Due to the large number of people, it was difficult to find a suitable place to eat.
As a result, we ended up eating pizza on the street again.
I don't know what it looks like to others, but guys bonding through intense exercise and huddled together eating pizza?
It's almost like eating a chocolate bar after a march or instant noodles after a guard shift.
"What's there in life, really?"
This time too, without exception, we each had a whole pizza and a big bottle of cola!
Now that I say it, it sounds somewhat foolish.
Anyway, sweating together definitely makes us bond quickly.
Thanks to that, I was able to have quite a long conversation with Steve, who was sitting across from me.
Turns out, Steve is the eldest son of a famous snack company.
Something like the company that makes Choco Pies in Korea?
I later found out that because of its nickname as a national snack, it's a consumer-friendly company that has frozen its prices for 20 years.
'Simply put, that means he's really rich, right?'
It didn't seem like he brought it up to boast.
It just came up during the conversation about his background.
Steve wasn't the type to flaunt his wealth.
Plus, with Tennessee sitting next to me… Bragging about money would be a sure way to embarrass oneself!
All in all, it seemed like a casual remark.
While I was pondering this, Steve adjusted his posture and said, "If it weren't for my parents' business, I honestly would have chosen Oxford."
"…"
"But I don't regret it. After coming here, I realized there are relatively fewer unpleasant people."
That meant, Oxford is full of unpleasant people?
Of course, it was probably a joke…
But thinking that the entire sophomore rugby team aims for Oxford!
"It might not be entirely wrong."
I asked with a small laugh, "Are you planning to go pro after graduating from college?"
"Pro?"
"Rugby."
"Oh, not at all."
Devon had said that he was at the top level even in professional rugby.
It would be strange if he didn't have any offers.
Sensing my confusion, he added, "I'm planning to enlist right after graduation."
"...!"
"I've enjoyed many privileges, so I should serve society."
Wow.
"Which branch are you aspiring to join? Army, Navy, or Air Force?"
"First, I plan to serve in the Royal Marines, and as I gain more experience, I intend to apply to the SAS (Special Air Service)."
Maybe it's because of the voluntary enlistment system.
People who volunteer all seem to look for the toughest units.
That's when it happened.
"Senior!"
Suddenly, Jack stood up abruptly!
"Loyalty!"
He was at least 5 meters away, but Jack's radar never missed a conversation about the military.
"I also hope to serve in the SAS!"
"You haven't even enlisted yet…"
"Exactly, I've been admiring your offensive tactics throughout the rugby games!"
"Sit down, sit down."
"I'll greet you separately!"
Perhaps surprised by Jack's sudden dash, Steve, parched, gulped down his cola.
Even afterwards, Jack kept giving him uncomfortable glances.
Unlike the affable Jack.
"..."
Tennessee had been avoiding talking to anyone.
If Jack's problem was being too jovial, Tennessee's problem was his lack of sociability.
The only time Tennessee would talk was when he was speaking with me.
But now, I was engaged in conversation with Steve, so.
Like a dog tied to a pole on a rainy day, Tennessee just stared blankly at the pizza box.
'And yet, the pizza is all gone again...'
I nudged him in the ribs.
"Why aren't you drinking your cola?"
"..."
"Because there's no cup?"
It wasn't even a can of cola.
He had a look that said a noble couldn't possibly drink from a 1-liter bottle.
Oh well!
Knowing this would happen, I told him I'd bring cups.
I rummaged through a bag with sauces and pulled out a paper cup.
"Drink from this."
"I don't like cola."
"Do you want me to follow along so you'll drink?"
"..."
"Drink it, quickly."
That guy, he said he didn't like cola before…
Ssshh.
As the first cup overflowed with foam.
"...!"
He waited for the foam to settle and then reluctantly filled a cup full of cola.
Gulp, gulp.
He drank slowly, seemingly embarrassed.
I wanted to say it's exhausting to live like this.
'I ran away to England because I didn't want to take over the family business, so I shouldn't be the one to talk…'
Embarrassed by my own thoughts, I was just fiddling with my own taste.
Steve and the other Cambridge students helped with cleaning up and clearing things away.
Why are these guys so nice?
That naturally made us feel grateful.
In the end, with mixed feelings of gratitude and regret, we ended up walking them to the school parking lot.
Huh?
Contrary to my expectation that they had come in a big bus, a line of flashy cars was parked.
Looks like Big Bob came in a Schultz's G-Wagon.
It was a first-generation model that had conquered the Dakar Rally.
Unlike Bob, Steve stood in front of a sleek green sports car.
"Looks like a newbie, doesn't it?"
It's an Aston Martin.
One of the world's most renowned hand-built sports cars.
But Steve seemed to think differently.
"The older a car gets, the cooler it is. But this one is brand new. It's still a newbie."
According to him, he had barely managed to buy the car with the money he earned from modeling gigs and a long-term installment plan.
His dream was to buy a classic car from the 1940s.
But such cars are hard to find, and even if he could find one, asking his parents for help hardly ever gets a response.
Well.
This is a secret, but.
I remember there being more than ten Aston Martins in the garage of Chairman Dazai from Japan…
Anyway!
"I also like classic cars."
"Really?"
"Definitely, the older ones have more charm."
"Actually, there's a very rare Bugatti that roams around this neighborhood."
"Really?"
"A Bugatti, yes, Bugatti. Everyone's dream car."
"Ah, ah."
"I've heard it's a true classic. Have you seen it?"
"Maybe?"
It would be a bit much to say it's in our garage right now, wouldn't it?
We continued talking about cars for another five minutes or so.
Eventually.
"It was nice meeting you."
"Me too."
After a light handshake, Steve bent over to get into his car.
Vrooooom!
The sound of the engine was immense.
He rolled down his window and said to me, "If you can, come to Cambridge."
"I can't promise that."
Chuckle.
After seeing Steve's smile, I continued, "If by any chance I end up going to Oxford, I'll at least avoid joining the rugby team."
"Really?"
"I don't want to play on the same team as those unpleasant guys."
"Wow!"
He seemed to like my response.
Vrooooom! Vrooooom!
He revved the engine.
"I hope we can see each other again."
"If you really want to, you can see me anytime."
He nodded at my words.
A moment later, he gestured a small wave out the window.
Vroooom!
The Aston Martin roared off, making its distinctive heavy sound.
He did modeling gigs so he wouldn't have to ask his parents for money…
'I might meet him sooner than I thought.'
Watching the Aston Martin exit through the gate, I quietly lost myself in thought.
***
Meanwhile.
Carl Bernstein arrived at the department store rather late.
If it's his own store, he doesn't usually have a dedicated attendant.
But on days like today when he makes a special appointment to visit, it's typical for an executive-level person to wait for Carl.
A silver-haired man over sixty gave an awkward smile.
He adjusted his tie and then quickly approached Carl.
"Have you arrived, young master?"
"Am I too late?"
"Late? If the young master calls, I'd turn my car around even if I was on my way home."
"Oh, you're exaggerating."
"Not at all."
Turning the car around is just the beginning.
The executive, ready to jump out of a moving car if needed, then brightened up.
"Did you receive a call from your mother?"
"Yes. She needs some promotional gifts for a magazine?"
"Please choose something appropriate from the brands in the luxury department."
The items are predictable.
Lipstick, lip gloss, perfume, that sort of thing.
"How many should I prepare?"
"A generous amount would be good."
"A generous amount would mean…"
At this point, the executive carefully gauged the situation.
"Since it involves soliciting donations from the brands in store…"
His voice lacked confidence.
Carl's eyebrows twitched.
"I will arrange up to ten thousand on my own discretion."
He must have been bracing for a tough conversation with the managers.
But Carl was incredulous, bursting into disbelieving laughter.
"We're printing 50,000 copies for the first edition. You're talking about just 10,000 gifts?"
"Uh… yes?"
"That's just for the first week without promotion. From the next week, it will double."
"You mean… the number of gifts should match the number of books…"
"Of course."
"Well, there's a limit to how much support we can get…"
"We have marketing budgets, you know."
"What?"
"Every company has its own marketing budget, don't they?"
"Yes, they do, but there are hardly any that can execute such a large expense so suddenly."
"That's settled then."
"...?"
"Just figure out which ones can handle it and go talk to them in that order. That should do it."
Carl didn't stop there.
He went on about how the sponsoring companies would gain significant advertising benefits from the 50,000 books sold.
He even suggested that their loyalty would be long remembered by Harris.
Even though he clearly should have been asking for a favor…
It was as if he was just picking up something he had entrusted.
The executive, fearful of being overheard, was anxious.
***
Swirling around, I quickly looked around.
That night, the sophomore rugby team spent the late hours plastering posters all over the school.
They posted so many that it was impossible to ignore.
'What's all the fuss about?'
The content was simple.
Carl's magazine had made it into bookstores nationwide in just a few weeks.
This was several times faster than Queensman, an astonishingly quick distribution.
Moreover, typical of the Harris Group, the advertisement elaborately promised fantastic promotional gifts.
'It's quite a spectacle.'
I couldn't sleep and had come out for a bit.
Maybe it's because I saw something I shouldn't have.
Throb.
A burning sensation at the back of my neck!
The afterparty went well, and I felt covered by the thought of having made good connections…
But in reality, I ended up with a tremendous task today.
'My throat is raw from all the scrums.'
Damn!
Hadn't I lost just once?
It's not fair to compare college student Bob and high school student Ralph on the same level.
'Still.'
Given Ralph's size, it was clearly not an easy matchup.
The only consolation was that now Tennessee would be scrumming with us.
Suddenly thinking of Tennessee made me smile.
At first, he was so prickly, but now, he seems like just a big kid.
Heh, heh, heh.
'I'll have to cajole and coax him along.'
Besides the scrum, there was another homework.
Steve's tremendous kicking game!
To diversify our attacking routes, I too need to focus on kicking for a while.
'Maybe it'd be best to learn directly from Steve?'
Didn't he say he was doing modeling gigs?
Perhaps I could get him on the cover of Queensman as a model and meet him again.
Speaking of which.
'Queensman, huh.'
Lukash said he would write an article about me.
'It would be odd if my article didn't come out continuously.'
I reluctantly gave permission…
Surely he wouldn't write anything strange?
Maybe I should call now just in case?
But then again.
'I've given him full authority, I should trust him.'
I soon resolved myself.