Jalen woke up to the soft shuffle of footsteps and the faint clink of porcelain.
He was still getting used to the sensation of waking up in silk sheets instead of a sweat-drenched training mat. The sunlight filtered through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting golden light across the vast room. At the edge of his bed stood a tall man, dressed in a sharp black suit, white gloves, and an expression that could make marble statues blink.
"Good morning, Young Master Creed," the butler said with a respectful bow. "Breakfast is prepared. I took the liberty of laying out your uniform. You'll be starting at J High tomorrow."
Jalen stretched slowly, suppressing a grin.
So it wasn't a dream.
New body. New world. Weak muscles, sure, but clean skin, perfect bone structure, and judging from the view, furniture, and scent of imported leather disgusting levels of wealth.
He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, pretending to recognize the man. "Ah, yes. Alfred, right?"
The butler hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding.
"It's… Alphonse, sir."
Jalen snapped his fingers. "Close enough."
Alphonse cleared his throat delicately. "If I may, sir, today would be a good time to familiarize yourself with your surroundings. You haven't stepped foot in Seoul for some time, and with your parents still abroad, you'll be attending school without escort. J High has been informed of your arrival."
Jalen blinked. "Right. Parents."
That was still weird. In his last life, he barely had a corner of a gym to sleep in. Now? Apparently absentee billionaire parents.
He swung his legs off the bed, feeling the unfamiliar weakness in his limbs. No strength. No callouses. A soft, pampered body.
Good.
He'd earn every inch of power again.
"Out of curiosity," Jalen said, pulling on the crisp school uniform with practiced ease, "what does my family even do?"
Alphonse paused before answering. "Your father, Mr. Elias Creed, is the founder and majority shareholder of NewTube Corp. One of the largest media conglomerates in the world."
Jalen choked mid-button. "Wait. NewTube? Like the app?"
"Yes, sir."
The realization hit him like a punch: his dad owned the very platform where underground fights went viral, where clout mattered more than belts, and influencers made and ruined reputations in seconds.
He had inherited the throne of digital influence.
Jalen chuckled to himself, buttoning the last of his shirt and admiring his reflection.
"So let me get this straight," he said, walking past Alphonse, "I've got the looks of a K-drama lead, the bank account of a tech overlord, and a body built like a wet napkin?"
"An elegant summary, sir."
Jalen flashed a grin.
Perfect.
Tomorrow, J High would meet its newest student.
He wouldn't throw a punch not yet.
But he'd watch.
He'd learn.
And when the time came, The Phantom would rise again.