CHAMPION.

The algebra classroom felt like a time capsule, frozen in 2015 with its outdated motivational posters and the persistent smell of industrial disinfectant. Marcus sat in the third row, staring at equations that his seventeen-year-old brain was supposed to find challenging while his adult consciousness screamed with the knowledge that none of this would matter if he died broke and brain-damaged in a Newark boxing ring.

Around him, his classmates whispered about weekend parties, TikTok videos, and dating drama that felt impossibly trivial after experiencing the ultimate consequence of a wasted life. Jennifer Walsh was complaining about her parents' curfew. Tommy Ricci was showing off his new sneakers. Sarah Chen was stressed about the SATs that were still months away.

They were all seventeen, just like him, but Marcus felt ancient.

"Mr. Dorsey." Mrs. Patterson's sharp voice cut through his mental fog. "Perhaps you'd like to solve this equation for us?"

Marcus looked up at the whiteboard, where a quadratic equation waited to be solved. In his previous life, he'd struggled with math, barely scraping by with C's and D's because he'd been too focused on boxing dreams to care about academic foundations.

Now, with the desperate focus of someone who understood that education was a safety net he'd foolishly rejected, the problem seemed almost simple.

"X equals negative three or positive two," he said, working through the factorization in his head.

Mrs. Patterson raised an eyebrow. "That's... correct. Would you like to show us your work?"

Marcus stood and approached the board, his voice cracking as he explained the solution process. The sound drew snickers from his classmates, reminding him that his adult knowledge was trapped in a teenage body that betrayed him at every turn.

[Vocal cord development consistent with age parameters. Recommendation: Accept natural physiological limitations while maintaining academic improvement trajectory.]

The ARP system's clinical observation felt like salt in the wound. Marcus had spent fourteen years in his previous life fighting the boxing establishment, and now he was trapped in a body that made him sound ridiculous whenever he tried to demonstrate the wisdom his failures had taught him.

"Very good, Marcus," Mrs. Patterson said, but her tone suggested surprise rather than praise. "I'm glad to see you're applying yourself more seriously this semester."

Marcus returned to his seat, acutely aware of the stares from classmates who'd never seen him volunteer an answer before. In his previous life, he'd been the class clown, the kid who disrupted lessons with jokes and complaints about how none of this mattered because he was going to be a professional boxer.

The irony was crushing. Now that he understood the value of education, he was stuck pretending to be the same arrogant teenager who'd dismissed learning as a waste of time.

During lunch, Marcus sat alone at a corner table, methodically eating a turkey sandwich while reviewing his class notes. The cafeteria buzzed with the social hierarchies and dramas of teenage life—athletes at their table, popular kids holding court, outcasts finding safety in numbers.

"Yo, Marcus!" Tony Castellano dropped into the seat across from him, carrying a lunch tray loaded with pizza and chocolate milk. "What's up with you lately, man? You've been acting weird all week."

Tony had been Marcus's best friend in high school, the kid who'd supported his boxing dreams and encouraged his worst impulses. In his previous life, Tony had been at ringside for some of Marcus's most embarrassing defeats, loyal to the end even when loyalty meant watching his friend destroy himself.

"Just trying to focus on school," Marcus said, not looking up from his notes.

"Since when do you care about school?" Tony laughed, but there was confusion in his voice. "Last week you were talking about dropping out to train full-time. Said education was for people who didn't have real talent."

The words hit Marcus like a physical blow. He remembered saying exactly that, filled with the arrogance that had eventually killed him. The memory of his teenage certainty felt like looking at a stranger—someone so convinced of his own specialness that he'd dismissed the foundation that might have saved him.

"I changed my mind," Marcus said quietly. "I realized I was being stupid."

Tony stared at him for a long moment. "Dude, are you feeling okay? You sound like... I don't know, like you're forty years old or something."

[Cover identity compromise detected. Behavioral adaptation required to maintain peer acceptance and avoid psychological evaluation.]

The ARP system's warning made Marcus realize he was walking a tightrope between wisdom and exposure. Acting too mature would attract unwanted attention, but reverting to his previous arrogance would start him down the same path to destruction.

"I'm fine," Marcus said, forcing a smile. "Just thinking about the future, you know? My parents are on my case about grades, and I figured I should probably listen to them."

"Your parents?" Tony laughed. "Since when do you listen to your parents? You told me last month that they didn't understand what it takes to be a champion."

Each reminder of his previous attitude felt like a knife twisting in Marcus's chest. He'd been so cruel to the people who'd loved him, so dismissive of their concerns and sacrifices. His parents had worked themselves to exhaustion supporting his dreams, and he'd repaid them with arrogance and contempt.

"Maybe they understand more than I thought," Marcus said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The afternoon brought PE class, which had been Marcus's favorite subject in his previous life. Coach Williams was setting up boxing pads in the corner of the gym, and Marcus felt his heart rate spike as memories of his first fumbling attempts at the sport flooded back.

"Alright, everyone," Coach Williams announced. "Today we're doing some basic boxing drills. Nothing too serious—just some pad work to build hand-eye coordination and cardiovascular fitness."

Marcus watched his classmates approach the exercise with the casual indifference of teenagers who'd never experienced real physical combat. They threw lazy punches, giggled at their own awkwardness, and treated the whole thing like a game.

When his turn came, Marcus stepped up to the pads with his heart pounding. Muscle memory from thousands of hours of training threatened to take over, but the ARP system's warnings kept him grounded.

[Skill demonstration must remain consistent with stated experience level. Excessive technical proficiency will compromise cover identity.]

Marcus threw a tentative jab, deliberately off-balance and poorly timed. The movement felt wrong in every possible way—his body knew how to throw a perfect punch, but his mind forced him to throw a beginner's mistake.

"Good try, Dorsey," Coach Williams said. "Keep your guard up and turn your hip into it."

The instruction was basic, almost elementary, but Marcus had to pretend to learn it for the first time. He nodded eagerly and threw another deliberately imperfect punch, fighting every instinct that screamed at him to demonstrate proper technique.

Behind him, he heard Tony whisper to another classmate, "I thought Marcus was supposed to be good at this stuff. He's always talking about becoming a professional boxer."

The comment stung because it was true. In his previous life, Marcus had boasted constantly about his natural ability, his plans for professional success, his certainty that he was destined for greatness. But when it came time to actually demonstrate those skills, he'd been exposed as someone who talked more than he trained.

Now, with genuine ability locked away behind the need for secrecy, Marcus understood the cruel irony of his situation. He finally possessed the knowledge and skills to succeed, but he had to hide them behind a facade of inexperience.

After class, Marcus lingered in the locker room, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His seventeen-year-old face looked back at him, unmarked by the damage that had accumulated over fourteen years of professional boxing. But the eyes—the eyes held the weight of complete failure and the desperate hope of redemption.

[Psychological stress levels approaching critical thresholds. Recommend immediate stress management protocols.]

"I know," Marcus whispered to himself. "I'm trying to hold it together."

[Current behavioral patterns sustainable for limited duration. Long-term success requires integration of adult knowledge with age-appropriate social functioning.]

The system was right. Marcus couldn't maintain this level of internal conflict indefinitely. He needed to find a way to be himself—mature, focused, driven—without appearing so different from his teenage peers that he attracted unwanted attention.

The final bell rang, and Marcus gathered his books with the mechanical precision of someone going through familiar motions. The hallways filled with the controlled chaos of dismissal, students rushing toward freedom and weekend plans that Marcus couldn't bring himself to care about.

At his locker, he found a note that made his blood run cold.

"Marcus—Please see me after school today. We need to discuss your recent behavioral changes and academic improvement. I'm concerned about you. —Ms. Rodriguez, Guidance Counselor"

Marcus crumpled the note, his hands shaking. In his previous life, he'd avoided guidance counselors like the plague, seeing them as obstacles to his boxing dreams. Now, he understood that Ms. Rodriguez was probably trying to help, but her attention was the last thing he needed.

[Institutional intervention detected. Recommendation: Prepare plausible explanations for personality changes while maintaining cover identity.]

The ARP system's clinical advice couldn't capture the magnitude of Marcus's dilemma. How could he explain that he'd become more mature and focused without revealing that he'd died and been given a second chance? How could he convince a trained counselor that his transformation was natural teenage growth rather than evidence of trauma or psychological disturbance?

Marcus made his way to the guidance office, his mind racing through possible explanations. The hallways were nearly empty now, populated only by students heading to detention or extracurricular activities. The institutional smell of floor wax and disinfectant reminded him of every school he'd ever attended, every opportunity he'd wasted because he'd been too arrogant to recognize their value.

Ms. Rodriguez's office was exactly as he remembered it—motivational posters about college and career success, a desk covered with forms and applications, and the patient, concerned expression of someone who'd dedicated her life to helping teenagers navigate their futures.

"Sit down, Marcus," she said, gesturing to the chair across from her desk. "I want to talk to you about some changes your teachers have noticed."

Marcus sat, forcing himself to appear calm while his mind catalogued every possible threat this conversation represented. One wrong word, one slip that revealed too much adult knowledge, and he could find himself in psychological evaluation or worse.

"Your grades have improved significantly this semester," Ms. Rodriguez continued. "Your teachers say you're more focused, more mature in your approach to coursework. While this is generally positive, they're also concerned about the sudden nature of the change."

"I've been thinking about my future," Marcus said carefully. "My parents talked to me about the importance of education, and I decided they were right."

"That's wonderful," Ms. Rodriguez said, but her tone suggested she wasn't entirely convinced. "However, some of your teachers have mentioned that you seem... different. More serious, less social with your peers. Are you experiencing any stress at home? Any significant events that might have triggered this change?"

Marcus felt the weight of her concern and realized that her questions came from genuine care rather than suspicion. In his previous life, he'd been too self-centered to recognize when adults were trying to help him. Now, he could see the compassion in her eyes and the professional worry that drove her intervention.

"Nothing bad happened," he said, choosing his words carefully. "I just realized that I was wasting opportunities. My parents work really hard to support me, and I want to make them proud."

Ms. Rodriguez leaned forward slightly. "That's a very mature perspective, Marcus. But you're seventeen years old. It's normal to go through phases of motivation and focus, but such dramatic changes can sometimes indicate underlying issues that need attention."

[Psychological evaluation risk increasing. Recommend emotional authenticity within safe parameters.]

The ARP system's warning helped Marcus realize that he was being too controlled, too calculated in his responses. A real seventeen-year-old would have more emotional variation, more uncertainty about his own motivations.

"I don't know how to explain it," Marcus said, allowing some genuine confusion to enter his voice. "I've been having these thoughts about what happens if I mess up my life. Like, what if I make bad choices and end up with nothing? It scares me, and I don't want to disappoint the people who care about me."

The admission was true in ways Ms. Rodriguez couldn't possibly understand. Marcus had lived through the consequences of disappointing everyone who'd believed in him, and that knowledge was both his greatest asset and his heaviest burden.

"Those are very normal concerns for someone your age," she said, her expression softening. "The transition from adolescence to adulthood can be overwhelming. It's good that you're thinking about consequences and planning for your future."

Marcus nodded, feeling some of the tension leave his shoulders. "I want to do better. I want to prove that I can be responsible and make good decisions."

"I believe you can," Ms. Rodriguez said. "But remember that you don't have to carry all that pressure alone. If you ever need to talk, if you're feeling overwhelmed or confused, my door is always open."

Walking home from school, Marcus felt the weight of the day's challenges settling on his shoulders. Every interaction was a minefield of potential exposure, every conversation a test of his ability to balance wisdom with age-appropriate behavior.

[Daily stress assessment: Elevated but manageable. Recommendation: Establish consistent behavioral patterns to reduce scrutiny while maintaining academic improvement.]

The ARP system's analysis was accurate but couldn't capture the emotional toll of living a double life. Marcus was trapped between the teenager he had to appear to be and the man he'd become through failure and death.

As he approached his house, he could see his father's car in the driveway and smell his mother's cooking through the open kitchen window. The familiar sights and sounds of home provided a anchor in the chaos of his impossible situation.

Tomorrow, he would have to face another day of pretending to be seventeen while carrying the knowledge of thirty-one years. But tonight, he would have dinner with his parents, help with the dishes, and try to remember that this second chance—no matter how complicated—was still a gift he'd never thought he'd receive.

The greatest challenge wasn't learning to fight again. It was learning to live again, one carefully balanced day at a time.