Arrival at Harvard -
Harvard's campus in the autumn of Ethan's sixteenth year was a picture of tradition: red brick halls framed by golden leaves, spires rising against a crisp sky, and the hum of intellectual ambition in every courtyard. For most students, arriving there was the culmination of a lifetime of striving. For Ethan, it felt like stepping onto a stage he'd been rehearsing for his entire life.
He walked into his dorm on day one dressed in a charcoal three-piece suit from his mother's line. His new roommate — a tall boy from Ohio in sweatpants and a Harvard hoodie — blinked at him as though he'd walked straight off a magazine cover.
"You're… a freshman, right?" the boy asked uncertainly.
Ethan offered a hand, his silver eyes calm, his handshake firm. "Ethan Cross."
The boy took his hand, still staring. "You look like you should be teaching here, not living in the dorms."
Ethan only smiled. He'd heard variations of that all his life.
A Mind in Overdrive -
Classes were effortless, not because Harvard was easy, but because Ethan's preparation was relentless. He devoured readings, debated professors, and submitted essays that left peers speechless.
In Criminal Justice, he traced the evolution of policing from Roman vigiles to modern NYPD, arguing that law enforcement was as much about perception as power.
In Psychology, he presented research on microexpressions, using his own observations from Manhattan galas as data points.
In Sociology, he analyzed class divides in New York with the precision of someone who had lived both privilege and pressure.
In Criminology, he wrote about the moment in the rain when a knife had frozen him, framing it as the genesis of his pursuit of justice.
Professors were stunned, not just by his intellect, but by his clarity of purpose. "You don't just study theory," one told him after class. "You live it."
Outside academics, Ethan kept his routine brutal. Dawn runs along the Charles River. Hours in the gym, sparring with anyone willing. Nights at the piano, violin, or guitar, composing melodies that echoed through dorm halls.
He was known, quickly, as the prodigy in the suit. Students whispered about him — the boy genius who spoke eleven languages, who quoted Cicero in Latin, who dressed like a visiting dignitary. Some admired him. Some resented him. Few understood him.
Isolation and Resilience -
Friendship remained rare. Ethan could converse with anyone, but true connection eluded him. He was too polished, too intense, too different. While others spent weekends at parties or games, Ethan spent his time buried in case studies or alone at his piano.
Yet loneliness no longer stung as it once had. He had purpose. He had a vow. Every moment of solitude was an opportunity to sharpen his edge.
One evening, a fellow student — drunk, emboldened by a crowd — mocked Ethan's ever-present suits.
"Do you sleep in those?" the boy jeered. "Or do you just polish your shoes until they tuck you in?"
Ethan didn't rise. He simply looked up, met the boy's eyes, and in flawless Japanese said, 'A fool judges the man before he hears his words.'
The boy flushed, embarrassed, and the crowd fell silent. Ethan returned to his book. Power, Ethan had learned, didn't require shouting. It required presence.
Testing the Boundaries -
Harvard gave Ethan more than classes. It gave him opportunities to test his abilities in real-world settings.
He volunteered at legal aid clinics, translating between immigrant clients and lawyers. He shadowed police ride-alongs in Boston, quietly observing the rhythm of the streets. He joined debates on ethics in law enforcement, often clashing with idealists who believed justice was simple.
One night, while walking back from the library, Ethan witnessed a mugging near Harvard Square. Three older students had cornered a smaller one, demanding his wallet.
Ethan stepped forward, voice calm but cutting. "I suggest you leave him alone."
The largest of the three sneered. "Or what, suit boy?"
Ethan's movements were swift, precise — a block, a strike, a twist of the wrist that disarmed the second boy's knife. He didn't hurt them more than necessary, just enough to drop them to the ground, gasping in shock.
The victim fled. The attackers stumbled away, muttering curses. Ethan adjusted his tie, unruffled. It wasn't about glory. It was about proving his vow, again and again: to protect, to act, to never freeze.
A Father's Approval, A Mother's Pride -
During breaks, Ethan returned to New York. His father would greet him in the workshop, offering no words of praise but instead setting a new challenge — an engine more complex, a problem more delicate. Ethan solved them all.
His mother beamed whenever they attended galas, parading him in her designs, introducing him as "my son, the future." She was proud not just of his intellect, but of the way he carried himself, the embodiment of her belief that presentation was power.
Yet both parents sensed the same thing: Ethan's eyes were set on something beyond them, beyond wealth or prestige. He was chasing a shadow — justice, honor, perhaps redemption.
The Choice -
At eighteen, Ethan graduated from Harvard with degrees that would have guaranteed him a future in law, academia, or even politics. Recruiters swarmed, offering him positions with firms, think tanks, international corporations.
But Ethan remembered the rain. He remembered the helplessness. He remembered the vow.
So when he stood at his parents' dining table, freshly graduated, he announced his decision with calm certainty:
"I'm joining the NYPD Academy."
Silence fell. His mother blinked, shocked. "Ethan… you could have anything. You don't need to put yourself in danger."
Victor's expression was unreadable, but his eyes held pride. "He's made his choice," he said quietly.
Isabelle's hands trembled as she adjusted her wine glass. "At least promise me you'll wear something decent to training."
Ethan smiled faintly. "Always."
The Bridge Ahead -
That night, Ethan stood again on the penthouse balcony, the city glittering below. He wore a navy suit, the fabric a whisper of his mother's empire. His body was honed, his mind sharpened, his vow unbroken.
Harvard was behind him. The Academy lay ahead.
The boy who had once frozen before a knife was gone. In his place stood a man who had built himself into something unyielding — a weapon, a guardian, a presence forged by intellect, discipline, and destiny.
The rain-soaked promise still echoed within him: Never again powerless.
And with that, Ethan Alexander Cross stepped forward into the next chapter of his life.