<Previously on the story>


Donut Trumpet has only one wish: to be king!

After devouring 101 burgers, the boy gained the power to leap back through time.

During the "King Festival" he hosted at his elementary school, he smuggled in fireworks and plunged the students into chaos!

Burgers and time-leaps will carry Donut up the craziest staircase of his life!

...........................................


"Donut, you're going to the New York Military School."


Three days after the greatest King Festival in history, my old man dropped the bomb.


"What's that supposed to mean?"


"It's a military academy for training officers."


"Military? Officers? You gotta be kidding me. It's all guys, right? And if a handsome guy like me doesn't go to junior high, all the girls will cry."


I laughed it off.

My old man didn't.

Not a word.


In the silence, the chaos from three days ago replayed in my head—

the principal's shouting, my teacher's red face pounding the desk,

firefighters glaring at me under dripping helmets,

and a cop barking,


"You could've killed somebody!"


The grown-ups were furious, demanding to know how a kid like me had gotten his hands on those fireworks.


A month ago, my old man had bought an old warehouse district—said he'd rebuild it into apartments.

I'd tagged along.


In one dusty storage house, I found a wooden crate sealed with a rusted padlock.

Inside—packed tight—were old fireworks.

The moment I saw them, I knew.

The King Festival needed the perfect finale.

That's all there was to it.


But the adults frowned like I was a criminal.

Even my loyal followers vanished overnight.

Unbelievable.

No one gets it.

Even if things had gone wrong, I could've time-leaped and saved everyone.

Then they'd hail me as a hero.

But no—


even my father turned against me.

I became a king, just like he wanted.

And now he betrays me?


The anger boiled in my chest.

Fine. I'll head to Pakdonald, stuff down those 101 burgers, and leap back.

Forget the King Festival.

I'll just throw some boring "friendship party" or whatever.

I stood to leave—but my father spoke.


"Donut. You're meant to be a king, aren't you?"


I froze.


"...Yeah."


"A king must understand the military—if he's to protect his nation."


His voice was low, calm.

No yelling.

Just steady.

And somehow, that made it hit harder.


"Papa..."


Something popped in my chest.


Of course.

He got it.

He saw the truth.

He wasn't like those useless teachers or cops.


"You finally recognized my potential as a king, didn't you?"


"...That's right."


"I see."


He was right.

A true king must know the army, the nation, the world.

That's the path to the throne.


Papa glanced at Mama Macaron.

She smiled faintly.

I didn't notice.


I was already dreaming of the day I'd rule them all—

the king of the world.