---
Chapter Five: Planning the Storm
Alex's POV
Stuyvesant High School – 8:05 AM
As Mia and I stepped through the school gate, she leaned in and pecked my cheek before veering off with a smug grin. She knew exactly what she was doing—and honestly, I didn't mind. Let her have her fun.
I kept walking, slipping into the flow of students as my mind shifted gears.
The apocalypse wasn't starting tomorrow.
But it was coming.
And I had six months to prepare.
Six months to build a world I controlled. Six months to gather resources, fix my life, and take the throne before chaos reigned. Every step mattered. Every detail was another piece on a board only I understood.
One of the reasons I even came to school today was simple:
To check if anything had changed.
As much as I wanted to ignore the reason I regressed back to sixteen, the thought lingered:
What if I'm not the only one who came back?
I wanted to think I was special—but reality didn't care about my feelings. So the first rule was simple:
Stay inconspicuous.
No drastic moves.
No attention.
If others had regressed, they wouldn't notice me.
I walked into class and spotted Brandon with Michael (Mike) and Liam. Seeing their younger faces again felt odd, but surprisingly, I felt no anger toward Brandon. He betrayed me—sure. But I had a second chance. Revenge would come later, quietly.
I approached them. We were all "best friends," though Brandon and I were closest—until now.
"Hey, guys," I greeted.
Brandon, the basketball team captain, stood at 6'4"—lean, athletic, average face, inflated ego.
Mike was also 6'4", but built like a tank—explosive muscle, the kind of guy who made doors look narrow.
Liam and I were shorter; I was 5'8", he was 5'7".
Height never mattered to me. Power did.
Brandon came from a middle-class family—lawyer father, stay-at-home mom.
Mike's father was an ex-military man turned gang leader.
Liam came from a family of scholars—smart as hell, especially in cybersecurity. He beat me in most subjects—except the ones that mattered.
Me?
I was a ghost in the digital world.
Coding, hacking, trading—I mastered them all. I had millions sitting in offshore accounts—money siphoned quietly from mafia groups and dead men's dormant accounts. I even once tried hacking into a CIA budgeting node—countered, but never traced.
Rough estimate?
Around $70 million.
Enough to prepare.
And if not, I'd get more.
"Alex, you came early," Mike grinned. "Thought you'd sleep in after all that alcohol yesterday."
Right. Last night was Sunday. Liam's father owned a club—well, his gang did—so we got in whenever we wanted. I usually slept through first period after nights like that.
"I'm making some changes," I said, taking my seat.
Liam leaned closer. "How long this time?"
"What?"
"The changes. You've said that before. I'm betting a week," Brandon added.
"A week and a half!" Mike laughed.
"Five days," Liam said.
I zoned out. Idiots.
With thirty minutes before class, I slipped out to clear my head. Dying, resurrecting, seeing my family again—it was a lot. If not for them, I'd probably be losing my mind.
Then I bumped into someone familiar.
Amanda.
In the apocalypse, she always had a sharp gaze—calculated, cold, manipulative. Right now she just looked like a normal girl, brows pulled together, confused. A façade. A lie.
For some reason, seeing her made anger burn inside me.
Brandon? I felt nothing.
Amanda? Rage.
Maybe because of what she made me do.
Or maybe because I hated being manipulated.
She was the cheer captain. I wasn't even on the basketball team. Guys like me weren't supposed to date girls like her. But somehow she "chose" me—after Brandon introduced us. In hindsight? Obvious.
She used me for money.
Simple.
Her expression twisted in surprise.
"Alex! You're here—I thought you—"
She stopped, anger lighting her eyes.
"Why didn't you text me? Or call me when you woke up?" she demanded, hands on her hips like a nagging wife.
Deep breath.
Calm down, Alex.
She isn't worth the energy.
"I didn't feel like it," I said evenly.
"What?" she yelled, drawing a crowd. Perfect. Drama.
I turned away, but of course she blocked my path. She always had to make a scene.
"Alex! Seriously! Why didn't you text me? Or pick up my call?"
I met her stare, calm and cold. Everyone was watching.
"I was busy," I said.
"With what?!" she snapped. "Were you with someone else?"
I didn't flinch.
I let the silence stretch.
Let her sweat.
Then, voice low and controlled:
"Listen, Amanda. You have your life, I have mine. Let's not pretend we owe each other anything this early in the morning."
She faltered—just a little.
I stepped around her.
Then Brandon appeared—right on cue. He always jumped in to "fix" our fights, which made no sense unless…
Unless he liked her.
Or they were using me together.
Anger flickered again.
"What's going on, Alex?" he asked.
I ignored him, kept walking.
"Alex! I'm talking to you!" he growled.
This guy. Captain of the basketball team, thinks he can bark orders at me? I needed to teach him a lesson.
I raised a middle finger without looking back.
Footsteps thundered behind me—good.
Brandon lunged with a punch.
I ducked, countered with a strike to the solar plexus. Not as effective with this weaker body, but enough. As he staggered, I leapt and drove my elbow into his temple.
He dropped.
Not a fight—just technique. Basic Muay Thai. No need to go full apocalypse mode.
Amanda stared at me in horror.
I turned to her.
"I'm done. Let's break up."
Then I walked back to class without looking back.
---