This is the story of a young boy, his coming-of-age, and his rise to the top.

What we are about to enter is a fantasy world so similar to the real world, yet so different; so familiar yet so foreign. A world with similar environmental, technological, and social conditions as ours, yet so different for the fact that the kind of stories and characters in this fantasy world do not exist in the real world anymore. World-building aside, let's get back to the main plot.

The young boy was a quite handsome, confident, precocious and principled elementary schooler. He was around two and a half feet tall and wore eyeglasses matching his oval-shaped face and fair skin complexion. Though unworked, his skeletal muscles leaned towards the lean side, which was unusual since the only thing he does at home is eat, sleep, read, and use his computer.

His family was slightly less than ideal; they weren't really rich yet they were able to live a comfortable life. His parents were working abroad and seldom contacted him yet sent money every month for him and his older brother to use.

One night, the young boy was fetched from the mall by his brother. They cruised around the streets, with the boy looking at the sidewalk, observing each street lamp, each closing establishment, each unilluminated alley. It was a chilly night with snow flurrying onto the streets, creating a lens flare-like effect in combination with the light from the full moon and defective street lamps.

The boy had a detached expression, yet was still confounded to see some people outside due to the cold, the dark night, and the ghastly feeling of the place.

One of which was a tipsy woman who was around sixteen to eighteen years old. She looked like a skinny K-pop idol, and perhaps also acted like a K-pop idol. She was wearing a cream fur coat and a black latex miniskirt; beautiful but not so fresh, I'd bet. When she sneaked into a dark alley, "Shouldn't she have been arrested by the police?", the young boy asked himself, but went back to his detached state right after. It seemed like the young boy knew what she was about to be doing, and I think we all know what she was about to be doing.

On another dark alley was a strongly-built man who had nothing on his body except for his leather jacket and skinny jeans, not even underwear. Of course the young boy didn't know this, as the narrator I just felt obliged to share it. He had a disturbing scar just below his left eye, had grime all over his body, yet still had a shaven face. He was lying down on the alley, basically a hobo.

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Walking along the sidewalk was another boy his age; blond, had sectoral heterochromia, quite rich-looking, wearing a white tiger fur coat. It looked like he was lost. Lost in more ways than one. "Doesn't he have a phone?", the young boy said. Although it didn't seem like he ran away from his parents, the young boy couldn't guess why the rich boy was there. Well, if the rich boy went to the police, he would be confronted about where he got a coat with the fur of an endangered animal. Or maybe not, depending on how competent and concerned the police are.

At this point, the young boy felt that the night was really unusual so he placed more attention to the happenings. His brother who was driving also had a glimpse of the side of the street, but didn't care about it at all. In fact, for a few moments, nothing notable happened. After a few moments of unease, the young boy finally found something of interest.

A dilapidated black car with the plate pumber CII8 stopped over the opposite side of the road. The boy thought that the single-numbered plates were hard to come by, but the fact that the car looked like it came straight from a junk shop made it more peculiar. A man wearing a black polo shirt came out of it, walking towards another dark alley. The man stopped and pulled something from his pocket which the young boy had difficulty in seeing due to their increasing distance. Perplexed, the young boy then thought about why so many shady people were present in that street that night when normally there should be none.

"Has that place ever been a hotspot for shady activity? Wait, I don't think so, but I also don't think this is coincidence. What must it be? Hmmm..."

I feel that we are in a perilous situation since the main character, with his limited point-of-view, is trying to sense the presence of the fourth wall and the conflicting, sovereign, and causal nature of narrative fiction. I must not let my existence be exposed. I must not let the readers' existence be exposed. As the narrator, I must fix this. Quick, before he notices it! Whew. I thought we were in a rough ride there. Let's go back to the story. While we're at it, let me drop some hints to where will the story move to.

 Out of the four characters introduced earlier, only one of them is a Chekhov's gun.

Oops, time's up.

After thinking about it for a while, the young boy returned to proper sitting position and moved on with his life.