"Let us raise our glasses and thank God for bringing Leo back safely!"
"Thank God!"
After the round of blessings, everyone urged Leo to share stories from the battlefield. But he had barely begun when his expressive relatives launched into endless debates among themselves.
Now an observer, Leo looked around. The dining room alone had thirteen or fourteen adults, while the nearby living room echoed with the chatter of children so loud it could've torn the roof off.
Coming from a previous life where New Year celebrations meant a quiet dinner for three, Leo was finally experiencing what Italians meant by "family." It was, quite literally, overwhelming.
Present at the table were his grandparents on both sides, his uncles, aunts, cousins, and younger siblings—a full house. Even so, his eldest uncle had just complained that their family was too small, and that the Valentino clan often lost out to neighbors in business competition.
As for this so-called family business, Leo recalled and chuckled. The Valentinos weren't exactly rich—they were barely solvent. Their "business" was a small, debt-ridden grocery shop.
Digging further into his inherited memories, Leo laughed aloud.
Their ancestors were pirates from Naples who came to North America during colonial times. The family's so-called history mirrored America's chaotic growth: they fought for the British in the Revolutionary War, toiled for plantation owners during the Civil War, worked for Mexicans during westward expansion, and his grandfather had even been a gangster in the early 1900s.
Every generation made questionable choices, yet somehow, the family line had survived to Leo's birth. A miracle.
His laughter drew everyone's attention back.
They had already strayed to a story about the French President—Churchill, apparently.
"Ahem! Leo, now that you're back, what are your plans?" It was his eldest uncle again, always the family's leading voice.
Still chewing on a slice of delicious pizza, Leo mumbled, "I plan to go to college."
"Come again?" his uncle asked, having missed it.
Swallowing, Leo repeated, "I plan to go to college."
This time, everyone heard it. The room fell dead silent.
Then, as if on cue, everyone burst out laughing.
"Leo, you're still as funny as ever," said one of his aunts, politely.
His sharp-tongued second uncle wasn't so kind: "You? College? Aside from your name, what words can you even spell?"
Leo didn't get angry. After all, his past self had nothing to do with academia.
According to memory, the old Leo had chased chickens at age three, harassed dogs at five, and started bribing gang buddies with store goods by age seven. By ten, he was whistling at women in the street, and by twelve, expelled from school. By fifteen, he was already feared on the streets of Lynchburg.
When he left for the army, the whole town reportedly sighed in relief—they could finally sleep peacefully.
Not seeing Leo react like he used to, the laughter slowly faded. His uncle narrowed his eyes. "So, you're serious?"
Leo nodded. A collective gasp rippled through the room.
"Leo, do you even know how expensive college is?"
He pointed at a frail-looking young man across the table. "Lucas here got accepted once. But our entire family couldn't scrape together the $500 tuition."
"I know. But last year, the government passed the G.I. Bill. If you served more than 90 days during the war, you're eligible for four years of tuition assistance. They even provide a living stipend."
In reality, the process was far more complicated. If you only served 90 days, you might only get one or two years of partial tuition support. Living stipends? Don't count on it.
And, as with all things involving government money, red tape was endless and slow. That was the hidden barrier.
The welcome dinner ended in awkward silence. When Leo left, relatives wore mixed expressions.
Only Lucas pulled him aside to ask quietly, "Is it too late for me to enlist?"
Clearly, unlike most Valentinos, Lucas still dreamed of an education.
Going to college didn't conflict with Leo's plan to start a real estate company with Desmond. Though Leo had detailed knowledge of the future of construction and materials, classroom theory was still valuable.
He wasn't foolish—traditional industries like food, housing, and transport were full of traps. Even with future knowledge, success wasn't guaranteed.
What if he faced another exile like the one in New York?
After all, it wasn't uncommon for entire industries to blacklist people.
Leo had thought long and hard about how to prevent that. Going to college was one of his solutions.
On the old-money East Coast, access to wealth meant access to circles. And the quickest way into those circles was through college.
Now finally enjoying a moment of peace, Leo sat on the worn sofa in the cramped living room, taking stock of his current home.
He had only arrived that afternoon.
And now, looking around, he fell silent. Every corner of the house screamed poverty.
The sagging couch had lost its cushioning, the coffee table had a leg missing and resembled something out of post-war Syria, and the windows and doors let the wind whistle through freely.
"This is barely better than an empty house," Leo thought.
He glanced toward the kitchen, where his younger siblings were still devouring the meal. It was likely the best food they'd had in weeks.
"I don't remember it being this bad before I left."
His father had once been a lumberjack. Honest and dependable, he had been elected as the union leader by his peers.
That meant his income wasn't low. For a town like Lynchburg, $125 a month was comfortably middle-class.
"Mr. Brown's lumber yard has been shut down for two months," his father, Ricardo Valentino, said bitterly.
Brown Lumber—the largest lumber yard in Lynchburg. It covered the most valuable section of the Blue Ridge Mountains.
"The town passed the Lynchburg Environmental Protection Act. They restricted logging. Brown pushed too hard and got shut down."
Under the yellow light, his parents' faces were etched with worry. Leo's throat tightened.
He asked instinctively, "How much debt are we in?"