Lysander was dreaming of Eliza—her smile radiant in the autumn sunlight as they walked through Central Park, leaves crunching beneath their feet—when a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder pulled him from sleep.
"Hey, buddy. Time to wake up."
Lysander blinked in confusion, the dream fading as his eyes adjusted to the soft morning light filtering through his bedroom curtains. Standing beside his bed was his father, Robert Everett, dressed in a crisp button-down shirt and slacks, his tie hanging loosely around his neck.
"Dad?" Lysander mumbled, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. In his first life, these moments with his father had been rare. Robert had always left for work before the children woke, returning long after dinner, exhausted from his job as a regional manager for an international shipping company.
Robert smiled, the expression softening his usually serious face. "Your mom says I need to get you kids to school today. She's got an early meeting at the community center." He paused, then added somewhat awkwardly, "Also wanted to thank you for the cookies last night. They were good."
Lysander felt a wave of warmth spread through him. In his previous timeline, had his father ever thanked him for something so small? Had he ever taken the time to notice?
"You're welcome," Lysander replied, climbing out of bed. "Mom did most of the work though."
Robert shook his head. "She said it was your idea." He cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other in that particular way he did when emotional conversations made him uncomfortable. "So, how's school going? Your mom mentioned something about your phone being taken away yesterday?"
Lysander winced. "Yeah, I was using it during geography class. Not my best decision."
"What were you doing that was so important it couldn't wait?" There was no accusation in his father's tone, just genuine curiosity—another departure from the distant authority figure Lysander remembered.
"I was making notes about..." Lysander hesitated, calculating how much he could say. "About plans for the future. Things I want to accomplish."
Robert's eyebrows rose slightly. "Pretty ambitious for a ten-year-old." He studied Lysander with new interest. "Anything specific?"
The question caught Lysander off guard. How many times in his adult life had he wished for moments like this—opportunities to talk with his father about his dreams and ambitions? Yet now, faced with the reality of it, he found himself struggling to bridge the gap between his adult consciousness and this childlike body.
"I want to be successful," he said carefully. "But not just with money. I want to build something meaningful, something that matters." He looked directly at his father. "And I want to spend more time with the people I care about."
Something flickered in Robert's eyes—recognition, perhaps, or reflection. "That's... that's good thinking, son." He appeared about to say more when Isabel's voice rang out from downstairs.
"Robert! Lysander! Breakfast is ready! You need to leave in twenty minutes!"
"Better hurry," Robert said, the moment of connection already slipping away. "You know how your mother gets when we're running late."
As his father turned to leave, Lysander called after him. "Dad?"
Robert paused in the doorway. "Yes?"
"Maybe we could talk more about this sometime? About... future plans and stuff?" The words felt childish in his mouth, but the intention behind them was entirely adult—a desire to build the relationship that had withered in his first life.
His father's expression softened into a smile that reached his eyes. "I'd like that, Lysander. How about this weekend, after the science exhibition?"
"Perfect," Lysander agreed, his heart lighter than it had been since his extraordinary return to childhood.
Fifteen minutes later, Lysander sat at the breakfast table with his siblings, watching as their father gulped down coffee while checking his watch repeatedly. Sophia was complaining about a history assignment while Marcus seemed absorbed in a sports magazine, occasionally nodding in response to their father's distracted questions.
"Did you kids try the cookies your brother made?" Robert asked during a lull in conversation.
"Lysander made cookies?" Sophia's tone conveyed such disbelief that Lysander couldn't help but feel slightly offended.
"With Mom," he clarified. "There should be some for your lunches today."
Marcus finally looked up from his magazine. "Since when do you bake?"
Before Lysander could respond, their father intervened. "Your brother's developing new interests. Nothing wrong with that." He checked his watch again and stood up. "Time to go. Everyone got their things?"
The morning drive to school was a novel experience for Lysander. In his original childhood, he had rarely traveled with his father, typically taking the school bus while Robert dropped the older children at their high school. Sitting in the back seat beside Sophia, listening to his father and Marcus discuss the upcoming basketball season, Lysander felt like he was glimpsing an alternate reality—one where family connections took precedence over professional ambitions.
"Have a good day," Robert said as Lysander climbed out of the car at his elementary school. "And no more phone confiscations, alright?"
"I promise," Lysander replied with a smile, watching as his father's car pulled away toward the high school. The brief morning interaction had left him feeling oddly hopeful—perhaps rebuilding his relationship with his father would be easier than he had anticipated.
As he made his way to his classroom, Lysander mentally reviewed his schedule for the day. If his memory served him correctly—and the fact that he remembered even this much after twenty-eight years was remarkable—today would include mathematics, science, and physical education. The latter brought a smile to his face. PE had always been a source of mild anxiety in his original childhood; his slight build and cautious nature had made him more comfortable with books than with balls.
But his adult self had discovered a passion for physical fitness that his childhood self had never explored. After years spent hunched over desks and conference tables, Lysander had eventually hired a personal trainer who had introduced him to a variety of disciplines, including martial arts. Though he had never progressed beyond basic proficiency—always too busy with work for serious commitment—he had discovered a natural aptitude for the precise, controlled movements.
Now, with the knowledge that today's PE class would focus on martial arts, Lysander felt an unexpected excitement. Here was an opportunity to engage with something his adult self had wished he'd pursued more seriously—a small but meaningful way to reshape his path.
"Earth to Lysander! You in there?" Marco's voice broke through his thoughts as his friend fell into step beside him in the hallway.
"Morning, Marco," Lysander replied, pushing aside his adult reflections. "Ready for the math quiz?"
"Ugh, don't remind me," Marco groaned. "I was hoping you'd forgotten so I wouldn't have to think about it until class."
Lysander laughed. "Sorry. If it helps, I can quiz you at recess?"
Marco shot him a suspicious look. "Since when are you so helpful? First cookies for the class, now offering to study together?" He narrowed his eyes. "Are you dying or something? Is that why you're being weird?"
The question, delivered in Marco's typical dramatic fashion, struck uncomfortably close to Lysander's recent experience. In a sense, he had died—or at least, that version of him had ceased to exist when he accepted the stranger's offer in the rain.
"Not dying," he assured his friend with a forced smile. "Just... growing up, I guess."
"Well, grow up slower," Marco replied, echoing his sentiment from the previous day. "It's freaking me out."
The morning classes passed relatively smoothly, with Lysander carefully moderating his responses to avoid drawing too much attention. The math quiz proved laughably simple to his adult mind, but he deliberately included a minor calculation error to maintain the appearance of a bright but not supernaturally gifted ten-year-old.
By the time the class lined up for PE, Lysander's anticipation had built to genuine excitement. The students filed into the gymnasium, where blue mats had been laid out across the floor. At the center stood a middle-aged man in a crisp white gi, his black belt tied precisely around his waist.
"Good morning, students," the instructor said with a slight bow. "I am Master Reyes. For the next few weeks, I will be introducing you to the basic principles of Taekwondo."
As the students settled onto the mats in cross-legged positions, Master Reyes began explaining the philosophy behind the martial art—discipline, respect, self-control, and perseverance. Lysander listened attentively, realizing that these were precisely the values he had neglected in his pursuit of financial success during his first life.
"Now," Master Reyes continued, "I will demonstrate a few basic techniques. After that, we will practice some simple stances and movements together."
The instructor moved through a series of forms with fluid precision—blocks, strikes, and kicks that displayed both power and control. As Lysander watched, muscle memory from his adult experiences stirred within him. His personal trainer had covered similar movements, and Lysander had shown an aptitude for them that had surprised both himself and his instructor.
"I need a volunteer to help me demonstrate the first stance," Master Reyes announced, his gaze scanning the seated students.
Before he could think better of it, Lysander raised his hand.
"Ah, excellent," Master Reyes nodded toward him. "Please come forward, young man."
As Lysander rose and approached the center of the mat, he became aware of the murmurs among his classmates. In his original childhood, he had been the kid who participated only when required, preferring to watch from the sidelines rather than risk embarrassment. This eager volunteering represented yet another deviation from his established pattern.
"What is your name?" Master Reyes asked.
"Lysander Everett, sir."
"Well, Lysander, please stand here facing the class." The instructor positioned him, then demonstrated the basic front stance. "Now you try. Feet shoulder-width apart, right foot forward, knees slightly bent."
Lysander mirrored the position perfectly, his body falling naturally into the stance with a balance and precision that reflected years of practice his ten-year-old self had never experienced.
Master Reyes blinked in surprise. "Very good. Have you studied martial arts before?"
"No, sir," Lysander replied, technically truthful for this timeline. "But I've watched it... on TV."
"You have a natural eye for it," the instructor commented. "Now, let me show you a basic block."
As Master Reyes demonstrated the movement, Lysander followed with fluid accuracy, his body responding to cues his mind recognized from future experiences. Each position felt familiar, comfortable—as if his muscles remembered what his conscious mind knew should be impossible for them to know.
After several demonstrations, Master Reyes turned to address the rest of the class. "Did everyone see what Lysander did? The key is to move with purpose and control."
The students were then paired off to practice the basic stances and blocks. Marco, partnered with Lysander, stared at him with undisguised amazement.
"Okay, seriously," Marco whispered as they practiced. "When did you learn to do that? You moved exactly like Master Reyes!"
Lysander shrugged, trying to downplay his unexpected proficiency. "I just copied what he did. It's not that hard."
"Not that hard?" Marco attempted the front stance again, his balance wobbling slightly. "I look like a drunk flamingo, and you look like you've been doing this for years!"
The comparison was uncomfortably accurate. Lysander realized he would need to be more careful—subtle changes in behavior were one thing, but demonstrations of skills he shouldn't possess would raise too many questions.
"Just beginner's luck," he insisted, deliberately making his next block slightly less precise.
Throughout the class, Lysander continued to moderate his performance, occasionally allowing minor errors to creep into his form. Nevertheless, by the end of the session, he had drawn the attention not only of his classmates but also of Master Reyes.
"Lysander," the instructor called as the students prepared to return to their regular classroom. "A moment, please."
Lysander approached, mentally preparing explanations for his unusual aptitude.
"You showed remarkable form today," Master Reyes said, studying him with interest. "Are you certain you haven't had prior training?"
"No formal training, sir," Lysander answered carefully. "But I've always been interested in martial arts."
The instructor nodded thoughtfully. "You have natural talent. It would be a shame not to develop it." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a business card. "This is my dojang. We have classes for children your age several times a week. I think you would progress quickly."
Lysander accepted the card, a surge of unexpected pleasure coursing through him. Here was something new—an opportunity his original self had never explored, a path untaken in his first life.
"Thank you, sir. I'll talk to my parents about it."
"Do that," Master Reyes encouraged with a slight bow. "Talent like yours is rare."
As Lysander rejoined his classmates filing out of the gymnasium, Marco immediately pounced on him. "What did he want? Are you in trouble for being too good?"
Lysander laughed, showing Marco the card. "Actually, he invited me to join his martial arts school."
"Whoa," Marco's eyes widened with genuine impression. "That's cool! Are you going to do it?"
The question gave Lysander pause. In his carefully formulated plans for this second chance, he had focused primarily on correcting past mistakes—strengthening family bonds, preparing for future investments, finding Eliza. He hadn't considered adding entirely new elements to his life journey.
Yet why not? The stranger's gift hadn't merely been a chance to avoid regrets but to live more fully.
"I think I might," he replied, tucking the card into his pocket. "It could be fun."
"Fun? Since when do you think sweating and getting thrown around is fun?" Marco shook his head in bewilderment. "Next thing you'll tell me you want to join the basketball team."
Lysander grinned. "Let's not get carried away."
As they made their way to the cafeteria for lunch, Lysander found himself unexpectedly energized by the morning's experience. The physical exertion—even limited by his ten-year-old body—had awakened something in him, a reminder that this second chance encompassed more than just avoiding past regrets. It offered the opportunity to explore new paths, to discover aspects of himself that had remained dormant in his first life.
"Hey," Marco said as they sat down with their lunch trays, "want to play soccer with us after school? Paulo's brother got a new ball, and we're meeting at the park near your house."
In his original childhood, Lysander had often declined such invitations, preferring books or computer games to physical activities with friends. But now, with the lingering satisfaction of the martial arts class still fresh, the prospect of running around a park with his childhood friends held unexpected appeal.
"Sure," he agreed, surprising both Marco and himself. "That sounds great."
Marco stared at him for a long moment, then broke into a wide grin. "First martial arts, now soccer? Who are you, and what have you done with the real Lysander?"
The question struck closer to home than Marco could possibly know. Lysander smiled enigmatically as he unwrapped his lunch, finding one of the cookies he had baked with his mother nestled beside his sandwich.
"Maybe I'm just finding out who the real Lysander actually is," he replied softly, more to himself than to his friend.
The rest of the school day passed in a blur of lessons that demanded little of Lysander's adult intellect. Instead of growing bored, however, he used the time to observe his classmates with new appreciation—these children who had once been central to his daily life but whose faces had faded from his memory over decades.
There was Paulo Mendoza, whose family owned a small bakery where Lysander had spent countless afternoons in his original childhood. Jin Park, whose mathematical brilliance had always intimidated Lysander despite Jin's patience in helping him with homework. And Erica Santos, studious and serious, who had been his first innocent crush before his family's move to the United States.
Each of them represented connections he had allowed to wither, relationships discarded as he climbed the ladder of success. In this second chance, perhaps he could honor these friendships properly—recognizing their value not as stepping stones but as worthy destinations in themselves.
When the final bell rang, Lysander gathered his things with a sense of anticipation rather than relief. Today had brought unexpected opportunities and small victories—a meaningful exchange with his father, the discovery of a latent talent, the chance to simply play with friends without the weight of adult responsibilities.
As he joined Marco and the others heading toward the park, soccer ball bouncing ahead of them on the sidewalk, Lysander felt something he hadn't experienced in years: the simple, uncomplicated joy of being present in the moment, with no emails to check, no deals to close, no empire to maintain.
Perhaps this, too, was part of the stranger's gift—not just the chance to rewrite his biggest regrets, but the opportunity to rediscover the small pleasures he had sacrificed along the way. Success, he was beginning to understand, could be measured in many currencies beyond the financial.
The afternoon sun warm on his back, the excited voices of friends surrounding him, Lysander Everett—once-powerful CEO now returned to childhood—took a deep breath and allowed himself to simply play.