It was 11:55 p.m. when Alexander sat down to craft his ideal routine. For twenty minutes he scribbled plans, mapping out the life he wanted to build. At last, he glanced at the wall clock. "Okay, it's 12:15 a.m. I'll start at 12:30," he whispered, lying down for a short rest.
But sleep betrayed him. When he opened his eyes again, morning light had already arrived. "Oh no… I only wanted to rest for fifteen minutes," he muttered, despair washing over him.
Days blurred together. Progress never came. Sometimes he delayed his work, sometimes he drowned in distractions—social media, endless YouTube videos. One month slipped away. Then, one afternoon, he stumbled upon the notebook where he had written his goals.
Only then did he understand the words of the boy in the white hoodie: Tomorrow never comes. Distractions, laziness, excuses—each day was stolen before it began.
Yet Alexander still failed to grasp the deeper truth. His plans were too grand, too impossible to achieve in a single day. Each failure drained his discipline, each setback eroded his motivation. Attempts piled up, but success never followed.
The year ended. A new one began. Like countless others, Alexander made resolutions—too many, too ambitious. Within a month, most had success and some were fails, reason being his ambitions and result are way big. Some days brought progress, others stuck. Improvement and downfall danced in cycles.
But this year was different. Through research, practice, and reflection, Alexander unlocked fragments of wisdom. Time flew, and with only one month left in the year, he had changed. Mentally, physically, academically, athletically, financially—he had risen above average at people of his age, he learns to stand alone. His family noticed the difference.
Yet it wasn't enough. His ambition burned brighter. He wanted mastery in every field.
He sit in meditation, he gathered all the lessons from books, self-help guides, YouTube videos, anime, manga, manhwas and his own experiments. A conclusion crystallized: "Self-improvement doesn't mean simply refining your mind, body, or skills. It is a never-ending process of changing your attitude toward the things you want to acquire. There is no such thing as genius. Everyone begins talentless. The only difference is how badly you want something—that is what separates a pathetic loser from a conquering winner."
The realization struck like lightning. Alexander opened his eyes, feeling a shift in the air. "It seems everything I've done—every failure, every success—was for this day."
He stretched, bent low, and lay flat on the floor. "But this feeling… it's an illusion. Ninety-five percent motivation that will fade, five percent resolution that will remain. I don't know how to make it one hundred percent."
He rose, restless, and called out: "Mom! I'll be back in an hour."
At the park, he gripped the pull-up bar. "Let's aim for fifty pull-ups. Five reps, ten sets."
Muscles cracked, sweat dripped. Twenty-five minutes later, he dropped down, little exhausted and triumphant. "Finally done. Now, home to study for exams."
On his way, he saw Jinte—his old tormentor—harassing a girl. Rage surged. Alexander strode forward, grabbing Jinte shoulder.
Jinte say in rage. "Who's this bitch grabbing me? Oh… it's our old boy. Doing fine?"
Alexander's eyes burned with confidence born of martial arts practice. "I came to settle some old punches."
Jinte released the girl and swung a left hook. Alexander stepped back, dodged, and countered with a sharp, back kick to the stomach. Jinte staggered, clutching his gut. Alexander pressed forward—roundhouse kick to the face, followed by another crushing back kick. Jinte collapsed, still conscious.
The girl thanked Alexander and called the police. Officers arrived, taking Jinte away. Later, she and Alexander sat in the park.
Alexander asked, "What's your name? And why were you with Jinte?"
"My name is Fionna," she replied. "I was asking him about someone named Alexander."
Alexander blinked. "Alexander? Why? I'm Alexander."
Fionna studied him carefully. "A boy in a white hoodie from South Korea asked me about you and your progress."
Alexander froze. Memories of that strange boy flooded back. "How do you know him?"
Fionna shook her head. "It's better if you don't. Just tell me your progress."
Shame weighed heavy. He remembered wasted hours, distractions, failures. He lowered his head. "It's poor. Dumb. I can't promise I'll make up for what I said before."
Fionna's eyes sharpened. "As expected. That boy told me you'd answer like this. He also told me to fight you. So… let's spar."
Alexander hesitated. "He knows everything, expected !… Fine. But how can I fight you?"
"Don't worry," Fionna said calmly. "I'm trained. If you survive one minute against me, he'll still consider you a rival."
Alexander nodded. "Okay. I will."
The timer was set. Both took their stances.
Alexander crouched into Mike Tyson's famous peek-a-boo stance, unleashing a flurry—jab, cross, hook, uppercut. Fionna dodged effortlessly, countering with a flying kick. Alexander parried, but the impact felt like a truck grazing him. He realized one clean hit would end him.
He analyzed her speed, strength, agility, searching for weakness. And switching to Muay Thai, he launched a low kick, then an elbow strike. But she dodged again. (45 seconds left.)
He shifted to Taekwondo, attempting a flawed 360-degree kick. This time, surprise worked—the kick grazed her face. She slid back, eyes narrowing. (30 seconds left.)
Fionna's rage ignited. She vanished using a technique - ghost step, reappearing with an uppercut to his stomach. Alexander staggered, coughing. (27 seconds left.)
He steadied himself, recalling his failures, and shifted into Jeet Kune Do. Fionna smirked. "Impressive. You have so many techniques. But non are perfect, even if you master any two form and blend them well, then you will be a challenge, Against you i don't even need to use any material art form."
She charged. Alexander retreated, then countered with a pendulum kick, Russian hook, and Brazilian kick. Fionna giggled, blocking each strike. (11 seconds left.)
"You practice without a teacher but still impressive" she said coldly. "Your form is flawed. let me teach you how it's done."
She mirrored his combo—each blow landing perfectly. Alexander dropped to his knees. (7 seconds left.)
"I know," he gasped. "But this is the beginning of my new era."
His desire burn into his eyes, he throw sand at Fionna eyes, he grab at start while sliding, a desperate trick he use. She become blind, she stumbled. Alexander had no strength left even if he don't move he survive and win, but he refused to hide, he mustered all of his courage and stand then go for his strongest punch. (4 seconds left.)
"No… I need to knock her down."
He mimicking her ghost step so he closed the distance. Fionna rubbed her eyes, instinctively stepping back but Alexander use ghost step twice and make Fionna within range. (2 seconds left.)
Alexander threw a counter punch at her jaw. At the moment of impact, he stopped—his knuckles touching her skin, not striking.
The alarm rang.