<Previously on the story>


Donut Trumpet has only one wish — to be king!

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

Now at military school, Donut aims for the King's Medal awarded to the top cadet!

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

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


"189! 190! 191! 192! 193!"


I shouted loud enough for everyone to hear, pumping out push-ups at a ridiculous pace. Even as the other cadets dropped one after another, I kept going strong.


In the end, it was just me and one other — a giant musclehead, the strongest in our year, Motts, a.k.a. Mozzarella.The guys who'd already collapsed started betting on who'd win, but even Motts couldn't keep up. He crumbled beside me.


The instructor watched me and nodded with satisfaction.


"Good work, Donut!"


 "Thank you, sir!"


By now, I looked every bit the model cadet — the kind they'd put on recruitment posters.

Of course, it was all for the King's Medal.


You think I suddenly got good at training? Don't be stupid. Why would I waste my precious energy on something that doesn't earn a single dime? Push-ups, runs, drills — none of it was real effort.


Everything I did was part of what I proudly call Fake It Art — the fine art of looking like you're trying without actually doing anything at all.


Take push-ups, for example. Do them properly and they're torture. Honestly, I doubt I could manage three real ones. But there are plenty of ways to look like you're doing them.


Speed is everything. Even if you barely bend your arms, go fast enough and no one will notice. What really moves is the waist — just jerk it up and down quickly and it looks impressive enough.


And voice matters too. Shout like your life depends on it, and people automatically think you're giving it your all.


With tricks like that, my Fake It Art carried me through almost every physical drill.


Jogging? I'd cut through a shortcut and pretend to finish the course.

Crawling? I smeared mud all over my face and rolled around just enough to look desperate.

Wrestling? A little pocket money here and there bought me a few "honorable defeats."

Thanks to my natural acting skills, my athletic reputation skyrocketed.


Academics were no problem either — I used time-leaps to cheat my way to the top.


Between Fake It Art and time-leaps, I was unstoppable in my pursuit of the King's Medal.



      $  $  $



Those sweaty, manly days went on for four long years.


"One month from now, we begin a week-long field march,"


Dorian announced one day, six months before graduation.


By then I was seventeen, and even though it was mostly fake training, all that posing had actually built some decent muscle. I was looking more handsome than ever. Honestly, keeping a guy like me locked away in a boys' school was a national tragedy.


Dorian scanned the class.


"The location is White Mountain. It'll be a tough one. Train well."


That day, I made a vow — at White Mountain, I'd crush him.

No matter what.