The morning sun filtered through Lysander's bedroom curtains, waking him before his alarm clock had a chance to ring. He lay still for a moment, contemplating the conversation with his father from the previous night. The unexpected connection had reinforced his growing realization that financial preparation, while necessary, shouldn't overshadow the relationships he had been given a second chance to nurture.
Still, he couldn't ignore the practical aspects of his situation. His adult mind understood that accomplishing the ambitious goals he had set—finding Eliza, building a different kind of life, perhaps even making a broader positive impact on the world—would require resources. Money was a tool, and while he was determined not to let it become his master this time around, he still needed to acquire it.
As he dressed for school, Lysander's mind worked through possible strategies. His current assets were laughably limited—a small collection of coins and bills in his Batman piggy bank, amounting to perhaps forty dollars at most. Not exactly the starting capital for an investment empire.
"Lysander! Breakfast is ready!" His mother's voice called from downstairs, interrupting his thoughts.
At the breakfast table, his siblings were already halfway through their meals. Sophia was frantically reviewing notes for a biology test while Marcus methodically worked through a bowl of cereal, earphones plugged in as usual.
"Morning, honey," Isabel said, placing a plate of toast and eggs in front of him. "Did you sleep well?"
"Yes, thanks," Lysander replied, though in truth his mind had been too active for proper rest, cycling through plans and possibilities well into the night.
His father appeared in the kitchen doorway, briefcase in hand, already dressed for work. "I'm heading out early today," he announced. "Big meeting with the Singapore client."
The usual chorus of distracted goodbyes followed—Sophia barely looking up from her notes, Marcus offering a casual wave. But Lysander stood and approached his father.
"Good luck with your meeting, Dad," he said sincerely. "Remember what you said about understanding what they really want."
Robert looked momentarily startled, then smiled with genuine warmth. "I will. Thanks, son." He hesitated, then added, "Still interested in coming to the office sometime?"
"Definitely," Lysander confirmed.
His father nodded. "We'll set it up soon. Have a good day at school."
As the door closed behind Robert, Lysander noticed his mother watching him with a curious expression.
"That was nice of you," she observed, refilling his orange juice glass.
Lysander shrugged, trying to appear casual. "Just thought he might like some encouragement."
Isabel smiled, a hint of something knowing in her eyes. "He does. More than you might realize."
The brief exchange stuck with Lysander as he walked to school alongside Marco, who was enthusiastically describing a new video game his parents had finally allowed him to buy. In his first childhood, had he ever truly considered his father's emotional needs? Had he recognized that beneath the authoritative exterior and long absences was a man who might have valued connection just as much as his children did?
These thoughts were still circling in his mind when he reached Ms. Gonzalez's classroom. The familiar routine of elementary school surrounded him—children chattering at their desks, the smell of chalk and pencil shavings, the colorful educational posters lining the walls. As his adult consciousness observed it all, Lysander felt a strange blend of nostalgia and claustrophobia. This simple world had once been his entire universe, yet now he felt like an actor on an oddly familiar stage.
The morning lessons passed in a predictable rhythm—language arts, followed by social studies, then math before lunch. Lysander carefully modulated his participation, answering questions correctly but not perfectly, maintaining the image of a bright but not suspiciously brilliant student.
When the lunch bell rang, Lysander lingered behind as his classmates rushed toward the cafeteria.
"Ms. Gonzalez?" he approached his teacher's desk hesitantly. "Could I ask you something?"
The young teacher looked up from the papers she was organizing, her expression warm. "Of course, Lysander. What's on your mind?"
"I was wondering..." he began, carefully selecting his words, "if there are any math competitions coming up? Like quizzes or olympiads?"
Ms. Gonzalez's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Well, that's an unexpected question from you." She studied him for a moment. "As a matter of fact, the regional Math Olympiad qualifier is scheduled for about four months from now. Are you interested in participating?"
"I think I might be," Lysander replied, trying to project just the right blend of uncertainty and enthusiasm appropriate for a ten-year-old making his first venture into academic competitions.
"There will be tryouts in about six weeks to select our school team," Ms. Gonzalez explained, her initial surprise giving way to obvious pleasure at a student showing interest. "I can give you some practice materials if you'd like to prepare."
"That would be great," Lysander said, genuinely grateful. In his first childhood, he had never participated in such events, finding mathematics challenging and competitions intimidating. But his adult career had required robust numerical literacy, and decades of financial analysis had transformed mathematics from a weakness into a strength.
Ms. Gonzalez smiled mischievously as she pulled a folder from her desk drawer. "You know, Erica Santos has been on the math team for two years now. She'll probably be participating again."
Lysander felt his cheeks warm involuntarily. "Oh? That's... nice."
"Mmhmm," his teacher hummed knowingly as she handed him the folder. "I'm sure she'd be happy to help you prepare if you asked her."
"Thanks, Ms. Gonzalez," Lysander managed, taking the folder and turning to leave before his embarrassment became too obvious.
"Lysander?" she called after him.
He paused at the doorway. "Yes?"
"It's good to see you branching out. Taking risks. That's how we grow."
Her words carried more weight than she could possibly know. Lysander nodded, momentarily unable to formulate a response that wouldn't sound oddly mature coming from a ten-year-old.
In the cafeteria, Marco had saved him a seat. "Where were you?" his friend demanded as Lysander set his lunch tray down.
"Talking to Ms. Gonzalez about the Math Olympiad," Lysander explained, opening his milk carton.
Marco stared at him as if he'd announced plans to travel to Mars. "The Math Olympiad? You? Since when do you care about math competitions?"
"I don't know," Lysander shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. "Just thought it might be interesting to try."
"Interesting?" Marco repeated incredulously. "Dude, you've spent the last two years telling me how boring math is. Remember last year when you said you'd rather eat a bug than do extra math problems?"
Lysander winced inwardly. His cover story needed work—he'd forgotten to account for his previous self's documented opinions. "People change, I guess."
"In like two days?" Marco shook his head. "First martial arts, then soccer, now math competitions? Next you'll be telling me you want to join the chess club."
Lysander carefully avoided Marco's gaze. The chess club was, in fact, next on his list of potential activities—another skill his adult self had developed that could potentially lead to competition opportunities and prizes.
"Oh my god," Marco groaned, interpreting Lysander's silence correctly. "You're thinking about the chess club too, aren't you? Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?"
"It's still me," Lysander insisted, feeling a pang of guilt at the genuine concern in Marco's voice. "I'm just... trying some new things."
Marco studied him for a long moment. "Is this because of Erica? Are you trying to impress her or something?"
The suggestion offered a convenient excuse, and Lysander seized it. "Maybe," he admitted with feigned reluctance.
This, at least, Marco seemed to accept. "Okay, that makes more sense. She's in all those nerdy competitions." He shook his head and returned to his lunch. "Girls make guys do crazy things, I guess."
Lysander sent a quick text to Marcus between classes, asking if they could meet after school to visit the Taekwondo dojang Master Reyes had recommended. His brother's response came just before the final bell:
Sure, whatever. Meet me out front. Don't be late, I have practice at 5.
As classes ended, Lysander gathered his books and headed for the front entrance. The high school let out thirty minutes after the elementary school, so he found a bench near the flagpole and pulled out the Math Olympiad practice materials to review while he waited.
The problems were far below the complexity he had handled in his adult career, but he found himself enjoying the clean, straightforward nature of the exercises. Unlike the murky ethical dilemmas and tangled human dynamics of corporate leadership, mathematics offered clear questions with definitive answers—a refreshing change from the ambiguities that had dominated his previous life.
"Didn't take you for a math nerd," Marcus's voice interrupted his concentration.
Lysander looked up to see his brother standing over him, basketball tucked under one arm and an expression of mild curiosity on his face.
"Just something I'm trying out," Lysander said, closing the folder and standing up. "Ready to go?"
Marcus nodded, and they set off toward the address on Master Reyes's card. The walk gave Lysander a chance to observe his brother more closely than he had in years—decades, technically. At sixteen, Marcus was already showing the physical confidence that would define him as an adult. He walked with long, easy strides, acknowledging other students with casual nods or fist bumps as they passed.
"So what's with the sudden interest in martial arts?" Marcus asked after they'd walked in silence for several blocks.
Lysander considered his answer carefully. "It just looked interesting when Master Reyes demonstrated it. And I thought... maybe it's something we could do together."
Marcus glanced at him, surprise evident in his expression. "Together? Since when do you want to do things with me?"
The question stung, though Lysander knew it was fair. In his first childhood, he and Marcus had operated in largely separate orbits, their age difference and divergent interests creating a gap that had never really closed.
"I guess I just thought it might be cool," Lysander said, aiming for a casual tone. "But if you don't want to—"
"I didn't say that," Marcus interrupted, his voice softer than before. "Just surprised, that's all."
They walked the rest of the way in more comfortable silence. The dojang was located in a small strip mall between a convenience store and a dry cleaner's. The simple façade gave little indication of what lay inside, but when Marcus pushed open the door, Lysander was greeted by the sight of a spacious training floor covered in blue mats, walls lined with mirrors, and several students in white uniforms practicing forms under the watchful eye of Master Reyes.
The instructor noticed them immediately and approached with a warm smile. "Ah, young Lysander. I'm pleased you decided to visit." He nodded respectfully to Marcus. "And you've brought a friend."
"My brother," Lysander clarified. "Marcus."
"Welcome to both of you," Master Reyes said with a slight bow. "Have you come to observe or to participate?"
"Just to get information," Marcus replied. "Class schedules, fees, that kind of thing."
"Of course." Master Reyes gestured toward a small office at the back of the dojang. "Please, come this way."
As the instructor turned to lead them, a student approached and whispered something in his ear. Master Reyes nodded, then looked back at the brothers with an apologetic expression.
"I'm afraid I must deal with something quickly. Please, make yourselves comfortable. There are uniforms in the changing room if you'd like to try a session while you wait." He gestured toward a door marked "Men."
Before Lysander could politely decline, Marcus surprised him. "Actually, that sounds cool. What do you think, Ly? Want to give it a shot?"
The nickname—one Marcus had rarely used in their first life—caught Lysander off guard. "I... sure, if you want to."
Minutes later, they emerged from the changing room in borrowed white dobok, the material stiff and slightly too large on Lysander's small frame. Master Reyes had returned and was instructing a group of students around Lysander's apparent age in basic blocking techniques.
"Excellent," the instructor said upon seeing them. "Lysander, since you've already demonstrated some aptitude, perhaps you would be willing to spar lightly with one of our beginning students? And Marcus, you can join this group for some basic instruction."
Before he could prepare himself, Lysander found himself facing a boy perhaps a year older than his current body, but considerably larger. The boy bowed formally, and Lysander returned the gesture, trying to recall the proper protocols from his limited adult training.
"Ready position," Master Reyes instructed. "Remember, light contact only. This is about technique, not power."
As they began to circle each other on the mat, Lysander felt a curious sensation—his adult mind knew techniques his child's body had never performed, yet somehow his muscles responded to these mental cues. The boy launched a straightforward punch, telegraphing his intentions clearly. Lysander sidestepped smoothly, deflecting the blow and countering with a precisely controlled strike that stopped just short of the boy's chest.
"Good!" Master Reyes called out. "Continue."
For several minutes, they exchanged techniques, Lysander finding an unexpectedly fluid harmony between his adult knowledge and his child's physicality. He carefully modulated his responses, making them effective but not suspiciously advanced, occasionally allowing his opponent to land light strikes to maintain the appearance of a beginner's match.
From the corner of his eye, Lysander could see Marcus watching, his practice group momentarily forgotten. His brother's expression showed unmistakable surprise, but also something elsea hint of pride, perhaps?
When Master Reyes finally called an end to the sparring, Lysander and his opponent bowed to each other, the boy offering a respectful "Good match" that Lysander returned with genuine appreciation.
"Very impressive for someone with no formal training," Master Reyes commented as Lysander rejoined his brother. "You have natural talent."
"Thanks," Lysander replied, trying to catch his breath. Despite his adult mind's familiarity with the movements, his child's body lacked the conditioning to sustain such activity for long periods.
As they changed back into their regular clothes, Marcus was uncharacteristically animated. "That was awesome, Ly! Where did you learn to move like that?"
Lysander shrugged, feigning modesty. "Just copied what I saw in class yesterday, I guess."
"No way," Marcus shook his head emphatically. "That was more than copying. You've got serious talent." He paused, studying Lysander with newfound respect. "I had no idea my little brother was such abadass."
The pride in Marcus's voice stirred something deep in Lysander's heart—a connection he had missed entirely in his first life. Had his brother always wanted to admire him, to find common ground? Had opportunities for brotherhood been there all along, overlooked in his self-absorption?
Master Reyes provided them with information about class schedules and fees, which were surprisingly reasonable. As they walked home, Marcus continued to rehash Lysander's performance, describing moves Lysander himself had barely registered performing.
"So, are you going to sign up?" Marcus asked as they approached their house.
Lysander nodded. "I think so. Will you?"
Marcus hesitated only briefly. "Yeah, I think I might. Coach says cross-training is good for basketball anyway." He grinned, nudging Lysander's shoulder. "Plus, somebody needs to keep an eye on you before you become too dangerous."
As they entered the house, greeted by the smell of their mother's cooking and Sophia's music drifting down from upstairs, Lysander felt a warm certainty spreading through him. The day had been productive in ways he hadn't anticipated. Yes, he had taken steps toward his financial goals by investigating competition opportunities. But more importantly, he had discovered a bridge to his brothera connection that had been missing in his first life.
The stranger's words echoed in his mind once more: "The butterfly effect is already in motion." Each small change he made seemed to create ripples of possibility, opening doors he had never even noticed in his original timeline.
As he helped set the table for dinner, listening to Marcus enthusiastically describe the dojang visit to their mother, Lysander realized that his second chance wasn't just about avoiding past mistakes—it was about discovering all the opportunities he had missed the first time around.