You Have to Be a Genius
Peter had once been famous as a child prodigy.
For a while, at least. It must have been a considerable shock at the time: a five-year-old went on television and worked university mathematics as if it were nothing. A fan club sprang up, and then a patronage society formed for Peter alone.
Fame brought its shadow with it. One by one, the wishes of adults were laid over the child.
The genius mathematician who will restore the glory of the British Empire.
Our finest chance to take back the standing America stole from us.
Their greed drove Peter farther and farther into a corner.
He's this good at math—why is he hopeless at literature?
What does literature matter? Math is what changes the world.
Fine. If he's good at math, that's enough. Amend the law so he can enter university—no, a doctoral program, and have done with it...
No one asked what Peter wanted. No one asks a dog its opinion on the way to the groomer. So Peter was hauled this way and that, and all the while he was worn down. It was not only the genius that wore away. Perhaps there had never been any genius to begin with—only a phantom made by adult greed. Maybe all he had done was solve problems sooner than other people.
Whatever the truth, his sense of self evaporated little by little. He was not yet ten, and still the thing called Peter shrank until it was like a pencil stub too short to hold.
One day he told his parents everything.
"I feel like I'm going to die."
"From what?"
"I'm so afraid of the way people look at me that I can't even breathe properly."
"People born with a special gift—"
"I'm not a special person."
"What are you saying? You are special!"
"I just grew up faster than everyone else. Say an eight-year-old shot up to a hundred and eighty centimeters. Right now that looks incredible. But what if that's all there is?"
"What?"
"At my age, a hundred and eighty centimeters makes you a giant. I know that. But if I'm still exactly that tall when I'm grown—is it still incredible?"
"No. You're going to grow more."
"I will. A centimeter a year. Painfully slower than everyone else."
"I said no!"
"Mom!"
"...!"
"If you're my mom—even if I grow slower than other people—shouldn't you, at least, be the one to say you love me just for existing?"
"See? I told you he's a genius!"
"What?"
"How can a child pour out words that difficult? Our son is a genius. There's no question."
Hah.
"Believe your mother. Please..."
To Peter, it sounded exactly like this.
You have to be a genius.
Only then can you be loved.
You're the only blessing left to a fallen noble house.
A few years later, Peter was circling the same spot with a vicious stubbornness. He never managed to touch anything beyond the problems he had solved on that television show. Perhaps that was why the public's interest cooled so quickly.
If only interest had been all that cooled.
"..."
People looked at him with eyes as cold as hoarfrost. Of course. Some genius. Maybe all that applause had only been meant to make the fall more wretched.
A genius, ruined at last. In the end Peter inherited his family's fate whole.
He was a genius? And now?
Please. He's hardly any different from me.
Whenever the past leaked out, contempt came after it. Even while he sat back in the dormitory, spilling the story to Park Jihoon and Jack, Peter was holding to a single thought.
Don't get hurt. Absolutely do not get hurt.
And then—what was this? The answer that came back was nothing he had expected.
"...?"
"Right. Those concepts aren't the kind of thing you get from living an ordinary life."
"What do you mean..."
"The Great Car Thief, or Hooligan Catch-and-Kill—"
"Crackdown."
"Right. Sorry. Crackdown."
"..."
Peter studied Park Jihoon's face with care. What am I missing? There was no contempt in those eyes. Not even a negative shade. What? This couldn't be right. When they learned he wasn't a genius, even his mother had wept and wept.
Whether Peter was thinking that or not, Park Jihoon asked, perfectly calm.
"It'd be a waste to let those concepts rot."
"...What?"
"I'm telling you Hooligan Crackdown could ship right now."
That was when Jack, beside them, cut in.
"If you're good at math, try for the artillery."
"Huh?"
"They say Napoleon was that good at mathematics. Artillery needs quadratic functions. Napoleon handled them brilliantly."
Peter looked from one of them to the other. Wasn't this the moment they were supposed to laugh? Perhaps because he was so thoroughly braced for it, the instant Park Jihoon opened his mouth Peter's neck drew in like a turtle's.
"Exercise, with a body like mine..."
"Take a walk, then. That'll do."
"..."
"You will, right?"
First he had wanted them running from morning, and now exercise on top of it. Park Jihoon... this kid was always trying to do something together.
And yet, somehow, it wasn't unpleasant. To be more honest, it was simply unfamiliar. Not a fallen aristocrat. Not a crashed prodigy. Just the feeling of existing as himself. The fact was so awkward that all Peter could do was scratch furiously at his innocent scalp.
Meanwhile, in the second-year student council room, Carl Bernstein played the footage on the television over and over.
A genius...
Not even funny.
If the plan to take an Oxford doctorate at ten had actually come off, the boy would never have enrolled at the Royal School at all.
A thin grin cut across his mouth. He won't be walking around with his head up for a while.
Carl turned to the student-council officers, and the one in the Champion sweatshirt read the room and spoke.
"The third-year broadcast club put the video on. A kid with no connection to us whatsoever."
"And why that footage, of all things?"
"A mistake, that's all. They were digging through old material for fun, and—whoops—hit the broadcast button."
Not a bad scenario. No one digging behind it would ever lay the blame at the second-year council. When Carl nodded, the officer let out a small breath of relief.
Peter had been dealt with. That left Jack and Park Jihoon.
Hmm.
Lynching Jack now would be stupid. He was the son of the ruling party's floor leader. The disciplinary committee was official procedure, so that much was fine—but the moment they took private revenge, it was only a matter of time before the thing blew up.
Even if I take my time with Jack.
What, then, about this last one—the boy called Park Jihoon?
As if he had read the trouble on Carl's face, an officer slipped in.
"From what I hear, they seem awfully interested in rugby."
"Who?"
"The first-years."
"...?"
"The new PE teacher apparently picked the first-years who'll enter the rugby tournament. Tennessee Grosvenor, Jack Grylls, Park Jihoon..."
Ha!
How did he gather up exactly the ones I want under my heel?
Anyone watching might have thought the man had taken a commission from Carl.
"So those three are joining our rugby club?"
"I'm not sure it goes that far... but I did hear it's certain they were selected for the tournament squad."
Rugby was a thug's sport played by aristocrats. It was rough enough that a stay in hospital was simply part of the game. More than that—
It won't be easy to hold anyone responsible for what happens on the field.
A satisfying answer, it seemed. A sour little smile caught at the corner of Carl's mouth.
"Of course we pay them back."
At my words, Peter tilted his head.
"Re... revenge?"
"It's obvious who pulled that stunt. You want us to just sit here?"
"But the other side is..."
"Whoever they are, if you want to do it, you do it. Right?"
"You're not overproducing testosterone, are you?"
A line I had never heard in my life.
"No, I mean—your solution is just so aggressively manly."
"Give back what we were given, and that's 'manly'? That's the normal thing."
"I... I guess."
Peter looked a little sick of the whole business. Someone had dug up an old video and played it out in the open; it would have been stranger if he weren't shaken. But his face changed soon enough. Jack and I were both already tangled in the second-years' affairs. The thought that he was not alone seemed to drag a little courage out of him.
"So what are we supposed to do?"
"Pay them back the way they paid us."
My thinking was simple. The blade the second-year president had drawn was a law firm. Not that any firm had been eager to wade into a fight between children.
Still. They joined the fight. That's a fact.
Jack, hearing me, looked dumbfounded.
"You're going to make them pay a price?"
I nodded. And nodded again.
"We're only seventeen."
I couldn't say for certain, but among seventeen-year-olds anywhere in the world, I was probably the one with the most money. Peter, who had no way of knowing that, only stared.
"You're actually going to do it?"
Another nod. And another.
"H-how?"
"There are plenty of ways."
Peter looked at my face for a while, as if asking whether any of this was sincere.
"The other side is Clifford Brookhouse. London's top law firm..."
"I know. We've already had a taste of their work."
"You really mean it."
Peter's throat bobbed, hard.
"But Jihoon, there's something I'm curious about."
"...?"
"Are you planning to skip class?"
"Huh?"
"The start bell... I think it rang a while ago."
Crash, clatter, bang. Only after class had been underway for ten minutes did we manage to drop into our seats. The lucky part was that they were still setting up equipment, so the lesson itself hadn't properly begun.
Anyway, what period is this?
A familiar face showed between the teaching assistants: Gary Pink, our homeroom teacher and the economics instructor. With the assistants he was setting machines that looked like computers onto the desks. Something wasn't cooperating. It was taking a while.
Five minutes or so went by. When the trouble seemed more or less beaten, Gary Pink took the microphone.
"You remember the homework I assigned last time?"
Homework?
"I told you to pick a stock you wanted to invest in."
"..."
Damn it. I'd forgotten completely. Between the disciplinary committee and everything else, there had been too much to lose my head over... though that excuse didn't quite hold.
I didn't skip the exercise, though.
Ahem.
Still, the fortunate thing was that decent stocks were everywhere, and I could invent as many reasons to invest as I liked. Better still, the mood was that we would present in seating order. My turn was second from the back.
Plenty of time to think.
Soon the presentations began in earnest.