April 5th, Saturday morning—sunshine, birdsong, and not a single work email in sight. No school, no job, just pure bliss. If this isn’t living, what is?
Jack Young crawled out of a sleep so deep it might’ve been a coma. He blinked at the spring sunshine outside, face twisted in a "wait, am I still dreaming?" kind of way. Suddenly, a weird hunch hit him—he patted himself down. And what do you know? He was decked out in full-on kung fu gear.
Who wakes up wearing a kung fu suit? And this wasn’t just any outfit—it looked like something straight out of a retro martial arts flick.
Jack shot up, dashed to the bathroom mirror, and yanked up his shirt—bam! Two proud pecs, eight-pack abs, plus a bunch of bonus muscles he couldn’t even name, all showing off like they’d paid rent to be there. Standing a hair over six feet, Jack looked like a gym poster come to life.
That’s a body built for breaking hearts! Middle-aged aunties would crash their shopping carts gawking at him!
"No, no, no, something’s off. I must be hallucinating. I’m just a desk-bound nerd, a nine-to-fiver barely surviving—how could I have abs like an action star? I’ve gotta be seeing things…" Jack shook his head so hard his glasses nearly flew off, refusing to trust his five-hundred-degree myopia.
Oh right—glasses!
He shuffled back to the bed, grabbed his glasses, and popped them onto his nose. That familiar pinch? Instant comfort—like, take away these specs and he’d probably forget how to breathe. Life as a long-term nearsighted dude is no joke.
"Okay, one more look—this time for real. No way, this has to be a dream…" Jack snapped his eyes open, only to trip over his own feet and almost face-plant.
Whoa, head rush!