Demetrius Phungamakofi

Three, two, one… Happy New Year!

Fireworks lit up the sky. Cheerful screams, bursts of laughter, babies crying, dogs barking, music clashing from every corner, the loud honking of cars, and the pounding of footsteps filled the air in seconds. It was the start of 2024. For some, this moment marked the beginning of a new life. For others, it was just another year—another round of new year, new me posts flooding social media, powered by sudden bursts of motivation.

On this night, 2024 was trending worldwide.

One week later.

The alarm blared.

Demetrius, with a practiced motion, grabbed his phone from the bedside and silenced it with a tap. His half-open eyes winced against the bright screen. 5:00 a.m. He drew in a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled. Reaching under his pillow, he grabbed his earbuds, put them on, and began training.

One hundred push-ups, one hundred sit-ups, one hundred squats, and a 10km run. Do this every day.

Those words were printed in bold on the giant black-and-white One Punch Man poster pinned to Demetrius's wall.

"Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine… set."

Sitting upright with his palms pressed to the cold tiles, sweat dripping down his face, he stared at his abs while catching his breath.

"Man, I hate sit-ups…"

It was a cold Monday morning. The horizon was just beginning to glow. Demetrius jogged along Kafue Road, heading toward Transformation Gym in Kafue Town. His shoes scraped against the tarmac, the friction slightly slowing his pace as he glanced at his phone.

"Hmm, I guess five-ten is a good pace. Considering I smoked earlier and still feel stoned, it could've been worse."

He waved at another jogger and continued.

"So, it's been a week into 2024. I don't feel any different. Life still sucks. I'm still broke… very, very broke. My books haven't done shit all these years I've spent writing. Let's see what else sucks about my life. Starting university again from scratch. No one respects me at home. They still think I'm a fuck-up. I don't have any notable achievements…"

He turned into the Kafue–Mazabuka Road and veered right.

"After all this work, all I have is the fact that I actually got kinda fit. I mean, I know I'm fit now. I honestly never thought I'd regulate the drugs."

His thoughts drifted to his days at Copperbelt University, where he failed his first year—twice—because he spent most of his time smoking weed, drinking lean and alcohol, popping pills, and chasing girls. It was the life he once enjoyed until reality came crashing down.

Demetrius had always been a hyperactive kid. When he was little, he was the chubby boy playing in the dirt with toy cars. By his teens, he'd taken to the track—still chubby, but fast for his size. High school shaped him further; he got leaner, played sports like rugby and long-distance running, and mastered the art of talking to girls. His first relationship? A disaster. Six months in, he kissed another girl—his second girlfriend, though she felt like the first since she gave him his first kiss.

Drinking and smoking soon followed. After high school, he tried to study abroad, nearly making it to Russia, but sickness ruined his plans. Instead, he earned a full scholarship to any Zambian university of his choice. Waiting for admissions, he got into trouble—clubs, relationships, heartbreaks—before landing at Copperbelt University. There, his string of bad decisions peaked, and everything fell apart.

He failed his first year, losing his scholarship. His parents gave him another chance, but he failed again. He dropped out for a year, applied for the military and trained hard, but didn't make the candidate list. Life hit hard. Yet, he kept pushing—reading books, writing, avoiding social media, seeking God. Still, one habit stuck: his love for marijuana and tobacco.

Back on the road, Demetrius waved at another jogger before checking his phone as he neared the gym.

"Six kilometers done. Average pace of five minutes flat. Let's see if I can beat that after the gym… or maybe I'll just walk. Hmm, but then again—"

His thoughts were cut off by a voice.

"Ba Boss! Ba Boss! Tipempako ka manpower!" (Boss, give us a hand.)

A man was calling for help to push a car.

After helping, Demetrius turned toward the gym but was stopped by a woman asking for the time.

"Uh, seven thirty-one."

"Okay, zikomo."

He walked on, only to be stopped again—this time by a young man asking to make a phone call.

The sharp clang of metal against metal mixed with amapiano bass that shook the gym's walls. The warm, salty scent of sweat hung in the air. The place was packed—new year crowds still holding strong.

Heart pounding, back damp with sweat, hands firm on the barbell, Demetrius pushed through 10 heavy reps of a 60kg bench press. He did 10 sets, then switched to 40kg incline presses, finishing with 50kg declines.

Between sets, he flexed in the mirror, admiring his pump.

"It looks good, but it's still too small. I need a bigger chest," he muttered.

Nearby, a skinny guy curling 5kg dumbbells glanced at Demetrius, stunned by his carved physique.

Demetrius's body was defined and balanced—lean but powerful, like a statue of a Greek philosopher. When he took off his shirt, it was impossible to ignore.

After finishing chest, he moved on to legs, kicking off with 10 reps of an 80kg squat…

10:27 a.m.

"Damn, it's already ten? Doesn't feel like I've been here that long. Still, I'm kinda hungry now. Might as well."

Demetrius packed his bag, took a swig of water, and left.

Stepping out of Transformation Gym, the crisp air met his sweaty skin. The ache in his muscles felt satisfying—a reminder of the brutal three-hour session.

"I better put on my headphones. I don't feel like helping anyone right now. I don't want to tell anyone the time. I just need to hit the road, start jogging, and see if I can beat my pace. Yeah. Sampa the Great sounds good right now. She's perfect for my rhythm."

Today wasn't a day for heroics. He just wanted to go home, eat some fruit, and let the world spin without him.

The sidewalk buzzed with life—vendors shouting, cars honking, people weaving through traffic. He glanced up, scanning the street. Everything seemed normal. But something gnawed at him. Maybe it was leftover tension from his workout—or maybe nothing at all.

A loud screech snapped him out of thought. A red Mustang GT, carrying three men, sped past along the Kafue–Mazabuka Road, heading south.

"Stop overthinking, Meech," he told himself with a chuckle.

He turned toward home, already thinking of the fruit in his fridge—when it happened.

A blinding flash.

A deafening roar.

The explosion came out of nowhere, tearing through the morning calm. The ground trembled, the sound vibrating in his chest, and the blast threw him backward. Screams erupted. Chaos followed.

Demetrius slammed onto the pavement, ears ringing, smoke and debris clouding the air. The sharp stench of gasoline burned his lungs as he coughed and staggered up.

Traffic broke into panic. A car that exploded across the road at Total filling station set everything into motion. Among the chaos, a minibus spun out of control, swerving wildly toward a frozen child standing in the road.

Demetrius's heart skipped. He didn't think—he moved.

His legs carried him with impossible speed. He reached the boy just as the bus closed in, grabbing him and rolling them both to safety. The bus roared past, missing them by inches.

Panting, heart pounding, Demetrius stared at the boy in his arms.

"You're safe now, my guy," he said, voice shaky with adrenaline.

The kid's wide eyes welled with tears as his parents came running, scooping him up.

Demetrius stood frozen, breath ragged, trying to process what just happened.

Did I… really just do that?

The rush of adrenaline surged through him like nothing he'd felt before. He'd moved faster than he thought possible. He was trembling, not from fear—but from the sheer shock of what he'd just done.

The sirens grew louder as ambulances and police cars raced toward the scene, their red and blue lights flashing across the smoke-filled street. People were screaming, some running in panic, others frozen in shock. Demetrius stood there, chest heaving, his mind a blur.

What the hell just happened to me?

He looked down at his hands—steady now, but moments ago, they'd felt like they were moving at the speed of light. His legs burned, not with exhaustion, but with an unfamiliar, almost electric energy coursing through them.

He stepped back from the crowd, trying to process everything. His heart was still pounding, but not from fear—this was different. He felt powerful. Too powerful.

"Ba boss!" A man's voice broke through the noise. "You saved that kid, man. You're fast, ah! I saw you!"

Demetrius blinked at the man, unsure how to respond. He just nodded faintly, forcing a quick smile, and walked away from the growing crowd.

Each step felt strange. His body felt light, as if the ground wasn't holding him down anymore. He could feel every muscle twitching, every nerve alive with energy. His mind replayed the moment—the minibus, the child, his sudden burst of speed.

I shouldn't have been that fast. That's… impossible.

By the time he reached a quieter stretch of Kafue Road, the chaos behind him sounded far away. He pulled out his phone, hands trembling slightly, and stared at his reflection in the screen. His pupils were dilated. His breathing was still too sharp. He shook his head.

"This isn't normal," he muttered under his breath. "No way in hell I ran like that just because of training. That was something else. Something's not right with me."

As he spoke, he felt a faint vibration under his skin—like the echo of compressed energy winding down. He clenched his fists. The sensation wasn't painful, but it was unnerving, like power waiting to explode if he let it.

A gust of wind passed, carrying with it the faint smell of smoke from the explosion. Demetrius looked back, his thoughts darkening.

Was this… because of that blast?

When he finally got home, he dropped his bag on his laundry basket and collapsed onto the bed. His whole body was tingling, but he couldn't tell if it was from adrenaline or something deeper. He glanced at his water bottle on the table, but instead of reaching for it, he just stared at his hands again.

"What's happening to me?" he whispered.

In the days that followed, that question lingered. It wove itself into his thoughts during quiet moments, pressing on him like a weight he couldn't shake. Two weeks later, Demetrius found himself sitting on the curb outside Godspeed's house. The late afternoon sun painted the streets gold, and the time had just slipped past 5:30 p.m. An old Mercedes-Benz, clearly a relic from another era, rattled by on the road, coughing out a trail of smoke.

"Feels good just staying present, man," Demetrius said, eyes following the car. "See that Benz? That's a classic, bro. That old Benz moving down there— we can't even afford it. Even if it looks like a chimbusu, smoke coming out and all, it's still something. A hoopty bally."

Godspeed chuckled as Demetrius went on.

"Niggas out here driving hoopties, and we still can't even afford those. Who am I to start rapping and talking down about dudes driving hoopties, man?"

"Last exe," Godspeed said with a grin.

"You know, I sit here complaining about how it's illegal to overtake in a residential area… but at least these guys even have athe opportunity to overtake. Us? We'll just be steady walking. But hey, man, life goes on, doesn't it?"

"Real shit, bruh."

Demetrius got up, brushing the dust from his pants.

"It's just to dip on. It's been real, my brother. I'll see you."

They dapped hands, and Demetrius started his walk home. The hum of passing cars filled the air. Pulling out his phone, he hit record for another monologue entry.

"So, it's been two weeks now since I got my powers," he began. "Can I even call them powers? I don't know. I still don't fully understand what this is. It feels so sudden, man. It's making me way more self-aware, questioning everything I see around me. Are there others like me? I wonder."

He turned into his street, speaking softly as if sharing a secret with the phone.

"These past few days, I've been hiking—and these hikes, bro, they're insane. Jumping from hill to hill? It's… it's just unimaginable. I never thought I'd ever actually have powers. I mean, I always joke that I'm training to be superhuman, but this? This is beyond what I expected. My strength's gone through the roof. Everything feels light now. I do a thousand push-ups easy, and I know I can do more. The weights I used to struggle with in the gym? I'm tripling them like nothing.

"What's crazy is, I thought I'd get massive, like those big gym guys, but I kinda look the same. Well, that's not exactly true—I've gotten ridiculously toned."

He reached home and went straight to his room.

"I guess I have a lot to figure out. I need to understand what this power is… and what I'm supposed to do with it. My life's completely different now. I can't live like everybody else."

He sat on his bed, letting out a long sigh.

"I know the answers will come eventually. I've got to stay patient. I'm moving in with Uncle Austin in a few weeks, before I start school again. Wonder how strong and fast I'll be by then… but that's not important. For now—"

He bent down, grabbing a dumbbell from the floor.

"I'll focus on what I can control."