Earlier in the same Monday morning, James Thorne woke up to the blissfully joyous sound of Parisien Symphony by Mozart. He laid in his bed for a minute, letting the beautiful harmony of orchestra slowly lure him out of sleep.
Once his consciousness fully landed on the mortal realm, he slid out of bed and spent five minutes stretching on a yoga mat, followed by a more rigorous routine of a hundred push-ups and stomach crunches each.
A rejuvenating cold shower. Slow and methodical shaving. Flossing, then five minutes with a facial ice mask.
It wasn't that James was vainly obsessed with his appearances, rather, he was merely being a responsible Emperor who had duty to exude aura of perfection at all times.
Once he was all cleaned up and fresh like he hasn't aged a day since… the day before, James settled down at the dinner table with a mug of coffee and a croissant, accompanied with the finest butter, sold only to VIP clientèle - from cows raised on Mozart, just like the Emperor himself.
The disciplined man didn't read any news or fiddle with his phone like a child while eating. Instead, he carefully went over the details of on-going projects and up-coming events in his head. Different times during the day put his brain in specific mode of operation, and it was important for James that he capitalized on the freshness of the morning to assess important matters in new perspectives.
As he drank the final drop of coffee, he needlessly checked the time. It was precisely 6:15. His morning procedure sometimes finished a minute or two earlier, but it never went beyond this time.
James left his penthouse flat at 6:17, and by 6:20 he was sitting at the backseat of an electric SUV driven by his chauffeur, Dave, leaving the underground car park of the aptly named residential tower - the Peak. It was located at the top of the modest mountain - only about 250m in height - in the south side of the river that ran through the city, much to annoyance of his parents, for they thought only a nouveau rich would live in a place so modern.
While the Emperor was comfortably resting and the vehicle almost arrived at the office building, he was rudely disturbed by an abrupt stop - an extremely unusual occurrence for his exceptionally skilled chauffeur.
"What's wrong, Dave?" James inquired.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Thorne. Some crazy young lady just jumped onto the road and ran across."
"On red light?"
"Red light for her, not for me."
"Tsk, kids these days."
Dave always laughed a little inside whenever James said this, for the young Emperor was still in his 20s too. But the life this man lived was so disconnected with the 'youth' of modern times that he felt a generational gap. The discipline, the drive, the passion - those were the things that James Thorne felt 'kids these days' lacked.
Unlike him.