Grammar of good memories.

Sweat beaded on his forehead as he struggled to steady his breathing. His trainer had started pushing him in a completely different way than when he was just working out to stay in shape. Now it was day after day of grueling weightlifting routines, strict diets, and meals that pushed him to the edge, all while he tried to channel every ounce of his energy into continuing work on his comics.

–Failure. Keep going until failure. – said the muscular man with outrageously large proportions.

Billy finished the set, and his legs felt like jelly.

–I think that's enough for today. – Billy replied to Fabricio, the seasoned instructor, now 45, who had shifted to a more formal career path. Lucky for him, he'd followed his wife's advice and earned a degree in sports from a state university. That, combined with his years as a bodybuilder, had landed him a solid position at a high-end gym.

Monica was across the room, doing a matching routine with a blonde woman who fit every stereotype of a personal trainer.

–Alright, kid, I'll double your stretching routine this afternoon and add a bit of spinning. – said Fabricio, scribbling notes on a blue sheet detailing today's class, which he handed over to fulfill Billy's relentless fitness regimen.

Taking a long swig of water and snacking on almonds and a banana before lunch, he let out a deep sigh, thinking about the Naruto episodes—now at the fight with Zabuza Momochi, the rogue ninja from the Hidden Mist. The battle with Kakashi had dramatically improved, now laced with fluid motion and wonder, and Billy had begun adding a deeper political layer to the Naruto series. He brought in concepts like the cycle of hatred as a reference point, even hiring two political scientists and a psychologist to help redefine each narrative category with rich theory that elevated the show's themes.

–I love how you smell. – Monica whispered, approaching Billy to give him a warm kiss.

–We need to change. We're right on time for the family gathering. – Billy replied.

–I'm glad you helped them get back on their feet. – said the Italian beauty, who had been there when Billy paid off his uncle's loan and waved the white flag to avoid further conflict, also helping with his grandparents' expenses. Just a few thousand dollars, but enough to bring the family together at Thomas's house, which had space for at least fifteen people. Everyone was gathering, and the glamorous Billy Carson and Monica Bellucci were the center of attention—his rising fame, the movies, the wealth that had become a solid fact—the image of America's prodigal son, as if he owned the entire country.

–It was the right thing to do. – Billy replied with a soft kiss on her lips. Monica glowed—it had been her insistence that he never turn his back on family. "Family is everything," she always whispered, telling him to help them first, and only then others.

–Then I guess that's all for today, Angie. It's been wonderful, but I have to go. – said Monica, bidding farewell with a cheerful "ciao" and a warm smile.

They climbed into the large black BMW SUV with tinted windows, heading to their Los Angeles mansion. From there, they'd take a private jet to San Jose, where Billy would deliver his new illustrations.

In the meantime, he was preparing to publish the next books. For instance, in the Game of Thrones series, he had already completed two out of a planned ten books, expanding all the storylines necessary to close them in the best way possible. Inspired by Altered Carbon, he added another book in the form of a spin-off.

The Expanse series, originally ten books, had become twelve. Mortal Engines, once four, were now nine. The only series to maintain its original count was Mistborn—already a complete story on its own. But Billy wanted to use the remaining material to expand into other series, like Silo, The Night Angel Trilogy by Brent Weeks, and Pantheon by Carlos Sisí.

That lineup alone would be enough to give his catalog serious weight for the next thirty years. A prolific writer of great books becomes beloved for the joy their stories bring to readers. Even if someone hasn't read all of an author's work, they seek out the books because of the name alone. And although Billy had kept a similar narrative style, he now used a more powerful, prose-rich language, echoing the depth of Game of Thrones and other major works.

–Traveling this much isn't good for your skin. – Monica whispered, always nervous when others might overhear her. Her personality was the complete opposite.

–The sun's not good for your skin either. But your English classes have paid off. – Billy replied, praising her evident progress.

They arrived without delay, even as midday traffic began to build up. The suitcases were ready, and the staff had everything set so they could catch their flight.

…

Facing his parents' house, Billy could already hear joyful shouts bouncing back and forth. He was ready to celebrate the New Year—a promise in itself.

–The kids are going to love the gifts. – said Monica, looking at the Toy Story plushies and the Barbie merchandise she carried: a Barbie beach house, coloring books, trendy toys, Legos, tricycles, and later, even a trained puppy. For Thomas, a fine Rolex worth $15,000. For his aunt and Uncle, Jeffrey Carson, Colton (23), and Antonio (27), luxury pleasure-brand gifts and envelopes with $1,000 each for all the guests.

–We're like Santa Claus. Honestly, I think you may have gone overboard. – Billy replied.

–Impossible. You were so kind to my family—it has to be this way, my love. – Monica answered, delighted as Billy's bodyguard carried the mountain of gifts to the porch. So many presents for the children that neither Billy's nor Monica's cart could hold them all.

Richard Jr., now six, opened the door. Adorable, with his mother's buck teeth and Billy's eyes inherited from his father. Ivanova followed, carrying a baby girl, Cassandra Carson, the fourth child. As they entered, Billy spotted the four-year-old Carson twins playing with their cousin Cassidy, a girl so reminiscent of Savannah, with thick black hair and a slim frame.

–So glad you made it—we've been waiting. Dinner is about to be served. – said Ivanova.

The delicious smell of turkey and a variety of meats filled the air. Though it was late, a large, artificial Christmas tree stood tall beside the dining area, breaking from the usual traditions.

Billy stacked the gifts in piles as the kids, some older than others, stared wide-eyed at the presents. Helen Carson looked just as he remembered, only stronger, unlike their grandfather.

–Say hello to your grandmother, son. – said Helen.

Billy walked over and hugged her, whispering a thank-you. Thomas waited in his chair, caught somewhere between old age and memory. He didn't speak much, but sometimes brilliance would slip through.

–It's amazing how many gifts you brought. – said Thomas as he reached the ground floor, dressed in his cozy Christmas-themed sweats and slippers.

–Though I must say, we already received some gifts earlier. – he added. Anne always made sure to send something for the holidays—money envelopes, jewelry, and merchandise from Lux Animation.

–They're from Monica, and a few extras from me. – Billy said, inviting Monica forward. Her elegance made Cassidy sigh in admiration as she watched her, amazed by her poise and unreachable beauty. Monica moved with grace and quiet charm.

...