July 29th, 2128 · 07:27
Majestic Residence · Building A · 2801
In the kitchen, a small pot of milk porridge simmered softly. Steam lifted the warm scent of wheat and the faint sweetness of diced vegetables. On the other burner, eggs sizzled in a pan—flipped cleanly, yolks still slightly soft, wrapped in a thin gloss of oil.
Ethan stood at the island counter with his sleeves rolled to his elbows. His movements were practiced, steady—unhurried in the way of someone who looked like he'd done mornings like this for years.
He ladled the porridge, stirred the vegetables evenly, set down two slices of toast—just crisp at the edges—then plated the eggs.
Everything landed in its place, as if he'd measured it.
He was about to rinse the pan and set it in the sink when the bedroom door clicked open.
Summer stepped out with her hair still half damp, wearing a loose white lounge set. It hung on her in a way that looked clean—and, for her, strangely… soft.
She padded out in slippers, not fully awake.
"…What time is it?"
"Seven thirty."
She lifted her head, still squinting against the morning light—
and then she saw the table.
Two breakfasts. Steam rising. The smell of hot porridge filling the air.
Summer froze.
"…You made this?"
"Yeah."
Ethan turned off the heat as if it were nothing—like breakfast for her was the most natural thing in the world.
"You slept late. I didn't want to wake you."
Something in her chest got tapped—lightly, but precisely.
It didn't feel like being "served."
It felt like… for the first time in her life, someone had prepared her day before she even stood up.
She sat down slowly and took her first spoonful.
Warm, soft, a faint sweetness from the vegetables, not too hot—perfectly ready the moment it touched her mouth.
Summer's mornings had always been rushed. She barely had time to breathe before a meeting swallowed her.
Time had never belonged to her.
She closed her eyes for a second.
"…It's really good."
Ethan sat across from her, expression neutral—but something gentle sat under it, even if he didn't consciously notice it himself.
"You—"
She stopped mid-sentence, suddenly awkward.
"…Do you always wake up this early?"
"No."
He glanced at her.
"But if there's someone to eat with, I don't mind waking up early."
It was one sentence. Simple. Casual.
And somehow it lit up a small corner of loneliness she'd buried so deep she'd almost forgotten it existed.
She looked away, cleared her throat, forcing her tone back into "normal."
"You… don't say things like that. It's weird."
"What's weird about it?"
"It's just… weird."
Ethan didn't push. He shifted topics.
"How many meetings today?"
"Three," she answered. "One project meeting in the morning. Two client meetings in the afternoon."
"Eat lunch."
"I'm not a kid."
"I'm worried you'll drink coffee instead of eating."
Summer paused, then grudgingly replied:
"…I'll eat."
"Promise?"
"…Promise."
The breakfast atmosphere was so light it felt like they'd been living together for years.
But they both knew what it really was:
The first real morning of their "legal marriage."
That newness, that subtle intimacy, that almost-unnoticed rhythm forming between them—
it was quietly fermenting in the air.
After breakfast, Summer grabbed her bag and headed for the door.
Two steps in, she realized the man behind her was also standing.
She lifted a brow.
"You going out too?"
"No."
Ethan fastened his cuff like he was about to do a morning stretch.
"I'm going downstairs to see if Victor is still waiting outside to harass my wife."
Summer: "..."
Her ears went red instantly, but she still tried to sound composed.
"Can you not call me your wife every five seconds?"
"Am I wrong?"
"…You—"
Her tone stayed sharp, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her.
They walked to the elevator together, their shadows on the marble floor almost touching.
—
At the front gate of Majestic Residence, Summer's driver had just parked, still on the phone confirming the route.
On the other side, a young man in expensive streetwear and sunglasses paced irritably.
Victor.
He'd been showing up every morning for days.
In his head, it was romance. Persistence. "She'll be moved eventually."
Today, he saw something he was never supposed to see.
The elevator doors opened.
Ethan and Summer stepped out—side by side.
Their pace matched. Their posture matched. It was the unmistakable look of two people who had just walked out of the same door on the same floor.
Victor didn't process it on the first glance.
On the second, his face warped.
"S–Summer… last night… you… last night?!"
It wasn't a question anymore. It was heartbreak, loss of control, humiliation—like someone had ripped his face off in public.
Summer frowned.
"Victor. What I did last night has nothing to do with you."
"Tell me! You spent last night with him—"
He didn't even finish.
Ethan stepped forward smoothly, placing himself at Summer's side—not overly intimate, but unmistakably protective. A posture with no room for misunderstanding.
His presence dropped.
The air around him cooled.
"This gentleman," Ethan said calmly, "you're dressed like you've got money and manners—so why are you standing outside my home in the morning saying nonsense to my wife?"
His voice wasn't raised.
But it hit like a nail driven into steel.
Victor looked like he'd been struck.
"You… what did you just say?"
Ethan didn't answer.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small red booklet.
Sunlight hit the cover so hard it looked almost sharp.
A marriage certificate.
He held it up in front of Victor's eyes and said, flatly:
"We're married."
The world went quiet.
Summer's driver dropped his phone.
Someone in the security booth leaned out to watch.
Victor's face went white.
Then, in the next breath, it turned a sick mix of green and red.
"No—no way!"
"Summer, are you insane?!"
"Who is he?! You've known him for how many days?! You're living with him?! You got married?!"
"You think you can do this to the Vance family?!"
Ethan took one more step forward.
His gaze didn't flicker.
He looked at Victor like a loud dog that had barked too long.
"She doesn't owe your family anything."
"And listen carefully."
He lifted his chin slightly, his voice still not loud—yet every word cut.
"The Vance family…"
"In my eyes?"
"…is nothing."
The air locked.
Summer froze. Even she hadn't expected him to go that direct.
The driver sucked in a breath like he'd swallowed ice.
The guard's mouth hung open.
Victor—snapped.
"You—who the hell are you to talk to me like that?!"
But Ethan didn't move.
Victor saw it then—the eyes.
Not anger. Not bluster.
A kind of cold violence that looked like it had climbed out of blood and corpses.
A devil's calm.
Victor's throat tightened.
He actually backed up half a step, instinctively.
Summer's heart slammed once.
No one had ever stood in front of her with that kind of certainty.
Her voice softened, almost pleading:
"Ethan… forget it. Don't say more."
But he didn't retreat.
"One last sentence."
Ethan kept staring at Victor, and it felt like the temperature dropped around them.
"From today on…"
"If you ever harass my wife again—"
"You'll wish you were dead."
Victor's hands trembled. Like a bird with broken wings, he could only retreat, teeth clenched, fear flashing under fury.
"Summer… you'll regret this! You'll regret this!"
He turned and rushed into his car, slamming the accelerator like he was escaping.
When the exhaust drifted away, the world's volume slowly returned.
Summer stood still for a long time before she spoke.
"…What you said will cause trouble."
Ethan looked at her.
"You're afraid I'll get in trouble?"
Summer's throat tightened.
"I'm afraid you'll get hurt."
"I won't."
His voice was steady in a way that made people believe him even when logic didn't.
"Don't worry. I'll be fine."
"And I'll protect you for the rest of your life."
Summer's lashes trembled.
Her driver reminded her about time.
She took a breath.
"I'm going to the office. We'll talk tonight…"
Ethan nodded.
"Come home. I'll make you feel safe again."
The car rolled away.
Ethan stayed where he was, speaking slowly, word by word, to the empty air:
"The Vance family… if you come near my Summer again…"
"I'll make you live in fear forever."
—
He didn't return upstairs.
He hailed a car and went straight to a medical supply outlet downtown.
Not a pharmacy—
a professional dispensing window that supplied hospitals and emergency response vehicles.
The middle-aged pharmacist behind the counter looked up.
"Sir. Are you sure you want this? This is usually supplied only to emergency departments and med-flight teams."
Ethan gave the drug name:
Stabilenin-A.
A specialized emergency agent for:
Fulminant myocarditis.
Acute arrhythmia.
Cardiac-origin sudden collapse.
A new-generation rescue drug that had only become widely available in the 2120s—still not something ordinary people carried.
The pharmacist sighed.
"Most people never carry life-saving meds like this. They only learn what it's worth when it's too late."
Ethan said evenly:
"Five boxes."
The pharmacist jolted.
"That much? Someone at home is—"
"I'm carrying it."
"…Alright. I'll prepare it."
Ethan paid and left.
Sunlight hit the boxes in his hand.
Cold. Heavy.
He knew the truth too clearly:
In the last life, Mayor Nelson Carter didn't die from a "heart attack" in the simple sense.
It was:
Fulminant myocarditis → complete rhythm chaos → med-flight can't reach construction site → no one carries Stabilenin-A → golden window lost.
In other words:
He never truly needed to die.
One dose. One timely intervention. That was all.
This life—Ethan would be the one carrying it.
Back home, he removed one Stabilenin-A injector and placed it inside a normal cardiovascular "backup" case as camouflage.
The rest went into the Storage Space.
Then he wrote an unsigned note on plain paper:
To Nelson Carter:
I will appear from nowhere. Don't be shocked. I am a "god" from the future. Listen carefully—
You were meant to die on August 15th, 2128 at 13:44 from sudden cardiac failure. I need you alive. You will be useful to me. You will help me save humanity. This is why you will be spared.
Keep this medication. On that day, when you attend the Smart City groundbreaking ceremony, carry it on you.
Once you survive, go to Guanghe Hospital in the capital and let Selene perform cardiac rehabilitation and follow-up treatment.
Do not tell anyone. Humans have their order. You are not yet capable of breaking it. If you disrupt the rhythm of this world, you will ruin the timeline.
— God of the Second Apocalypse
Ethan finished writing, sealed the note with the injector, and stored it inside the Storage Space.
—
2:30 p.m.
Warehouse No. 1 · Logistics Park.
A line of trucks stretched like a metal dragon. Taillights blinking nonstop.
Blaze wore a tactical earpiece, directing forklifts in the unloading zone.
"All drivers stay behind the yellow line! Nobody enters the warehouse!"
Mason ran over with his terminal.
"Ethan! Rice is already 30% stocked in! Corn arrives tomorrow! For noodles, three suppliers have responded!"
"Good," Ethan nodded.
He walked into the center of the warehouse and looked up at the three-level racking.
Staple weight. Calories. The future's lifeline—taking shape in front of him.
It was a kind of security he'd never had in his last life.
Every sack on the shelf was something that could keep someone alive.
Then he had Mason take the new ute and drove to Warehouse No. 3.
Workers were ripping ceiling panels and removing partitions, preparing for the cold-storage rebuild.
Spray insulation materials, refrigeration units, thermal boards—stacked like small hills.
Mason explained, "They're confident they can finish within a month. Your bonus policy is brutal."
"One day early is 1% of total cost," Ethan said calmly. "They want ten percent."
"Good."
After that, he went to Taoyuan.
The outline in his mind sharpened further.
"Give me three months," he whispered.
"I'll make this place a real fortress."
—
7:35 p.m.
Majestic Residence.
Ethan had just cut apples when the lock clicked.
Summer stepped in, visibly more tired than in the morning—
but seeing him loosened her shoulders a little.
She set her bag down.
"I've been thinking about this morning all day."
"I know."
"Ethan… you shouldn't have spoken to Victor like that. He has the Vance family behind him."
"Yeah." Ethan nodded. "I know."
"Then why—"
"Because you're my legal wife."
Summer: "..."
"I'm not unaware of the Vance family," Ethan continued calmly. "But it's still just a family."
"What I've survived… what I'm capable of…"
"A Vance family doesn't even register."
Summer stared at him, not knowing what kind of life could forge a sentence like that.
Ethan looked at her.
"Summer, don't worry about me. I'm prepared. I can handle it."
"As long as I'm here, nothing happens to you."
Summer lowered her head, not wanting him to see the wetness building at her lashes.
"…Thank you."
"You don't need to thank me."
He handed her the fruit.
"You said we'd take it slow. We will."
"But protecting you—making you feel safe—that's my job."
No kiss. No hug.
Just that sentence, and she felt her heart move closer.
They ate dinner together. Simple, warm.
After dinner, Ethan said he had something to do and returned to his room.
The apartment stayed quiet—but the air held a wordless dependence.
Summer assumed he was dealing with pressure from the Vance family, making arrangements.
In her eyes, Ethan was becoming more and more mysterious.
And without realizing it—
she was falling in love.
—
Ethan returned to his room because he'd received Zoe's email—and he had instructions for Zoe as well.
The door shut, and the outside world softened behind it.
He sat at the edge of the bed and pulled up his terminal. A holographic display unfolded in the air.
Subject line:
[Fuli Hotel Acquisition Progress]
He opened it.
Zoe:
First round of due diligence is complete. Summary:
Fuli Hotel does not own the building. The property was sold to a real estate company eight years ago. Fuli operates under a ten-year lease with five years remaining.
The "Fuli" brand still has recognition in L City, but reputation has declined sharply over three years of losses.
Cash flow is near collapse. Supply chain payables are severely overdue. Existing shareholders can sustain operations for at most three months.
Minor shareholders want to exit. Two major shareholders remain deadlocked; one wants to cut losses quickly.
My estimate: within 2–3 days, we can acquire "brand + remaining lease + operating rights" for under 15 million. If negotiated well, we may compress it to 12–13 million.
Please confirm:
Are we willing to assume outstanding supply chain payables (~2+ million) as part of terms?
Are we comfortable absorbing losses for 6–12 months after takeover?
My recommendation: this is a seller's panic market. No buyer means closure. If you still want it, we should push hard and anchor at ~13 million. Deal can close in 2–3 days.
Ethan read it once and smiled.
"2–3 days. Done."
Exactly what he wanted.
He replied short and direct, then opened the encrypted channel with Zoe:
Ethan: Take all supply chain payables. Price—ideally under 13 million, hard cap 15 million. Losses 6–12 months acceptable. Push the deal.
Zoe replied almost instantly:
Zoe: Understood. First time I've seen the buyer more eager than me. I'll make them "happily" hand us the mess.
Ethan chuckled at the phrase "happily."
Then switched channels—video.
A few seconds later, Zoe's projection appeared in the corner. She looked like she'd just stepped out of a meeting room: white shirt slightly loosened at the collar, pen in one hand, folder in the other—fully in battle mode.
"Ethan?"
She glanced at the background. "You're at home?"
"Yeah."
"You're not in the hotel anymore?"
"Married," Ethan said. "I'll tell you later."
He didn't notice the faint flicker of disappointment in Zoe's eyes. He went straight to business.
"Over the next three days, I need you to watch a stock."
Zoe's face hardened instantly.
"Again? What's the position size this time?"
"First, the stock."
"Go ahead."
Ethan gave the code and name.
NovaIon Energy Group A company supposedly doing ion-based energy storage.
Zoe frowned.
"I know it. The market's been laughing at them for years. All story, no revenue. The price fell off a cliff and has been hovering near delisting. Who still buys that?"
"We do," Ethan said.
Zoe blinked.
"…We?"
Ethan leaned back against the headboard.
"Tomorrow they'll announce a phase breakthrough. Their report will use keywords like: 'breakthrough,' 'mass-production feasibility,' 'preliminarily controllable cost.'"
"The next day, major broker reports start pushing the narrative: 'technology that could reshape the storage landscape,' with aggressive watch ratings."
"Third day, retail money piles in, and the price gets shoved to a high zone fast."
Zoe listened hard, then cut in:
"Are you holding inside information?"
"No."
"Then how do you know?"
"I've told you," he said flatly. "I know the future."
He didn't elaborate.
"You only need the result."
Then he delivered the instruction.
"Starting from the next open, use our 2 billion cash base and do it like last time—full leverage. All-in on this name."
Zoe's pupils tightened.
"All in?"
"All in."
"Leverage?" she asked. "Same as last time?"
"You can go higher," Ethan said. "But ensure no forced liquidation under worst-case moves."
Zoe calculated rapidly.
"Given current price and intraday volatility—if no regulatory halt hits within three days, we're fine."
"Three days," Ethan said. "Then you run."
Zoe went quiet a second.
"I'm starting to wonder if you actually time-traveled."
"You can keep wondering."
She inhaled. "This time I'll be colder than last time."
"Full leverage," Ethan reminded. "Three days. When I tell you to exit, you dump it clean."
She hesitated, then muttered:
"You're not trying to do another 50x, are you?"
"No," Ethan said quickly.
Zoe visibly exhaled—
and then he added, calmly:
"This one is more."
Zoe: "..."
She pinched her brow.
"Fine. I'll arrange it. We hit at the open."
"Hotel acquisition," Ethan said. "You keep pushing it."
"Yes."
Zoe exhaled in mock resignation.
"Alright. I'll go throw your money into a fire and see how much gold is left in three days."
The call ended.
The room went quiet again.
Ethan shut down the hologram, leaned back, and let out a long breath.
"This one should bring at least 150 billion in," he murmured.
"Then… Mayor Carter."
His attention slid to the Storage Space—where the drug and the note waited.
"Mr. Mayor," he thought. "The board is set. Come and take your seat."
—
Night deepened.
In Majestic Residence 2801, before the lights went out, Summer rolled over in bed, her mind circling one sentence from the morning:
"I'll protect you for the rest of your life."
She pressed a hand to her chest.
"How do you even… do that?"
No one answered.
But she knew: some people's words sounded like jokes—until they became real, one by one.
—
Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, inside a trading system, a stock that had been quiet for years suddenly took a massive buy order.
No one noticed.
But three days later, the entire market would remember the account that went all-in with 2 billion on the night of July 29th, 2128.