The shrill sound of the alarm broke the quiet at exactly seven in the morning.
Jack's eyes opened almost immediately.
For a brief moment, confusion lingered.
Then yesterday's memories settled into place.
A new world.
A borrowed body.
A second chance.
He sat up slowly, stretching his arms over his head. The stiffness in his shoulders reminded him that recovery was far from complete. His left shoulder protested with a dull ache before gradually loosening.
"So this is today's starting point."
Instead of lying back down, he made the bed.
It was a simple habit, but Veer's memories reminded him of something he had once read:
"Small disciplines create larger ones."
Jack found himself agreeing.
After washing up and brushing his teeth, he stood before the bathroom mirror.
The bruise on his forehead had already begun fading from deep purple to yellow. The scar near his right temple remained noticeable, though it had healed cleanly.
His body still looked lean.
Too lean.
Months in the hospital had stolen more than weight—they had taken strength, balance, and endurance.
He flexed his arm experimentally.
"Nothing impressive."
"But that's fine."
"I have time."
Changing into a plain gray T-shirt, black shorts
............
Jack carried a notebook from one of the kitchen drawers to the dining table.
Blank pages.
Perfect.
He wrote across the first page.
Second Life
He stared at the words for several seconds before shaking his head.
"...Too dramatic."
He crossed them out.
On the next line he simply wrote:
Goals
Then he remained still.
There were countless possibilities.
He could do almost anything.
Which meant...
He needed direction.
After several minutes, he began writing.
Immediate Priorities
Recover physically. Understand Jack Donovan's life. Organize finances. Learn useful skills. Build good habits.
Simple.
Clear.
Achievable.
He underlined each point.
"This is enough."
Grand ambitions could wait.
A stable foundation came first.
The next hour was spent exploring the house more carefully.
His parents' bedroom remained almost untouched.
He decided not to disturb it yet.
Instead, he entered what was now his bedroom.
Or rather...
Jack Donovan's bedroom.
A modest desk stood beneath the window.
Beside it sat a desktop computer that hadn't been switched on in weeks.
Books lined the shelves.
Mostly school textbooks.
Mathematics.
Physics.
Chemistry.
History.
Mixed among them were novels, comic books, and several magazines about computers and technology.
Interesting.
Jack's memories confirmed he enjoyed building computers as a hobby.
Nothing professional.
Just curiosity.
Useful.
His gaze moved toward a corkboard mounted above the desk.
Pinned across it were reminders.
College orientation next month.
A dentist appointment.
Several motivational quotes.
One handwritten note from his mother.
Don't forget breakfast. Love, Mom.
Jack smiled faintly.
"She really worried about you."
The smile faded.
He carefully removed the note and slipped it inside one of the desk drawers instead of throwing it away.
Some things deserved preservation.
He finally powered on the computer.
The familiar startup sound echoed softly through the room.
Jack leaned back while waiting.
His memories supplied the login password automatically.
Convenient.
The desktop appeared.
Nothing unusual.
Folders filled with homework assignments.
Family photographs.
Music playlists.
Saved games.
School projects.
He ignored most of it for now.
Instead...
He opened the documents folder.
Insurance paperwork.
Medical records.
Hospital discharge summaries.
Bills.
Bank statements.
His expression became more focused.
"This..."
"...is more important."
He spent nearly an hour reading.
The accident had indeed been severe.
His parents had died at the scene.
Jack Donovan had suffered multiple fractures, internal injuries, and a significant concussion.
Five surgeries.
Three months hospitalized.
Two additional months recovering at home.
No wonder this body still felt weak.
Further documents explained the family's financial situation.
The house had already been fully paid off years earlier.
There was no mortgage.
Jack blinked.
"That's fortunate."
The insurance payout from the accident had also been finalized.
Combined with his parents' savings and Jack's existing education fund, the total amount was enough to live comfortably for several years without employment—as long as he avoided reckless spending.
He grabbed the notebook again.
A new page.
Current Situation
House — Paid Off
Checking Account — Stable
Savings — Comfortable
College Fund — Available
Transportation — Bicycle
Driver's License — None
Physical Condition — Poor
He looked over the list thoughtfully.
Money wasn't an immediate problem.
His body was.
That simplified his priorities considerably.
Morning had fully settled outside.
Jack stretched before closing the notebook.
He looked around the bedroom once more.
Everything felt unfamiliar.
Yet less so than yesterday.
He realized something.
Recovery wasn't only physical.
He wasn't merely healing broken bones.
He was building an identity.
Neither entirely Jack Donovan.
Nor simply one fragment of Veer.
He would become someone shaped by both, yet defined by neither.
His own choices would determine who that person became.
Not surviving.
Living.
........
Jack stepped outside.
The morning air felt cool against his skin.
Rather than running, he chose to walk.
His body wasn't ready for anything more demanding.
He followed the sidewalks through the neighborhood at a comfortable pace, quietly observing everything around him.
The bakery on the corner opened at seven-thirty.
A small grocery store received its morning delivery.
School buses passed by carrying children who hadn't yet started their summer vacation.
A postal worker greeted him with a polite smile.
"Morning."
"Morning."
Jack returned the greeting naturally.
He wasn't trying to memorize every detail.
He simply wanted to become familiar with the place he now called home.
one good thing or call it a bad was he does not have any close relatives. His mother was housewife and his father had a small freelance business. Other than few neighbors and school friends, he do not have anyone to call it close.
By the time he returned nearly forty minutes later, his breathing had become noticeably heavier.
His legs weren't exhausted.
His lungs were.
Recovery would take patience.
Inside the house, he filled a glass with water before preparing breakfast.
No instant noodles this time.
He cracked three eggs into a pan, toasted two slices of bread, and sliced a banana onto a plate.
Simple.
Healthy.
Affordable.
As he ate, he opened the notebook he had started the previous evening.
Beneath yesterday's list of priorities, he wrote another heading.
Daily Routine
Wake up before 7:00 AM.
Exercise.
Eat properly.
Read for one hour.
Learn one practical skill.
Review finances.
Sleep before 10:30 PM.
Jack looked over the list before giving a satisfied nod.
It wasn't ambitious.
That was precisely why it would work.
Consistency mattered far more than intensity.
One good day meant little.
A hundred ordinary days built a better person.