming.
But Daniel?
He would rise in the fire.
Soon, the world would tremble at the name Daniel Park.
Not because he changed bodies.
But because we rewrote fate.
[To be continued in Chapter 5]