Just when I thought I had it all,
the gods gave me a slap in the fucking face.
Good.
This is what I signed up for.
This is what hard feels like.
Another test—to see if I’m just another coward bitch,
or a fearless, cold-blooded Maverick forged in hellfire.
Well, they know me.
I don’t fold. I fight.
Problems come in waves.
Always when it’s darkest.
Like back in November when I lost a fuck load of money to a meme coin.
Did I break? No.
I doubled down.
Because pain, pressure, and chaos?
That’s my fucking fuel.
I don’t run from war.
I invite it.
I sleep next to my demons.
I sharpen my mind with stress.
This isn’t a setback—it’s a stage.
I was born for this.
Like Napoleon crowning himself,
I don’t wait for permission—I take what’s mine.
The crowd may reject me,
but I never needed their love.
Only my will.
And the Camry?
It’s mine in July.
Even if I have to walk through fire.
Even if the system collapses.
I. Will. Have. It.
Because men like me don’t hope.
We impose.
I’m not after love.
Not peace. Not fleeting happiness.
I want wars.
I want enemies.
I want the blood and the glory.
This life?
It’s a never-ending battlefield.
And I’m its last honest soldier.
So let the gods watch.
Let them test.
Let the world burn if it must.
I will rise.
I will conquer.
I will become a god among men.
And amass millions upon millions.
With silence, steel, and the will of the damned.
I was born a Maverick Fighter.
And I will die a Maverick King.
History will look back and say:
“That was the moment. The white chariot of war.
The day a man stopped dreaming—
and started ruling.
Not with luck, not with grace, but with raw, unrelenting will.
The streets didn’t crown him. He crowned himself.
And from that day on, nothing—not fate, not fear, not even the gods—
could stop him.”