If It Bothers You, Fire Me

My final numbers came out like this.

If my memory was right...

Jack, sure enough, had posted monstrous numbers.

Oh, and one more thing. Tennessee Grosvenor's marks were nothing to scoff at either. As I recalled it, his hundred meters had been somewhere around twelve seconds. He wasn't the sort of character who ever really tried his hardest, so for him, that would do.

Anyway, the testing was finished, and I thought class might simply end there. It was right then that Mr. Devon called the students in.

"Today I'm only announcing the ones who'll play in the rugby tournament."

And then the names.

"Jack Grylls, Park Jihoon, Tennessee Grosvenor."

Of the three of us, only Jack let out a whoop.

"Wooo!"

"These three could walk straight into the side and not shame it, eh?"

Devon looked us over one by one.

"Let's see... Park Jihoon and Jack can take the wings, left and right..."

What does a wing even do?

I shot Jack a look for help, and the answer came straight back.

"A lot like football. You break their defense."

"So you have to be fast?"

"Yeah. You're the one who puts the period on the attack."

Jack, of course, looked transported.

Devon turned to Tennessee.

"You were a fullback, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"Then you can keep the spot."

"I would rather not play rugby anymore..."

"Don't want rugby? There's plenty else. Jump rope, for instance. A hula-hoop tournament. That sort of thing."

Tennessee had nothing to say to that.

Just then the music that marked the end of class rang out across the grounds.

"We'll get into the details next time."

We bowed to the teacher and started drifting, one and two at a time, toward the dorms. And then—huh. Down the corridor that led to the dormitories, a familiar face. Our form teacher from the honors class, Mr. Gary Pink. Had he been waiting for PE to finish? He came striding over.

"Jack. Park Jihoon. Peter."

We only stared.

"Any of you planning to retain a lawyer?"

A lawyer? Out of nowhere...

"There's a statement to be given before the disciplinary committee. Every one of the second-years has hired counsel."

That landed like a slap.

"They're already at the school."

Ha. A hollow laugh got out of me before I could stop it.

At that same hour, in the Academic Affairs Office.

Four partners from Clifford Brookhouse, the finest firm in Britain, had taken seats at the table. Perhaps that was why the Student Affairs Director could not sit still.

"In any case, that seven students, including young Jenson, burst into the first-year dormitory is a plain—"

"We have never denied that fact."

The director faltered.

"What matters is the purpose of the visit to the first-year room."

"Well, the custom of taking first-years down a peg—"

"Not in the least."

"Pardon?"

"That bad custom was abolished at the initiative of the second-year council president, Carl Bernstein. The second-year council has already been informed."

"D-do you have anything that can prove it?"

"Of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠course."

The lawyer produced the minutes of the second-year student council.

"Hmm."

The words were certainly there. But they might have been written afterward, might they not?

"We have also attached an expert finding that the document was written at least six months ago."

His face said he already knew every doubt they might raise. The Student Affairs Director straightened in his chair.

"So you're saying they did not go in order to straighten the first-years out."

"That is correct."

"One more question, if I may."

The lawyer waited.

"Then why did they go looking for Park Jihoon?"

"To invite him to join the rugby club."

"The rugby ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠club?"

"Here. The second-year rugby roster."

And sure enough, all seven of the boys who had been beaten belonged to it.

"Even so, a question remains... They didn't know Park Jihoon's ability. How could they invite him to join..."

"I'm told they saw him training with their own eyes, before the entrance ceremony."

The director said nothing.

"He ran a full circuit of the grounds and was perfectly fine afterward. Which is to say, his stamina is extraordinary."

Then the lawyer drew a videotape from his briefcase.

"Footage from the campus security cameras."

"And what, exactly, is on it..."

"Precisely what I described. Park Jihoon running the grounds, captured in full."

The Student Affairs Director stared down at the tape and did not touch it.

Lawyers, by nature, were a breed that combed through mountains of paper the way a man picks through hair for lice, then manufactured the story most favorable to themselves. Make enemies of this lot, and being driven out as a corrupt member of staff would hardly be the start of it. Perhaps that was why his own old sins began to surface, one after another. He rearranged his face in a hurry.

"They must have been terribly wronged."

"Feeling wronged is a matter of emotion. I am merely confirming the plain facts."

Jack sat down with the most unbothered face in the world. Across from him, the student-affairs team leader and the Student Affairs Director sat side by side. Lieutenant colonel to colonel, he measured, if this were the service. His attention had drifted for a moment when they spoke.

"You understand what this proceeding is?"

"The disciplinary committee."

"Four students alone suffered fractures. Fail to give a proper account, and you may be expelled. You would do well to remember that."

Jack said nothing.

"We heard Park Jihoon's account earlier. The two of you assaulted your seniors together."

"The two of us?"

"Jack Grylls and Park Jihoon—"

"No. It was me. I put them down by myself. With this elbow."

"You fought seven of them alone?"

A nod. Then another.

What he claimed after that was simple. A senior had been tormenting his friend, and so he had fought back. That was all. They must have seen the trouble only getting bigger. The team leader jumped in at once.

"In any case, now that the heat has passed... you regret what you did that day, don't you?"

"Not at all."

"Even with four ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of them in the hospital?"

"Ah. The only thing I regret is that I couldn't put all seven in a bed—"

"Are you joking right now?"

Jack shook his head.

"Are you making trouble on purpose because you want to be expelled?"

He shook it again.

"Then what is this? There has to be some sign of remorse if we're to show leniency—"

"Why would I be shown leniency?"

"Didn't you hear me? Four of them are hospitalized."

"Ah. That I only dropped four of them. I regret that bitterly, even now—"

"Ha!"

By then they must have felt it: a normal conversation was not going to happen. Expelling a boy in the first week of term was burden enough on their side. If that boy was the son of the floor leader of the largest party, the bind only tightened. Whether Jack knew any of that or not, he finished with the same utterly righteous face.

After Park Jihoon and Jack had come and gone, Peter sat down last.

"You were there when the seniors came, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"What was the atmosphere like? Don't be afraid of retaliation. Be honest—"

"I'm not afraid."

The man across from him blinked. Retaliation, was it? All they'd done was haul in a list of Oxford seniors. Not like I'm getting into Oxford anyway. Peter opened his mouth as if he were grinding his teeth.

"The seniors kicked the door in without a word. Then they dragged Jihoon out."

"Was it threatening?"

"Of course. It was overflowing with the promise of violence."

Riding that momentum, he told them everything about the note the seniors had thrust forward, leaving nothing out. But contrary to what he had expected, the staff only looked bored.

"Showing a list of students currently at Oxford... it's difficult to call that a threat."

"If it wasn't a threat, then what? They were encouraging us to get into a good university, and I made a fuss all by ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠myself?"

"And what if that list was rugby club alumni?"

"Sorry?"

"Join the rugby club, and your chances of Oxford go up. So why don't you come in too. If they went to recruit you, then what?"

"That is the most ridiculous—"

But the staff's faces were far too set. In that instant Peter understood. The disciplinary committee was nothing but a formality. The answer might already have been decided. Rage climbed his throat. Damn it. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Devon, the PE teacher, sat with his feet up on the desk, looking out the window. Watching the sun go down, slow and lazy, he let his thoughts drift.

Rugby, is it.

Fortunately, there were three pieces of usable timber. He glanced idly over the first-years' measured records.

First, Jack. If the boy buckled down and trained properly for three years, he could play a university league and collect a scholarship while he was at it.

Second. Park Jihoon, was that the name?

Why is it so hard to say?

Hmm. Let's see. The numbers were one thing, but the way the boy had pressed the bench had been something else entirely. It wasn't as if he'd come in for a personal-training session. Strict form, a full range of motion, at a fitness test—did that even make sense as a thing to do?

Still absurd, thinking about it again.

If Park Jihoon had cheated the reps the way the other boys did, twenty would have been nothing. No, wait. Twenty?

How many was I putting up at that age?

He scratched his head. One or two more, at the very most. He was turning this over when a voice came from behind him.

"That's a remarkably free posture."

Devon turned his head without getting up.

"Who's that?"

"The Student Affairs Director."

"Ah. A high-up, then."

He took his feet off the desk. He did not stand. He only spread his legs and looked up at the man.

"What can I do for you?"

The look in his eyes was plainly unimpressed. The director opened his mouth slowly, as if forcing the feeling down.

"The disciplinary committee is in session. We need a written opinion from you."

"My opinion?"

"You are the rugby club's faculty adviser, are you not?"

"So I heard."

"You did not hear it. You are the adviser."

Devon nodded. Twice.

"Looks that way."

"Haa."

The director stared at him a moment longer, then seemed to give it up.

"Fine. Let's talk business. Just write a few lines here. That the rugby club is short of players, and that recruiting the first-years was therefore essential."

Devon took the papers. They were packed with stiff sentences that looked like a lawyer's work. A rough read was enough to see where this was headed.

"Shall I write it now?"

"Yes."

"Have a cup of coffee. My writing's terrible, so this may take a minute."

"Hoo."

Only after the director had retreated a good distance did the pen start moving, scratch scratch, Devon bent over the page and writing hard. How long passed like that?

"Not yet?"

"Almost... almost... ah. Done."

"It was two lines. Why on earth would it take—"

The director muttered, irritation thick in his voice, and took the papers back. The mood lasted only a moment. As he read, his face crumpled. And no wonder. What he read was this.