Peter gained fame as a child prodigy.
He once was.
It must have been quite a shock back then.
A five-year-old appearing on TV and solving university-level math problems.
Thanks to this, he not only had a fan club but also a support group formed in his name.
However, fame came with its shadows.
The expectations of adults began to pile onto the child, one by one.
"A genius mathematician who will restore the glory of the British Empire."
"A perfect opportunity to reclaim the prestige lost to America."
The greed of adults gradually cornered Peter.
"He's so good at math, why is he terrible at literature?"
"No, who cares about literature? Math is what changes the world!"
"Right, if he's good enough at math, we can just amend the law so he can enter college… no, a PhD program…"
No one ever asked for Peter's opinion.
Like how no one asks a dog's opinion when taking it to the groomer.
And so Peter was dragged around.
In that process, he was continuously worn down.
Regrettably, it wasn't just his genius that was worn away.
Perhaps, there had never been genius to begin with.
It might have been nothing more than an illusion created by the greed of adults.
Peter may have just been a child who solved problems earlier than others.
In any case, throughout that process, Peter's sense of self slowly evaporated.
Even though he was not yet ten years old, Peter's very being had shrunk, like a pencil stub too short to properly hold.
One day, Peter confessed everything to his parents.
"I feel like I'm going to die."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm so scared of what others think, I can't even breathe properly."
"People with special talents…"
"I'm not special."
"What are you saying? You're special!"
"I just grew up faster than others. It's like… an eight-year-old growing to 180 centimeters. Sure, I might seem amazing for now, but what if that's all?"
"What?"
"If an eight-year-old is 180 centimeters tall, they're a giant. I know that. But what if they stay that way until adulthood? Are they still special?"
"You'll grow more."
"I will. By one centimeter each year, painfully slower than others."
"Even if you don't!"
"Mom!"
"…!"
"If it were you… even if I grew slower than others… wouldn't you still love me just for existing? Shouldn't you, at least, be the one to say that?"
"See, you are a genius!"
"What?"
"How could a child say something so profound? You're definitely a genius!"
Sigh
"Trust what I'm saying, please…"
To Peter, it sounded like this:
"You must be a genius."
"You must be a genius to be loved."
"You are the only blessing in this fallen noble family."
A few years later.
Peter was miserably stuck in place.
The problems he solved on TV were still all he could handle.
Maybe that's why.
The public's interest quickly cooled.
No, it would have been better if it had just cooled off.
"..."
People now looked at him with eyes as cold as frost.
Of course. He was no genius.
Maybe all that applause had been just to make his downfall more miserable.
The genius who eventually fell from grace.
In the end, Peter inherited his family's fate.
***
"He was a genius? So, what about now?"
"Eh, he's no different from me."
Every time his past was exposed, the reactions were full of scorn.
Even when he confided in Park Ji-hoon and Jack in the dormitory.
Don't get hurt.
You mustn't get hurt.
Peter kept thinking that over and over.
But then, something completely unexpected happened.
"No wonder you're so good at video games."
"…?"
"Yeah, that kind of planning doesn't come from just living an ordinary life."
"What are you talking about…?"
"'Great Car Thief' or 'Hooligan Hunt'…"
"Beat the Hooligans."
"Yeah, sorry. It was 'Beat the Hooligans,' wasn't it?"
"…"
Peter cautiously glanced at Ji-hoon.
'What am I missing here?'
There wasn't a trace of scorn, not even a hint of negativity in his eyes.
What's going on?
This can't be right.
'When my mom found out I wasn't a genius, even she cried her eyes out.'
But whether Peter was thinking this or not…
"So, when are you going to make the game?"
Ji-hoon asked with a nonchalant expression.
"It'd be a waste to just let all those plans sit unused."
"…What?"
"You could release something like 'Beat the Hooligans' right now."
"No, the game isn't what's important…"
And then—
"Yeah, forget the game."
Jack, who had been sitting nearby, chimed in.
"If you're good at math, why not try artillery support?"
"Huh?"
"Napoleon was great at math. Artillery requires quadratic functions, and Napoleon was brilliant at them."
Peter looked back and forth between the two.
They should be mocking me by now, right?
Maybe because he was so scared, Peter's neck shrank like a turtle's when Ji-hoon spoke again.
"If making games isn't fun, then come work out with us, like you did today."
"With my body? What kind of exercise…"
"Even a walk would do. That works, right?"
"…."
"You'll do it, won't you?"
First, they're asking him to make a game.
Then, they wanted to go running this morning, and now they want him to exercise.
Ji-hoon… he's always asking to do something together…
But somehow…
It didn't feel all that bad.
To be more honest, it just felt unfamiliar.
Not as a fallen noble.
Not as a failed genius.
But simply existing as himself.
Peter found that fact so awkward that he could only scratch his head for no reason.
***
Meanwhile, in the second-year student council room.
Carl Bernstein replayed the video on TV several times.
A genius, huh…
"Not even worth laughing at."
If the plan to get a PhD from Oxford at ten years old had come true… the kid wouldn't have even entered the royal school.
Sneer.
"It's going to be tough to show his face for a while."
Carl turned to the student council officers.
Sensing the moment, a guy wearing a Champion sweatshirt opened his mouth.
"The third-year broadcasting club aired the video. The kid has no connection to us."
"Why did that video come out, of all things?"
"It was a mistake. Someone was looking through old footage for fun and oops, hit the wrong button."
Not a bad scenario.
There didn't seem to be any chance that the second-year student council would get blamed.
When Carl nodded, the officer let out a small sigh of relief.
Now that Peter had been dealt with, only Jack and Park Ji-hoon remained.
Hmm.
It'd be stupid to try and take Jack down now.
He's the son of the parliamentary leader of the majority party.
Even though the disciplinary committee is an official process, taking private revenge would only blow things up sooner or later.
"I can take my time with Jack, but what about that last one, Park Ji-hoon?"
At that moment, the officer who had been reading Carl's thoughts carefully chimed in.
"I heard he's really into rugby."
"Who?"
"The first-years."
"...?"
"The new gym teacher seems to have picked out some first-years for the rugby competition. Tennessee Grosvenor, Jack Grylls, Park Ji-hoon…"
Ha!
"How is it that all the ones I want to crush have been grouped together?"
It's almost like someone took orders from Carl.
"So, you're saying those three are joining our rugby team?"
"I'm not sure about that, but I heard they were at least selected as competition members."
Rugby is a thugs' sport played by aristocrats.
It's so rough that injuries requiring hospitalization happen all the time.
More importantly…
"It's not easy to hold anyone accountable for what happens on the field."
Seeming pleased with the answer, a crooked smile appeared on Carl's lips.
***
"Of course, we'll get payback."
At my words, Peter tilted his head.
"Re… revenge?"
"It's obvious who did that. You think we're just going to sit around?"
"But the opponent is…"
"No matter who they are, if you want to, you do it. Isn't that right?"
"Are you sure you're not overproducing testosterone?"
That's a first.
"No, seriously. Your solution seems way too macho."
"What's so macho about returning what you've been given? That's just fair."
"Is… is it?"
Peter looked a bit overwhelmed.
Digging up old footage and airing it in front of everyone—anyone would be shocked by that.
But then he quickly changed his expression.
After all, both Jack and I had already been dragged into this second-year mess.
Maybe realizing he wasn't alone, Peter seemed to muster some courage.
"So, what do we do?"
"We're going to return the favor."
Here's what I was thinking.
The sword Carl, the second-year student council president, had drawn—his law firm.
The law firm probably didn't want to get involved in some kids' squabble.
"But they got involved anyway, didn't they?"
When Jack heard me, he was dumbfounded.
"Make them pay for it?"
I nodded.
"We're only seventeen."
I may not know for sure, but I'm probably the wealthiest seventeen-year-old in the world.
Not that Peter would know anything about that.
"Are you really going to do it?"
I nodded again.
"How… how are you going to do it?"
"There are plenty of ways."
Peter stared at my face for a while.
As if to ask if I was serious about all of this.
"Our opponent is Clifford Brookhouse, the top law firm in London…"
"I know. I've experienced their skills firsthand."
"You're serious, aren't you?"
Peter's Adam's apple bobbed up and down dramatically.
"But Ji-hoon, I'm curious about something."
"…?"
"Are you going to skip class?"
"Huh?"
"I think the bell rang a while ago."
***
Thud, thud, thud.
We finally managed to sit down about ten minutes after class had started.
The good thing was, the teacher was still setting up equipment for the lesson!
'By the way, what class is this?'
A familiar face peeked out from between the assistants.
It was Gary Pink, our homeroom teacher and economics instructor.
He was helping the assistants set up a machine that looked like a computer on the desk.
But something wasn't going well, and it seemed to be taking a bit of time.
After about five minutes, they finally seemed to have sorted it out, and Gary Pink picked up the microphone.
"Do you remember the homework I gave you last time?"
Homework?
"I told you to pick a stock you'd like to invest in."
"..."
Damn, I'd completely forgotten about that.
With all the disciplinary committee stuff and everything else going on… not that it was a good excuse.
'Though I never missed a workout,' I thought.
Ahem!
The good thing was that there were plenty of decent stocks to choose from, and I could easily come up with reasons to invest in any of them.
Plus, the presentations were being done in order of seating, so my turn was second-to-last.
'I've got plenty of time to think.'
Soon, the real presentations began.
TL/n -
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