The world had changed.

  Apparently, the FIFA president—the very man I flung through a wall and into a new reality—had become the first male in history to give birth.

  No one could explain how. Science gave up. Religion shrugged. Theories flew around like pigeons in a mosque.

  But the real kicker?

  He gave birth to a baby LeBron James.

  Not a LeBron-like baby.

  A baby LeBron James.

  And sure, some people tried to say it was my kid. Because, you know, the punch. The blue fist. The cursed energy. Whatever.

  But I wasn’t having it.

  I didn’t sign up for paternity.

  The punch did it, not me.

  ---

  Meanwhile, Bebo was a king now. A top-tier referee, cool under pressure, now assigned to officiate the 2026 World Cup final.

  Every match he reffed was legendary.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Cards? Always fair.

  VAR? Never needed.

  Crowd? Always chanting his name.

  ---

  And Gary—oh, Gary.

  He walked up to me one bright afternoon, holding his wooden sword and wearing a cape made from my old torn shirt.

  “I want to be a wolf hunter,” he said, eyes burning with purpose.

  I ruffled his hair and said, “When you grow up, brother.”

  He nodded. “Okay.”

  Then he punched a tree and fractured the bark.

  He’s gonna be terrifying.

  ---

  The boys? Thriving.

  Mo, Dodo, and the unnamed claimant were all chilling with their respective E-girls and milfs. Respect, stability, and good cooking—the true huzz.

  And Sheikh Nour?

  Married. Rings exchanged. Duas made. Nikah complete.

  All halal. No haram in this house.

  He even started a podcast about love and philosophy called “Fiqh & Feelings.”

  ---

  As for me?

  I binged watched Jujutsu kaisen and on the table next to me layed the 7x7 Rubik's cube solved and a plate of indomie.

  I had mastered the blue fist technique. The same cursed energy from that punch in Zurich had now become an extension of my will. After binging Jujutsu Kaisen, everything made sense.

  “This… is cursed energy,” I whispered one night, hands glowing.

  But what to do with it?

  Maybe save the world?

  Maybe open a shawarma spot?

  Maybe both?

  ---

  But today… wasn’t for questions.

  Today, we were at the field.

  Bebo blew the whistle.

  Mo passed to Dodo. Gary slide-tackled someone way too hard for a kid his age. I took a long shot with cursed energy rippling behind the ball like a comet.

  We played.

  We laughed.

  We lived.

  The End.