New York City
It was John's last day at work.
From tomorrow, he planned to chase his dream: open a restaurant, earn an honest living, marry the woman he loved, and finally build the family he had always longed for.
As he crossed the street, lost in thought about his hopeful future, a sudden scene shattered his daydream. A child was playing near the road—too close to traffic. A bus was speeding toward the child, swerving uncontrollably like it could flip at any moment.
Before John even knew what he was doing, his body moved on its own. He sprinted toward the child and pushed him out of harm's way.
But he couldn't save himself.
The next moment, the bus crashed into him with a sickening thud. Blood splattered across the road. His leg was crushed beneath the tires.
The child, now sitting on the ground with a scraped knee, sobbed at first—then froze. Eyes wide, trembling, he stared at John, who lay in a pool of blood.
The child's mother rushed over, scooping her son into her arms. She cried and scolded him at the same time, overwhelmed by fear and relief.
John remained conscious, though his vision was beginning to blur. Everything felt like a dream. Somehow, even in this moment, his mind wandered to the past—proof, perhaps, that his life had always been marked by misfortune.
PAST:
When John was ten, a schoolteacher had accused him of stealing money from her bag. The rumor spread quickly.
He was summoned to the principal's office. What shocked him most wasn't the accusation—it was seeing his father already there, sitting in silence, while his homeroom teacher berated him.
John stepped inside, greeted his father, and then his teacher. The teacher's face twisted in disdain as she looked at John's dad. That look made John clench his fists in anger.
Noticing John's expression, the teacher snapped.
"See?! That look! He doesn't listen in class, dozes off all the time—and now this attitude! I swear, he's going to be a criminal someday. Mark my words!"
John's father's expression darkened. He stood up slowly.
"If my son was slacking, how did he score well on his last exam?" he growled. "You say he'll become a criminal? Do you even know the difference between an innocent child and a real criminal?"
Then his father let loose.
"I was a boxing champion. I was a gangster. I know what that life looks like—and my son is nothing like that. You, calling my kid a future killer? You witch!"
He raged for nearly thirty minutes, hurling words at the teacher with such passion that even the principal struggled to keep a straight face.
Then, seeing how frightened John looked, his father calmed. He knelt in front of him, gently pulled him into a hug, and whispered:
"Don't let this world break you."
He then glared at the teacher one last time.
"Look what you've done. You made my son cry. Your face looks more criminal than any I've seen."
The teacher's face turned pale with humiliation, while the principal nearly choked on suppressed laughter.
That evening, John's father took him home and sat him down for a talk he'd never forget.
"Son," he said, "there will be people in life who will drag you down. They'll lie. They'll attack you when you're innocent. But you can't run away. You can't be a coward. You have to face them. Brave and strong. Because if you're weak, the world will keep hurting you."
John nodded seriously.
"Dad, I understand. I want to be a good person. A brave person. Loyal to my family."
"Good." His father smiled with pride, not knowing that this might be the last lesson he'd ever give.
The next day, disaster struck.
At school, the same teacher shouted angrily, "Where's my money? Who stole it?!"
She stormed toward John. His heart raced—something felt wrong. She checked his desk. Then, dramatically, she pulled out her missing money.
"Thief!" she shouted, and called his father once again.
John, on the verge of tears, remembered his father's words. He stood up and shouted, "I didn't steal it!"
But no one believed him.
His father rushed from work to defend him again—but never arrived.
On the way to school, he was killed in a car accident.
From that day, John became quiet. Withdrawn. No one comforted him. Instead, they whispered behind his back.
"A thief is always a thief. He deserved it."
Life became a nightmare. The only light in the darkness was the job he had eventually landed.
PRESENT:
Back on the street, the mother of the saved child cried and thanked John over and over.
"Please! Someone call an ambulance!" she screamed to the onlookers frozen in shock.
John lay on the pavement, bleeding, broken, fading.
His thoughts drifted again—to his dream of a restaurant, of love, of family.
He didn't want to die.
Not like this.
As the world around him dimmed and his body went numb, one last thought echoed in his heart:
I want a second chance. Just one more chance... to build a happy life. A family. And to finally be happy.