"So you are telling me," Xander leaned lazily against the podium, one hand tucked in his pocket, the other spinning his pen like he had all the time in the world, " that money buys happiness?"
The opposing team stiffened, their lead speaker fumbling with his notes.
Xander's lips curled into a smirk. "Buddy, I have seen people with yachts cry harder than babies denied candy. You think Gucci can stitch a broken heart? Try again."
The audience erupted with laughter. Even the judges failed to hide their smiles.
The girl on the other side bit her lip, trying to recover. "What we mean is…money provides security, and with security…"
"...comes boredom." Xander cut in smoothly, like slicing through butter. "Why do you think billionaires go hunting tigers or diving into caves? Security doesn't give you peace. It gives you…options. And half the time, those options are stupid."
The crowd hollered.
His team behind him exchanged knowing looks…they were too used to this. Xander owned every stage he stepped on.He ruled and he rocked.
"Look," he continued, casually strolling across the stage, making it seem less like a debate and more like a stand-up show, "money's nice. Sure. Who doesn't like pizza instead of instant noodles? But happiness? Real happiness?" He tapped his chest. "That's earned in here. No credit card required."
The final bell rang.
The judges conferred briefly before announcing the obvious…Xander's team had won…yet again.
He tilted his head, giving the opposing team a mock salute. "Better luck next semester."
The room exploded in applause and whistles.
Girls clutched their skirts a little tighter, boys tried not to look too impressed, and Xander just shrugged, like sealing victory was nothing more than a casual walk in the park.
When suddenly… SLAM!
"Don't let that stupid win get into your head," Victor snarled as he rammed into Xander's shoulder.
The impact was deliberate, hard enough to sting. His smirk was cold, his voice laced with jealousy. "We have a match tomorrow. Practice in half an hour. See me when you are ready."
Xander staggered a step back, jaw tightening. "Real subtle, Vic," he muttered under his breath, glaring at his teammate's retreating back.
The laughter and chatter of the students around him suddenly felt suffocating. Admirers leaned in, some cheering, some reaching out to pat his back, but his mind was already racing ahead when suddenly realisation hit him hard.
"Shit," Xander almost cursed aloud.
His jerseys were all at home. At school, he had nothing to wear. His coach was already a stickler for rules…showing up without a jersey on the final practice before the championship? He'd be ripped apart alive.
He shoved through the throng of students, tossing half hearted grins at the girls trying to stop him, elbowing past the cluster of hands reaching for him. "Move…sorry…excuse me…yeah, later!" he barked, hopping over a bench like the smooth slayer that he was…as if the crowd were mere obstacles in a hurdle match.
Without wasting a second, he sprinted across the pavement, towards the campus gate,trying to reach the garage in record time.
In one fluid motion, he yanked open the door of his car, slid into the driver's seat, and jammed the keys into the ignition.
The engine roared to life. Xander slammed his foot down on the accelerator, his car surging forward like a bullet. He barely glanced back anymore at the waving fangirls behind him…the only thing in his head was the clock ticking down. His grip tightened on the steering wheel, determination written across his face.
He had to get that jersey in time. No excuses.
And so he floored the accelerator harder this time… as he sped off towards home.
Within minutes Xander's car screeched to a halt just inches from the wrought iron gates of his magnificent mansion.
A few gravel sprayed under the tires, dust clouding the air. He shoved the door open before the engine even stilled and sprinted up the stone path…every second was important…just fifteen more minutes left.
Taking two steps at a time, he stormed up the staircase, his mind already mapping which cupboard the jersey must be in. But halfway to his room, a faint noise pulled him back…a soft, muffled noise…coming from the direction of his late father's study.
He slowed down a bit, blinking, brushing it off. "Probably the maids…"
Then came a loud crash…it was the unmistakable clatter of glass shattering against wood.
Xander froze.
His pulse kicked.
Could there be a burglar in his father's study in broad daylight?
In a heartbeat, he spun on his heel and darted down the corridor. His hand closed around the ornate brass handle, and with one sharp yank, the door swung open.
The sight hit him like a gunshot… or worse.
His widowed mother was sprawled across the mahogany desk, her silk blouse almost completely torn, papers scattering under her palms. Behind her, his uncle…his father's own brother…drove into her with shameless grunts, the desk trembling beneath their weight…paperweights, pens, and inkpots toppled and rolled to the floor.
Xander stood in the doorway, frozen, his lungs forgetting how to breathe.
His uncle's suit pants were pooled around his ankles, his dress shirt tucked up his back…his face was a mask of frantic exertion… he didn't even notice Xander was there, until…
"Mom?!" A choked, guttural sound escaped Xander's throat…the only noise he could make.His limbs were weighing him down and there was a fire building inside his chest.
The movement on the desk finally halted.
His uncle's head snapped around. His eyes wide with a grotesque mixture of perhaps shock and guilt. His mother's head lolled to the side, her gaze meeting Xander's.
Her eyes, the same shade of blue as his, were glazed, not with tears, but with a feral, frantic pleasure that shattered into sheer,unadulterated horror.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
The room reeked of sweat, lust…betrayal, the scent clawing down Xander's throat until he thought he'd choke on it.
His mother scrambled off the desk, clutching at the nearest scrap of clothing…a shirt tossed carelessly across the chair.
"Xan?" Her voice cracked, desperate, trembling with a shame she couldn't quite mask. She yanked the shirt around her, buttons fumbling under frantic fingers. "Darling, why are you home so early? I thought you had practice…"
But Xander had already backed away, chest heaving, his mind screaming louder than any words he could summon.
He didn't wait for explanations. He didn't want them.
The sight was burned into his brain…the woman who kissed his scraped knees, who tucked him into bed, now sprawled across his father's desk beneath his uncle's hands. His dead father's study desecrated like some cheap motel.
His feet moved before he could think. One step. Two. Then he spun around, bolting out the door.
"Xander, wait!" Her voice broke into a sob behind him.
He didn't stop.
His shoes thundered against the stairs as he flew down them.He ripped open the front door, ignoring the sting in his eyes, ignoring the voice calling after him.
By the time his mother stumbled into the doorway, clutching the shirt to her chest, he was already in his car, hands trembling as they clenched the wheel.
The engine roared to life with a snarl, and before she could take a step closer, the tires screeched, spitting gravel as he shot down the driveway.
Faster than he had come.