"You said you wanted to be a game developer, right?"
I thought the answer would come easily.
But he gave an unexpected reply.
"…Hmm."
"Why?"
"Well, I feel like I can take my time making games. Maybe after getting into college."
Honestly, it's just my brother who's unusual, and this is how most students would normally react.
"I told you before, didn't I? My family is broke. If I want a scholarship, I'll have to study hard enough to get a nosebleed."
Making money by selling a game?
To Peter, that must have seemed like an uncertain future.
'Anyway, he'll make a hit game eventually, even if time just passes.'
Since he's feeling the pressure, there's no reason for me to push him.
I smiled slightly at Peter and said.
"Yeah. Let's study, study."
***
The next morning.
After a shower, I leisurely headed to the lecture hall.
I'm not the type to sleep in, so I was pretty early.
'Huh?'
Surprisingly, Jack was already seated before me.
"What are you doing, sitting alone?"
Naturally, I walked over to sit next to him.
There were only about 30 students in the upper class, or so it seemed.
The lecture hall was so large that it resembled a theater.
"Have you eaten?"
"My dictionary doesn't include the word 'skip'."
"Did you sleep well?"
"I remember pulling up the blanket, but after that, it's all a blur…"
It doesn't matter where he sleeps, as long as he closes his eyes, he's out.
Heh.
So typical of Jack.
'But still.'
Maybe because I've been into fashion lately.
Looking at Jack, military-style outfits came to mind.
Most men's fashion stems from military uniforms, right?
In that sense, maybe Jack could indirectly help out in the fashion business, too?
Why not?
Just like he helped with the historical accuracy in Martin's game, military fashion as well!
As I was lost in my thoughts.
Screeeech.
Jack shifted his posture toward me and asked.
"Have you thought about which club to join?"
"Huh?"
"They say clubs are the highlight of school life."
He's not wrong, but…
Joining a high school club after 35 years of living feels a bit awkward.
Jack seemed to interpret my expression a bit differently.
"If there's nothing you like, should we start our own?"
"Start our own?"
Nod, nod.
"Like a survival shooting club. That would be cool, right?"
Of course, I knew something military-related would come up.
But still, a survival shooting club actually does sound fun.
I mean, people pay to play survival games, so why not?
"If you're not into shooting, we could make a physical training club…"
"Doesn't seem like anyone would join."
As we were chatting about this and that.
Step, step.
A stranger entered the lecture hall.
Even though his bangs covered his eyes, his sharp nose alone suggested an exceptionally handsome face.
Maybe it was because he had such an unforgettable face.
"Hey."
"…?"
"Haven't we met before?"
The words just slipped out in excitement.
"At the game shop the other day…"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Even though he said that, why did his shoulders flinch?
"The small shop in the back alley in London…"
"No idea."
"You were wearing sunglasses and a coat…"
"Absolutely not."
"Okay, then."
Was it my imagination?
It looked like his unusually long legs were trembling slightly.
Just then, Jack, who was next to me, chimed in.
"Do you know that guy?"
"That's Tennessee Grosvenor."
"Where have you seen him?"
"He took the oath at the entrance ceremony."
"Oh, right."
Jack nodded and added,
"I heard rumors that he's super prickly. Nothing like our physical training club to straighten out that rough personality…"
Enough already.
It's already doubtful if I'll even join a club, let alone a physical training one.
Regardless of my thoughts, Tennessee had a pretty solid build.
Over 185 centimeters tall.
Broad shoulders and long limbs that were perfectly balanced.
He didn't seem to lack anything.
"Didn't he play rugby, too?"
"Really?"
"If you're a noble, you always try rugby at least once. I heard he was pretty good at it."
That's unexpected.
Come to think of it, I think we have a PE class tomorrow.
Maybe I'll get to see his skills then?
While Tennessee went to sit at the far left of the lecture hall, I raised my head to check the clock.
7:55 a.m.
There was still quite a bit of time left before class started.
***
At exactly 9 a.m., soft music played from the speaker, signaling the start of class.
'Chopin, huh.'
A moment later, the door opened, and a man who looked to be in his mid-30s entered the lecture hall.
He scanned the students, then turned on the microphone on the podium.
"Nice to meet you."
"..."
"I'm Gary Pink, and I'll be your class teacher for the upper class."
So he's like a homeroom teacher?
To break the tense atmosphere, Gary began introducing himself.
"I graduated from Oxford with a degree in economics and earned a PhD from the same university. My specialty is index funds. I worked at Vanguard Group as a senior for five years before going independent, and now I run my own company."
An Oxford PhD and a former Vanguard senior asset manager?
This guy could make billions anywhere, so why is he working as a high school teacher?
On top of that, he even started his own investment firm, so why bother…
'Wait a minute.'
Now that I think about it, something was starting to make sense.
Sure enough.
"Some of you might be wondering, with a background like mine, why am I teaching students? Maybe you're suspicious that I did something wrong?"
As expected, he continued with a smile.
"After starting my own company, I realized there's something more important than performance. It's acquiring clients."
Exactly!
Students at this royal school are potential clients themselves, plus…
'They come with wealthy parents as a package deal!'
From the perspective of an asset manager, this place was a literal goldmine.
Surprisingly, Gary Pink openly acknowledged that.
"Put yourself in my shoes. Without that kind of benefit, why on earth would I take on the hassle of being a class teacher? Am I right?"
He's far from being a true educator.
This is purely business, a transactional relationship.
Maybe because of his honesty, though…
'I don't find him unlikable at all.'
What he said next raised his likability even more.
"It would be cruel to start a lesson on the first day, wouldn't it?"
"Yes!"
The entire class responded in unison.
"Today, I'm just going to explain how the economics course will go for the semester, and that's it. If you're dying to attend a lesson, feel free to play dead in the corner."
While the students laughed, he walked over to the whiteboard.
Then, he picked up a black marker and began writing something.
"This is what we'll be doing this semester."
"...?"
"Talking about boring theory a hundred times won't stick in your head, right? But what if we do real investments? You'll be thinking about the indicators so much that they'll be floating around your head until you fall asleep."
"...!"
"At that point, you'll be looking up theory books without anyone telling you to. Some of you might even be coming in and out of my office, asking me to teach you how to read financial statements."
That was when it happened.
"I have a question."
A familiar voice.
All eyes turned to Peter, who had his hand raised high.
Peter spoke, his face flushed with excitement.
"How much money will we need for the investment? If we have to provide it ourselves…"
"You don't have to worry about that. A promising company will be sponsoring each of you with £5,000."
£5,000 is about 10 million Korean won.
Even in a school full of nobles, that's quite a large amount of money for students.
"So, we just invest the sponsored money?"
"Of course."
"And if we make a profit…?"
"Naturally, it's yours to keep."
Peter's expression showed he still couldn't quite believe it.
Gary Pink then pulled out a small notebook from his jacket.
"Perhaps showing you an example will help you understand better? Let's see… The student who made the highest profit earned over £200,000 in six months."
That meant they earned 40 times their initial investment.
Maybe it was because money was involved, but the students seemed much more engaged.
"Wow!"
"You'll need to choose a company to invest in by the next class. It can be an American or British company—it doesn't matter. However, you must be able to explain to everyone why you chose that particular company. Whether you succeed or fail, you need to leave behind a rationale for your decision."
Questions started pouring in from all around.
Ranging from how to choose the right stock, to how much profit the teacher himself had made, to what the student who earned £200,000 was doing now.
The answer that drew the most attention from the students was this:
"You know the student I mentioned earlier? He developed his own indicators based on the investments he made throughout this class. With those, he got into Harvard's economics program."
But that wasn't the end of the story.
"He only completed his freshman year before receiving a job offer from Bloomberg, where he's now working in data analysis. When I saw him in Manhattan last year, he was getting out of a red Ferrari, dressed in Giorgio Armani."
It was the kind of story that might only happen once in five years.
"…!"
The students looked excited, as if they themselves were that senior.
Well, they were all born with silver spoons in their mouths.
The idea of getting into Harvard and securing a job at Bloomberg with just £5,000 and no help from their parents…
'It's no wonder they're so captivated.'
Perhaps Gary Pink felt it was enough.
"Shall we end today's class here?"
As Gary Pink left the lecture hall, a considerable number of students rushed after him.
Maybe they were hoping to learn some investment tips.
But for me?
'Why didn't he take attendance?'
If I had known, I would've just taken a nap on the lawn.
Unlike the dopamine-charged students, I could only smack my lips in disappointment.
***
There was a tradition at the royal school.
When new students arrived, the top dog among them would be called out and utterly crushed.
It was seen as the surest way to establish the hierarchy between seniors and juniors.
This tradition had been upheld every year without fail, but this year felt different.
'Are they really going to call out Tennessee Grosvenor?'
The 2nd-year student council room was in a stir because of this.
"Are they really going to call him out?"
"It's tradition. We just do the same thing every year, so what's the problem?"
Brave words.
But the atmosphere remained cold.
"If it were that simple, do you think we'd all be crazy enough to gather here?"
Most students nodded at the comment made by Carl Bernstein, the 2nd-year student council president.
"Still, if we skip it for the first time ever, we'll be a laughingstock for years to come."
"…"
"Can't we just handle it appropriately?"
Carl Bernstein let out a sarcastic laugh.
"What are you going to do if word reaches the Duke of Grosvenor's ears?"
"Well…"
"Didn't your family deal in wine distribution?"
"…"
"If the Duke makes a single call and tells your logistics partners not to accept any deliveries… do you think you'd survive?"
"Come on, no way."
"No way?"
"We've been doing business for over 30 years. How could a single phone call…"
"You're unbelievably naive."
"…?"
"If the Duke calls, even the Prime Minister of the UK will straighten his posture and pick up the receiver, you idiot."
Maybe it was because it was so rare for the student council president to use profanity, but everyone's faces tensed with unease.
As the heavy silence became uncomfortable, Carl Bernstein cautiously spoke up again.
"Didn't they say an unusual guy enrolled this year?"
"An unusual guy?"
"The one recommended by the Queen."
"Oh, right. I heard he was the first to get assigned a class, too."
At this, Carl Bernstein scanned the 2nd-year council members.
"What do you think?"
"…?"
"Instead of Tennessee Grosvenor, how about calling him out?"
"What?"
"Think about it. He was recommended by the Queen and was assigned to his class first. Isn't that enough of a reason?"
"If Tennessee weren't around, we probably would've called him out anyway…"
"Let's meet him first."
"The Asian guy?"
Nod, nod.
"Let's check out his style first."