The rooftop was quiet—so quiet that the world below felt like a different universe entirely. The late afternoon sun burned orange in the sky, casting long shadows across the concrete. A gentle breeze stirred the edge of Kojiro Touya's blazer as he sat near the roof's edge, legs swinging over the side, the weight of the moment far heavier than the body it hung on.
He wasn't supposed to be here. The bell had rung, school was over, and most students had already begun the commute home or scattered to their after-school activities. But Kojiro liked silence—no, he needed it. The noise of normalcy, of average goals and ordinary dreams, grated on him like static in his soul. Up here, there was no pressure to pretend. No need to shrink his ambitions to fit the classroom.
On his lap lay an old, battered book, the leather fraying at the corners. A page was folded, paused at a passage he had read a hundred times: *Alexander the Great—seventeen when he took command of his first army. Eighteen when he led them into battle. By thirty, the world bowed to him.
Kojiro's fingers rested on the edge of the page, unmoving.
"Seventeen," he whispered. "And the world remembers his name.
The weight of the thought settled deep inside him. What was he doing with his life? Sitting through classes, wasting hours on subjects he barely cared about, chasing dreams no one else understood? He clenched his jaw. No, he wasn't destined to be forgotten like so many others. He wanted more. Not just to live—but to live a life so meaningful that when he died, the world would still speak his name.
His gaze shifted toward the distant skyline. Cities were like kingdoms, each with their own rulers, their own histories. He wanted to carve a place in that story. Not as a footnote, but as a legend.
The wind tugged at his hair and coat, and Kojiro closed his eyes, envisioning a future where his name was etched in history. But dreams without plans were just wishes.
He needed a plan.
A sudden memory surfaced—a summer afternoon years ago in his uncle's backyard. He was just a boy then, curious and wide-eyed. His uncle had been there, patiently melting discarded plastic over a small makeshift burner. The acrid smell was unpleasant, but the sight fascinated Kojiro.
"Refine the useless, and it becomes valuable," his uncle had said, eyes gleaming. "That's power."
That phrase echoed in Kojiro's mind. If power meant transforming waste into worth, then what else could he refine? What other resources could he turn into greatness?
Back on the rooftop, he pulled out his phone and opened a blank note. Underneath the date, he wrote one word: "Plan."
He started scribbling ideas—small business ventures, clever inventions, ways to build money and influence quietly. The idea wasn't just to be rich, but to leverage that wealth into something bigger. To create a foundation strong enough to support a kingdom of his own making.
But this wasn't going to be easy. Most people his age spent nights playing games or scrolling social media. Kojiro had to outwork them all.
A soft chime from his phone interrupted the thoughts. First he noticed the time "it's so late already" then he saw a message from a classmate inviting him to study group. He didn't reply. This was his time, his moment. He closed the book, stood up, and took one last look at the sunset.
Tomorrow, he would start.
The first day of college was a blur of new faces, sprawling hallways, and endless chatter. Kojiro felt like a small fish in a sea of sharks. But instead of drowning, he swam. He observed quietly, learning who had ambition, who was smart, who could be an ally.
His dorm room was small and cluttered, but it was his kingdom for now. When he unpacked, he found a photo of his parents tucked inside a notebook. They'd always believed in him. He needed to believe in himself just as fiercely.
That night, under the dim glow of his desk lamp, Kojiro reached out to two classmates—Jinta, a talented programmer, and Arman, an engineer with a knack for hardware.
"I don't want to be forgotten," he told them quietly. "I want to build something that lasts."
Jinta raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Not forgotten, huh? That's ambitious for a freshman." He tapped the desk thoughtfully.
Arman grinned. "I'm in if it means doing something bigger than just passing classes."
Kojiro's eyes sparkled. "Good. We'll start small — selling chocolates to students and merchants around campus. Simple, but it'll make enough money to fund something bigger."
They nodded, feeling the weight of a new beginning.
The next weeks were a blur. Handmade chocolates filled Kojiro's dorm kitchen. Afternoons saw them selling bars on campus, winning over students with unique flavors.
Business grew fast. Encouraged, Kojiro recruited chemistry and business friends. Profits soared.
He secretly gathered discarded plastics from nearby streets, recalling his uncle's lessons on refining trash into fuel.
With help from chemist friends, they developed a method to turn plastic waste into crude petrol and diesel. Not perfect, but effective.
Selling fuel quietly to local merchants, their profits supplemented the chocolate sales.
The money was enough now to think beyond small businesses.
One evening, Kojiro gathered his friends in the dorm. "I have a plan," he said, showing a sketch of a sleek smartphone labeled "The Crown."
"This phone will have AI called Oracle, a 30x scope camera with x-ray vision, and an operating system called Royal OS — all unique," Kojiro explained.
Jinta whistled. "Insane, but that's the kind of crazy idea that might work."
Arman smiled. "If we pull this off, we rewrite what phones mean."
Kojiro added, "We'll use profits and exposure to become minor sponsors for the World Cup in Brazil. It's a small step, but a huge stage."
His friends exchanged excited looks. This was a revolution.
Weeks passed. Code filled screens, machines hummed. Oracle's AI grew smarter, camera tech refined, Royal OS shaped.
Failure wasn't an option.
Kojiro paced, muttering ideas. "AI predicts user needs... camera scans hidden objects for safety..." His imagination raced.
Jinta called it "the most ambitious freshman project." Arman joked, "And rich doing it."
Behind the scenes, Kojiro's secret plan loomed. "I'm going to Brazil for the World Cup we will be minor sponsors," he told his friends, "then I'll train with Interpol for a year — physically, mentally, intellectually. I want my name carved in power" he thought to himself
Silence fell. Risk was high.
Loyalty won. Jinta smiled, "You're crazy, but we're with you."
Arman nodded, "is the money we made enough to sponsor the WORLD cup even as minor sponsors"
Kojiro's eyes burned, "It is but we only get three adverts one on opening night, one during quarter finals and one during the finale I already had a friend in the graphics design department make our ad the rest is in God's hands."
Six months later, The Crown Phone was ready. AI Oracle, x-ray camera, Royal OS — sleek and powerful.
At the airport, friends hugged, promises made. This was no longer a school project; it was a legacy.
Kojiro stepped forward, heart pounding — the man who'd be "The King" was ready.
Airport noise faded. Kojiro's heart raced. The Crown phone was a symbol of their work.
Jinta whispered, "Make sure you don't lose the phone"Jinta said jokinglym
Kojiro nodded, "I will try" he answered with a grin
Boarding felt surreal. Cityscape vanished under clouds.
He imagined Brazil's stadiums, Interpol's training, and power beyond dreams.
But shadows of sacrifice lingered.
The flight stretched. Kojiro stared out, counting down to his true beginning.
Touchdown in Brazil — new languages, new faces, endless possibility.
Road ahead was steep but he was ready.
Wheels touched runway, Kojiro whispered, "This is the stage. The beginning of the King."
My legend will begin here.