Chapter 1: Nuclear strike
"I lost again," muttered the man as he silently made his way out of the basketball court.
"Hey, it's alright to lose. We made it to the top three! Let's celebrate tonight. Andrew said he'll treat us at a bar a few blocks away," one of his teammates called out, his voice echoing across the stadium.
Upon hearing this, the man paused in his tracks for a moment, contemplating the words.
"No, we lost…" he corrected himself, recognizing the essence of basketball as a team sport.
But why were his teammates seemingly content with such a result? Why were they even celebrating after another loss?
He couldn't help but feel like he was the only one taking this tournament seriously. He turned his gaze towards the opposing team, observing them engaged in cheerful conversation. They were the contenders for victory, while his own team was merely an unexpected underdog that had managed to secure a spot in the top three through sheer luck.
His team lacked any standout players, and he himself was no exception. Despite his relentless training, honing his body and mastering strategies, despite his deep understanding of various techniques, it all boiled down to his inherent lack of talent in executing them.
The man, who had been fervently chasing his dreams, felt crushed under the weight of his own limitations. He had poured his heart and soul into his endeavors yet reaped no rewards in return. Only a hollow chuckle escaped his lips, a silent mockery of his own futile efforts.
As he reached the parking lot, he made his way to his car, but before he could step inside, his phone rang. Retrieving it from his pocket, he saw an email from one of the companies he was associated with, notifying him of massive losses incurred in their rivalry.
Sighing heavily, he took a seat and muttered, "Perhaps this is a curse. I can never excel in anything I do."
He had never been blessed with a privileged upbringing. Throughout his life, he had never been encouraged to chase his dreams. His conservative parents had always emphasized the pursuit of mediocrity, the pursuit of a stable and ordinary life.
However, surrendering to his circumstances was never an option for him, so he persisted. While his peers spent their teenage years engrossed in video games, he was already hustling, selling shoes in the town at the tender age of fifteen.
While others indulged in college parties, he had already founded his first company. He was a true self-made millionaire, a testament to his unwavering determination and relentless drive.
Yet, merely attaining millionaire status did not satiate his thirst for excellence. It was ingrained deep within his soul that in every endeavor he pursued, he aimed for nothing less than the very best.
Some called him an extremist, and in a way, they were not entirely wrong. He had never truly experienced the carefree notion of "fun" in his life. The only moments of joy he found were on the basketball court, in the realm of culinary arts, and within the confines of combat. However, his lack of natural talent in any of these haunted him, and he couldn't dedicate his earlier years to train like his peers could, as he was preoccupied with piecing his life together.
"...Let's just head home," he murmured, a tinge of resignation evident in his voice, as he steered his car towards his opulent mansion.
While making his way to his mansion, the man tuned in to the news, learning about the escalating tensions in the world and the looming threat of a potential nuclear strike. His brows furrowed as he contemplated the situation, vocalizing his thoughts, "If such a catastrophic event were to occur, the economy would suffer a massive blow. Perhaps I should consider investing in more gold?"
However, a somber realization dampened his train of thought. "But it wouldn't be a laughing matter if a nuclear strike were to actually take place in this vicinity."
Shaking his head, he reaffirmed his decision. In times of crisis, it was wiser to prioritize safety over regret.
Upon arriving at his mansion, he reached for a bottle of whiskey, seeking solace in its numbing embrace. The liquid poured into the glass, attempting to drown his sorrows in his own personal way.
Yet, just a few minutes into his solitary session, as he reached for another bottle, his gaze fell upon an enigmatic letter resting on the bar counter. Its origin remained unknown, devoid of any sender's name or identifiable markings.
However, it posed a thought-provoking question:
"What if you could start anew? What if you could conquer the world and become the greatest?"
Even in his intoxicated state, he couldn't help but burst into laughter, mocking himself. "How desperate must I be to entertain such absurd notions?"
They say desperate times call for desperate measures, and in that moment, he knew it to be true. However...
"...If only it were real," he murmured, shaking his head in regret. "Even if it takes a hundred or even a thousand years, I will conquer all that stands before me."
As a sudden realization struck him, he hurled the whiskey bottle from his left hand, shattering it upon impact. The sound of glass fragments scattering echoed through the room. "That's right, I shouldn't wallow in self-indulgence. I still have a dream to chase."
It was a narrow escape; he had come dangerously close to losing his grip and succumbing to his fate. While there were many things beyond his control, his state of mind was not one of them.
Making his way to the sofa for some rest, he muttered, "My emotions hold no sway..."
"...Whether I wake up with joy or despair, my goals remain unchanged."
Sinking into the comfort of the sofa, he reached a resolute conclusion. "I will not bow to the whims of fate..."
And with fiery determination blazing in his eyes, he shattered the haze of despondency, breathing new life into his gaze.
"I will become the very best!" he declared, his words ringing with unwavering resolve.
Unbeknownst to him, as he made his way to the sofa, the mysterious letter inexplicably vanished into thin air, as if by some enchanting magic. Oblivious to this strange occurrence, he settled himself on the sofa and drifted off into a deep slumber.
Meanwhile, just a few kilometers away from his city, a solitary jet loomed ominously above the vast expanse of the sea. A voice crackled through the cockpit's speakers, issuing a chilling command, "The enemy approaches. Initiate nuclear strike in 3... 2... 1..."
As the night gave way to the next day, the world awakened to a harrowing reality. News outlets blared the solemn announcement that war had been officially declared, accompanied by the devastating destruction of an entire city.
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