A New Hero Is Born
For days after the match against Cambridge, we lived like men possessed by training.
"First humiliation of my life."
It hardly needed saying that the heap of points scored against us had set Tennessee's blood alight.
"I swallowed even the insult to Grandfather so I could take my revenge on the rugby pitch! We have to win!"
Jack set his jaw and ran day and night. I was no different, sweating as if I meant to die of it. To open more roads into the attack, I hammered away at kicking. In rugby, carry the ball over the try line and they grant you a bonus kick—something like an extra free throw in basketball. With nobody marking me, I put the points away more often than not.
Steve struck that kick home no matter the situation.
If I hadn't seen it, I might have let it go. But I had looked straight at the height of Steve's game, and that meant the work was mine to do.
Thwack—! Thwack—! Thwack—!
I kicked until the top of my foot burned.
Personal drills were not the end of it. Once each of us had patched the holes in his own game, we gathered again to practice the scrum. A team that owns the rebound can fire at the basket as it pleases. A team that owns the scrum can try to go forward from anywhere.
Fortunately, our side had an authority—question mark—on the subject.
"Line up."
The authority, no: the absolute monarch of the scrum. Devon!
When the three of us packed down, Devon took us on alone.
"You putting any strength in?"
We ground our teeth and shoved.
"Sleepy?"
We roared and drove.
"You asleep?"
And the moment Devon took a single step, we went down in a heap. Shoulder to knee, collapsed at once. I am not exaggerating. One Devon felt more solid than three men from Cambridge.
How is that even possible?
I lifted my head in pure disbelief, and the shrug he gave me might as well have answered, Why wouldn't it be?
"How about you just give up on the scrum?"
Jack and I shouted at the same time. "We can't, sir!"
Devon turned to Tennessee, who had gone quiet.
"You voting to quit?"
"……."
Tennessee gave his answer by bending at the waist and setting himself for the scrum.
"Force alone won't do it. Sure, if you had enough strength to cancel out everything in front of you, that'd be the exception. You lot aren't at that level, are you?"
Right. Next question, Mister Nuclear-Warhead Haircut.
"Again."
We packed at once and drove our shoulders into his. All of us were shoving for our lives, and Devon went on explaining as calmly as if the world were at peace.
"You've seen an air show, haven't you? A pack of planes, flying through a gap you could barely slip a hand through, moving like one body. That's what you have to be!"
We howled and pushed.
"Ever seen furniture that locks together perfectly without a single screw? Well? Have you, or haven't you?"
We snarled through our teeth.
"And still no answer."
Devon stepped forward as if in protest, and once again we had no choice but to come apart in a rumbling heap.
Damn it. Faces caked in grass, legs shaking under us.
"And you think you're beating the second-years like this?"
"……."
"Too hard? Then quit."
"No, sir!"
"Tennessee. Your neck give out?"
The one true teacher in the school—the only man alive who manhandled Tennessee without a second thought. Thanks to Devon's heroics, question mark, we spent yet another day rolling across the ground.
Saturday morning. No training today. Coach Devon wasn't coming in, and most of the students had gone home. We had been driving ourselves every day; a single day of rest would only help the muscle grow. Resting from sport was one thing. I could not stop the work as well.
I called Tennessee's room at once.
One glance at the silence told me the truth. This one hadn't even eaten.
Tennessee came out in an Ultimate jacket. I hadn't asked.
"If we're going to your shop, isn't this how you're supposed to dress?"
He supplied the explanation himself. Fine. We would say he was right.
We ate first. There had been a stretch when I thought he was starting to cut back, but these days even McDonald's was no trouble for Tennessee. When I asked them to put a little extra salt on the fries, the corner of his mouth lifted where no one else could see.
Anyway. Stomachs full, and figuring we might as well walk the meal off, we decided to go the rest of the way to Queensman on foot. A shopping street. The road was narrow, the weekend had packed it with people, and the whole place jostled.
That was when the schoolgirls coming the other way stared straight at us. No surprise. A pair of sunglasses was never going to hide Tennessee's looks. It was a face that could leave anyone, boy or girl, standing there blank. Of course that was all this was.
The thought did not last.
"Isn't that him?"
"Who?"
"You saw him earlier. Over there."
Was I imagining it? Quite a few of the people brushing past had their eyes on me. Maybe even more than on Tennessee.
"I think that's him."
"I'm sure."
The murmuring ended, and the looks gathered on me again. At first I tried denying it on my own. No. Why would anyone be whispering about me?
"Walk apart."
Tennessee, seeming to feel the attention, put a little distance between us. The eyes kept collecting on me anyway.
No, seriously. Why are they all doing this?
Had that bastard Carl put out fake flyers? Short of nailing my face up as a wanted felon, why would—
I was hurrying my steps in pure disbelief when it hit me.
Wait.
In front of the enormous poster on the bookstore window—
"……!"
In a single instant I understood the reason for every stare.
Latest Issue, Out Now
Royal School vs. Cambridge University
A New Hero Is Born!
On a poster a good meter tall—I swallowed hard—my photograph was plastered, enormous.
Ten minutes later, Queensman.
"Boss, how were we supposed to not use this photo?"
Shameless didn't begin to cover it. Lukashi was entirely unbothered.
"Look. A torso soaked through with sweat. Rolled around the pitch so much the shirt's gone completely green. And that's not all. Grass speckled over the face, muscle showing through, just a little. Might as well be a wild beast, don't you think?"
Ha! Fine. It had come out better than the real thing. But a cover wasn't enough for them. They had gone and made posters, and spread them—
"You gave permission, didn't you, boss?"
"What?"
"Your piece. You clearly said we could run it……."
Even so! And in the middle of this, Lukashi still looked as if he had more to say.
"Thanks to you, boss, magazine sales have doubled."
"That was because of me?"
"What other reason would there be?"
Asked that bluntly, nothing actually came to mind.
"Put your face in the magazine and sales go up. Refuse to do it? That's a kind of dereliction of duty. Breach of trust, even……."
Oh, for—! And looking closer, it wasn't only the photo. The only East Asian admitted since Royal School opened. The first student to enter on the Queen's recommendation. The first to bring in a modern appraisal system and track down a work by da Vinci.
"Only, first, the first of its kind… why are there so many modifiers?"
"It's all true, isn't it?"
Lukashi wore the face of a grandmother desperate to get one more spoonful of rice into her grandchild. Aigoo. He claimed he'd done it for me, so I couldn't even swear at him.
Then Tennessee, beside us, slipped in.
"This issue is a Park Jihoon special."
"And as his friend, what do you think?"
"I don't see anything particularly untrue."
"Right? I'm right, aren't I?"
Ungh. My own fault, leaving the fish with the cat. Who was I going to blame now?
Whether he could read my heart or not, Lukashi went on.
"I have the honor of serving such an incredible boss, and all you ever say is don't write about it. Do you know how badly my hands have been itching?"
Enough!
"Just show me the uniforms."
They had said it was made from vicuña wool. Honestly, it looked utterly ordinary. At least to my eye. Tennessee, unlike me, looked quite satisfied. He rubbed the uniform here and there with the back of his hand, then quietly lifted his head.
"The quality is the best there is."
"Paver would love to hear that."
"……?"
"Paver flew all the way to Florence and recruited the craftsmen himself. Tell him the legwork paid off and he'll be ridiculously proud."
Hm. I followed Tennessee's example and drew the back of my hand across the cloth. They called it the jewel of the textile world. It really was soft.
"Shall we produce them like this, boss?"
I had barely nodded.
"Ah—what happened with the thing I asked for?"
"You mean the clothes for your family?"
They had gone on about how precious the cloth was. I could do without it. My family ought to wear it. That was the thought behind the special request.
"They're coats, so it seems to take a little time. We'll make certain the quality is there when we produce them."
A face that said, trust me with it. Ha! There were people in this world worth trusting, and then there was— Whether he knew that feeling or not, Lukashi only offered the world's most innocent smile.
I put on a hat and sunglasses before leaving the shop. When I turned down the alley, Tennessee asked,
"Why aren't we taking a cab?"
"Let's stop by a bookstore."
"A bookstore?"
"The magazine. I'm going to buy every copy."
The guy who usually couldn't be bothered to smile once—
"Heh heh heh."
This time he laughed outright.
The bookstore had Queensman stacked high. They had said it was selling rather well lately; there looked to be a hundred copies at least, piled up for sale.
Am I actually going to buy all of these?
It had been half a joke. Then I saw my face stuck on the cover, and my hand really did go toward my wallet.
Buy them out, and what good does it do? They'll only restock tomorrow.
I was letting the sigh out when Tennessee, a little way off, called me.
"Jihoon."
"Look at this."
He was standing at the stand where the bestsellers were displayed.
"There's something fun here."
Curious, I went over—and there, in the number-one slot, sat a magazine. Printed across it, enormous, was the offer.
Tennessee's verdict was this.
"He won't be satisfied until he's beaten Queensman, will he?"
Hm. They had put the greatest actor of the age on the cover. They did seem to have made up their minds. And Queensman, by comparison?
The cover is none other than Park Jihoon!
They had paid a fortune in model fees, just to go up against me? I snorted, picked up the man's magazine, and let out a small laugh. Publishing at this price every time, and with a flashy gift on top, was absolutely impossible. In the end the content would have to be good, or it wouldn't survive.
Let's see how great it is.
The first thing to catch my eye was backstage gossip from the entertainment world. So-and-so was dating so-and-so—rumors that couldn't even be confirmed. After that the pages were crammed with stock tips, the sort that introduced themed shares tied to powerful politicians.
Julian Burnett would love this.
More of the same kept coming.
I achieved success early and won my financial freedom, and now I wish to share that experience with you, my readers……
So this era had success peddlers too?
It's a magazine. They can write whatever they like. Still.
It felt as if there were no real field of expertise at all. So long as they could hold a reader's eye, they would print anything. Had he read the thought off my face?
"That guy's always been like that."
"Hm?"
"Born to be a general store. Ancient tradition, that."
Had something happened between Tennessee and Carl? Anyway.
So this is how he means to take Queensman down.
Fine. Whatever. We could fight it out in the magazines too. I smiled, and quietly shrugged.