Chương 6: A Second Beginning VI

Arc 1: A Second Beginning October 17, 1970 Saturday mornings had a different rhythm from weekdays. Without the rush of workers heading to their offices or children hurrying to school, Manhattan seemed almost relaxed. Coffee shops remained busy. Street vendors greeted regular customers by name. Families walked together through the sidewalks, taking advantage of the pleasant autumn weather. Inside the Lombardi apartment, James was already dressed when Enzo entered the living room.

"So..." Enzo smiled.

"You really are going to play baseball." James looked up from the newspaper resting on the coffee table.

"I promised." The old Italian laughed.

"Good."

"Books are wonderful..."

"... but every boy should get dirty once in a while." James folded the newspaper.

"I'll try not to disappoint."

"Wahaha!"

"I expect torn clothes."

Before leaving, James clipped a small article from the newspaper and slipped it inside his notebook. The headline read: Consumer Spending on Recreational Goods Continues Upward Trend He couldn't help smiling. It was another piece of evidence supporting his proposal. This wasn't merely future knowledge anymore. The present itself was pointing toward the same conclusion. As he closed the notebook, Enzo noticed.

"You've started keeping notes." James nodded.

"So I don't forget things." The answer was technically true. Just not in the way Enzo imagined.

A few minutes later, James arrived at the neighborhood baseball field. Several boys were already there. Michael Henderson waved enthusiastically.

"You actually came!"

"I said I would." Robert Miller tossed James a worn leather glove.

"You're playing right field." James caught it with ease. The boys spent nearly two hours playing. James wasn't spectacular. He intentionally avoided standing out. Still... His coordination surprised him. Apparently, the body of a ten-year-old adapted much faster than he remembered. At one point, Michael pointed toward him after James caught a difficult fly ball.

"Nice catch!" James laughed.

"Pure luck."

"Liar!" Robert shouted.

"You practiced!"

"I haven't touched a baseball in years." Technically... That statement was completely true. The boys laughed, never realizing the strange meaning behind those words.

When the game finally ended, everyone sat on the grass drinking bottled soda. The conversation drifted naturally. Baseball. Television. Comic books. Then... Boxing. Robert excitedly spoke first.

"My uncle says Malik King is coming back." Michael rolled his eyes.

"My dad says people have been saying that forever." Another boy joined in.

"I heard he's too old now." James quietly listened. Rumors had spread farther than he expected. Interesting. He made no comment. There was no reason to influence anyone's expectations. The less attention he drew... The better.

Back at the apartment that afternoon, Enzo was in the garage polishing his prized Maranello Cavallo V12. The deep crimson paint reflected the afternoon sunlight beautifully. James smiled.

"You clean it every week." Enzo looked up without stopping.

"Twice a week." James laughed.

"I stand corrected." The old Italian lovingly ran the cloth across the hood.

"A man takes care of what he loves." James slowly walked around the car. It was beautiful. Elegant. Timeless. He suddenly remembered something from his previous life. Enzo had sold this very car in 1977. Not because he wanted to. Because he desperately needed money to keep Thompson Manufacturing alive after its financial collapse. James remembered the empty garage afterward. He remembered Enzo pretending not to care.

"It's just a car." But James had seen the sadness in his grandfather's eyes. Not this time. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. You'll keep it. And one day... You'll probably buy another one.

Enzo noticed James staring at the car.

"What?" James smiled.

"Nothing."

"I was just thinking."

"Dangerous habit."

"Wahaha!" James laughed.

"I learned it from you." Enzo grinned proudly.

"Good answer."

That evening... Instead of watching television immediately after dinner, James asked a question.

"Grandpa?"

"Hm?"

"Do we have old company reports?" Enzo looked surprised.

"Financial reports?"

"Anything."

"Sales."

"Production."

"Old catalogs." The Chairman studied him carefully.

"What for?" James answered honestly.

"I want to understand how the company became successful." Enzo remained silent for several seconds. Then... A warm smile appeared.

"... Come with me."

They entered a small storage room near Enzo's study. Dust covered dozens of neatly labeled boxes. Enzo opened one. Inside were old photographs. Company newsletters. Annual reports dating back to the 1940s. Product catalogs. Military contract documents. James's eyes widened. This... Was a treasure trove. Enzo carefully handed him a thick binder.

"1945."

"The first full year after the war." James accepted it with both hands. The pages smelled of aged paper. He carefully flipped through them. Revenue figures. Production numbers. Employee counts. Photographs of the factory. Then... A picture caught his attention. A much younger Enzo stood beside Claire Thompson during an expansion ceremony. Nearby stood another man wearing glasses. James immediately recognized him. Jake Russo. Anthony's father. The company's first corporate attorney. James smiled.

"So that's what he looked like." Enzo glanced over.

"You remember Jake?"

"Only a little."

"He was a good man."

"He helped this company survive some very difficult years." James nodded respectfully.

"I've heard that." Enzo looked at the photograph for a long moment.

"Your grandmother trusted him completely."

"So did I." He carefully closed the binder.

"Now Anthony carries that responsibility." James smiled.

"And from what I've seen..."

"He's worthy of it." Enzo looked slightly surprised.

"You've only met him once."

"I know."

"But first impressions matter." The Chairman chuckled.

"They certainly do."

Later that night, after Enzo had gone to bed, James remained awake reading the old reports. Every page revealed something new. Supplier names. Production methods. Financial strategies. Corporate culture. Occasionally... A forgotten memory resurfaced. Not from the future. From his childhood. The smell of the factory. Claire's gentle smile. Joseph carrying him on his shoulders through the warehouse. Small moments. Happy moments. James quietly closed the binder. A tear rolled down his cheek.

"... I'll save all of you." He whispered into the empty room.

"This time..."

"I swear it." Outside, the city lights illuminated Manhattan's skyline as another October night settled over New York. Inside the Lombardi apartment, a promise made to the past quietly became a vow for the future. ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆ Arc 1: A Second Beginning October 19, 1970 The weekend passed quietly. Sunday was spent almost entirely at home. James alternated between reading old Thompson Manufacturing reports, browsing the morning newspaper, and listening to radio broadcasts while pretending to work on school assignments.

Every so often, another memory surfaced. Some were useful. Some were not. He remembered a chain of department stores that would expand rapidly during the decade. He remembered the popularity of home improvement projects increasing in suburban America.

He remembered camping becoming more than just a hobby for hunters. Families. Young couples. College students. More and more Americans would spend weekends outdoors. Not all memories were complete. Some felt like looking through fogged glass. But each day, the picture became clearer.

Monday arrived. October 19. Only one week remained.

The Chairman's office overlooked the eastern side of the Thompson Manufacturing complex. From his desk, Enzo could see trucks loading finished products into trailers destined for military distribution centers. Normally, the sight filled him with pride. Today... He found himself wondering what those loading docks would look like stacked with backpacks. Camping tents. Heavy-duty jackets. Workwear. He rubbed his forehead.

"... You're getting inside my head, James." A knock interrupted his thoughts.

"Come in." Leslie Carter entered carrying a stack of correspondence. At twenty-six years old, she carried herself with remarkable professionalism. Despite being Marcus Carter's wife and the mother of twin daughters, Cristina and Lucy, she never allowed her personal life to interfere with her work.

"Good morning, Chairman."

"Morning, Leslie." She placed the neatly organized folders onto his desk.

"These require your signature." Enzo nodded and began reviewing them. Leslie waited patiently. After several minutes, Enzo looked up.

"Leslie."

"Yes, sir?"

"You've worked here almost six years now." She smiled.

"Five."

"Almost six."

"Close enough." He smiled back. Then his expression grew thoughtful.

"Can I ask your opinion about something?" She looked mildly surprised.

"My opinion?"

"Yes."

"I value it." Leslie straightened slightly.

"What is it?" Enzo leaned back.

"Suppose..."

"... purely as a hypothetical..."

"... Thompson Manufacturing decided to reduce its military production over the next few years."

"What civilian products would you want us to manufacture?" Leslie blinked. She clearly hadn't expected the question. She thought for several moments before answering.

"I think..." She spoke slowly.

"... something families could actually use." Enzo remained silent. She continued.

"My husband works here."

"My daughters always ask what Daddy makes."

"I don't really know what to tell them." Enzo looked at her curiously.

"What do you mean?"

"They're too young to understand military contracts."

"They understand coats."

"They understand backpacks."

"They understand tents." A gentle smile appeared on her face.

"If Marcus could point at something in a store and say...""'Daddy helped make that.'""... I think he'd be proud." Enzo's expression softened. James... Had said almost exactly the same thing. Without realizing it, Leslie had echoed his grandson's argument almost word for word. The Chairman thanked her before she quietly returned to work. Once the door closed, he slowly looked toward the factory floor below.

"... Twice." He whispered.

"Marcus..."

"... and now Leslie."

That afternoon, Anthony Russo arrived for his scheduled legal meeting. At thirty-eight years old, Anthony possessed the same calm confidence his late father, Jake Russo, had been known for. His dark gray suit was immaculate, and a leather briefcase rested comfortably in his hand. After discussing several routine legal matters, Enzo casually asked,"Anthony."

"Yes?"

"I've got a hypothetical." Anthony smiled.

"Those are usually dangerous." Enzo laughed.

"They can be." He folded his hands.

"If Thompson Manufacturing voluntarily withdrew from military contracts after fulfilling its obligations..."

"What legal complications would we face?" Anthony didn't answer immediately. Instead, he adjusted his glasses.

"That's... rather specific for a hypothetical."

"It is." He thought for a moment.

"If existing contracts are honored..."

"There would be no legal issue." Enzo nodded.

"And future renewals?" Anthony shrugged.

"Entirely voluntary."

"We're under no obligation to continue bidding." Enzo remained silent. Anthony studied him carefully.

"This isn't really hypothetical, is it?" The Chairman smiled faintly.

"Not entirely." Anthony leaned forward.

"Are you considering diversification?" Enzo raised an eyebrow.

"What makes you say that?" Anthony smiled.

"Because that's the only reason someone willingly walks away from guaranteed government money." Enzo laughed quietly.

"... Perhaps." Anthony nodded thoughtfully.

"If that's the direction you're considering..."

"I'd recommend moving while the company is financially strong." The room fell silent. Enzo stared. Anthony continued.

"Companies that diversify from a position of strength usually succeed."

"The ones forced to diversify because they're already struggling..." He slowly shook his head.

"... rarely recover." Enzo couldn't help smiling. Three. Three independent people. Marcus. Leslie. Anthony. Each had unknowingly reinforced different parts of James's proposal. The old Italian suddenly felt a strange sensation. He was no longer asking whether James's vision was possible. He had begun asking himself... Why had he never considered it before?

That evening, James was seated in the living room with a notebook open on his lap while the television played softly in the background. The evening news covered politics first. Then business. Then sports. The sports anchor smiled toward the camera.

"Rumors continue to circulate regarding former heavyweight champion Malik King. Despite growing speculation, neither Mr. King nor his representatives have confirmed any intention of returning to professional boxing." James smiled faintly. The rumors were reaching a fever pitch. Across the room, Enzo looked over from his armchair.

"... Still smiling?" James glanced at him innocently.

"About what?"

"The rumors." James shrugged.

"I told you." Enzo laughed.

"You certainly did." He picked up the newspaper beside his chair and tossed the sports section toward James.

"There."

"Read it." James unfolded the page. Across nearly half the page was a headline. IS THE KING RETURNING? Below it, analysts debated whether the former champion still possessed the speed and endurance to compete after years away from professional boxing. Some dismissed the rumors entirely. Others insisted that several promoters had quietly booked an arena in Atlanta. James carefully folded the page. His confidence never wavered. Seven days. Just seven more days.

Across the room, Enzo watched his grandson with narrowed eyes. The boy wasn't acting excited. He wasn't acting nervous. He wasn't even acting hopeful. He looked... Certain. And somehow... That certainty made Enzo more anxious than the rumors themselves. For the first time in his life... The seasoned businessman found himself counting the days until a boxing match. Not because he loved the sport. But because he wanted to discover whether the impossible confidence of his ten-year-old grandson had a limit. Or...

Whether James truly saw something no one else could. ☆☆☆☆☆☆ Arc 1: A Second Beginning October 20–25, 1970 The days passed one after another. Every morning followed the same routine. James woke up before sunrise. Made his bed. Helped Enzo prepare breakfast whenever he could. Read the newspaper from front to back. Listened carefully to the morning news on the radio before leaving for school. Every evening... He did it all over again. It wasn't because he needed to know what was happening.

It was because every headline acted like a key, unlocking another forgotten memory from his previous life.

Sometimes it was a business trend. Sometimes it was a famous company that would rise or fall. Sometimes it was an invention that had yet to reach the market. The more information he absorbed... The more pieces of the future returned.

On Wednesday afternoon, James visited the Thompson Manufacturing factory again after school. Unlike his first visit, the workers greeted him warmly.

"Afternoon, James!"

"Hello, Mr. Daniels!" The elderly machinist smiled.

"Back to inspect us again?" James laughed.

"I'm just learning."

"That's a good habit." Another worker called out.

"You'll be Chairman one day!" Several men laughed. James smiled politely.

"I've got a lot to learn before that." The remark earned approving nods. The workers appreciated that the Chairman's grandson wasn't arrogant. He asked questions. He listened. And, unlike many children from wealthy families, he never acted as though factory work was beneath him.

Marcus Carter noticed James speaking with several employees. He walked over carrying a clipboard.

"You're becoming popular around here." James smiled.

"I like talking to people." Marcus nodded.

"Good."

"A factory isn't built by machines."

"It's built by the people operating them." James looked around the production floor. The steady rhythm of sewing machines echoed through the building. Workers moved efficiently between stations. Bundles of military fabric were stacked neatly on pallets. Finished field packs waited for inspection. James watched quietly. His heart tightened. Five years from now... These machines would fall silent. Hundreds of these people would lose their jobs. Grandpa would fight until the very end...... and still lose everything.

He clenched his fists so subtly that no one noticed. No. Not this time.

Marcus glanced toward him.

"What are you thinking about?" James blinked, returning to the present.

"I was wondering..."

"... how many backpacks this line produces in a day." Marcus smiled.

"Curious again?" James nodded. Marcus motioned for him to follow. They walked alongside one of the production lines.

"About four hundred military field packs." James looked carefully at the machinery. Heavy-duty sewing machines. Industrial cutting tables. Riveting stations. Canvas rolls. He mentally compared everything to modern manufacturing knowledge. Most of this equipment can stay. Some tooling changes. Different patterns. Different hardware. Minimal investment. Marcus noticed James studying every machine.

"You really enjoy this, don't you?" James smiled.

"I do." Marcus chuckled.

"Good."

"Because manufacturing isn't glamorous."

"It's noisy."

"It's dirty."

"It's repetitive."

"But..." He looked proudly across the factory.

"... seeing something built with your own hands..."

"... there's nothing quite like it." James nodded.

"I think I understand." Marcus smiled.

"I think you do."

That evening, Enzo and James shared dinner in comfortable silence. Halfway through the meal, Enzo suddenly spoke.

"I asked Anthony another question today." James looked up but said nothing.

"He thinks diversifying while we're financially strong would be wiser than waiting." James simply nodded. Enzo continued.

"Marcus gave me similar answers."

"And Leslie too." James smiled faintly.

"They're all intelligent people."

"They are." Enzo leaned back.

"You know..."

"I almost wish they had disagreed with you." James raised an eyebrow.

"Why?" The Chairman laughed.

"Because it would've made losing our bet much less expensive." The two laughed together.

Thursday brought heavier speculation. Every newspaper seemed determined to answer the same question. Would Malik King return? Sports columnists argued endlessly. One former champion insisted Malik had nothing left to prove. Another claimed he had secretly remained in fighting shape. Television commentators debated possible opponents. No one knew the truth. Not yet. James quietly read every article without comment. Enzo watched him from across the breakfast table.

"... You're not even nervous." James folded the newspaper.

"Should I be?"

"If you're wrong..." Enzo grinned.

"... I'm going to remind you of it for the next ten years." James laughed.

"Fair enough."

By Friday... The rumors had become national news. Radio stations interrupted regular programming to discuss possible developments. Sports magazines rushed out special editions. Bookmakers adjusted betting odds almost hourly. Even at school, students talked about it during recess. Michael approached James near the playground.

"My dad says if Malik really comes back..."

"He'll lose." James smiled.

"Maybe." Michael frowned.

"You don't think so?" James shrugged casually.

"I guess we'll find out."

"You always say that." James laughed.

"Because it's true."

Saturday... October 24. Only two days remained. That afternoon, Enzo returned home carrying several grocery bags. As he unpacked them, James noticed something unusual. Snacks. Bottled soda. Even a box of imported Italian biscuits that Enzo normally reserved for holidays. James smiled knowingly.

"Expecting company?" Enzo cleared his throat.

"... Maybe."

"Who?"

"Oh..." The Chairman tried to sound casual.

"I invited Anthony."

"And Marcus." James tilted his head.

"Really?" Enzo nodded.

"If..." He hesitated for a moment.

"... if your prediction turns out to be right..."

"I'd rather not be the only one witnessing it." James couldn't help laughing.

"So now you're bringing witnesses?"

"Wahaha!"

"Exactly!"

"If I lose this bet..."

"I want respectable people present to see it." James laughed even harder.

"I'll remember that."

Later that evening, after James had gone to bed, Enzo remained alone in the living room. The apartment was quiet. He reached for the sports section one more time. The headline filled nearly the entire front page. THE NATION WAITS FOR THE KING Enzo stared at it for a long time. Finally, he folded the newspaper neatly and placed it on the coffee table.

"... Impossible." He muttered.

"... Absolutely impossible." Yet... For reasons he couldn't explain... He had already arranged enough chairs in the living room for guests. Just in case. Just in case his ten-year-old grandson accomplished the impossible for the second time in less than a week—not by changing the future... But by predicting it with impossible certainty. Tomorrow was October 25. The day after... History would step into the Lombardi living room.