Chương 3: Chapter 2: Growing Up

Max had been there for him when it mattered. Knowing that didn't make the rest of high school easier, not really, but it made it simpler. He knew where he stood. He knew who he had. And the other kids learned that messing with Gideon meant messing with Max. Gideon's parents tried to connect with him throughout high school. They scheduled a real vacation every year, just the three of them, no meetings, no business, no conference calls. Or at least, not as many.

They weren't always good at slowing down, but when they saw how excited Gideon became on these trips, and how his eyes lit up when he talked about the places they visited, they made an effort to nurture that interest. They encouraged him to explore every museum, ask every guide a question, and buy every history book that caught his attention. They never fully understood his fascination, but they respected it, and in their own way they were proud of it.

In Japan, they took him to a quiet forest outside Tokyo to practice shinrin yoku, the art of forest bathing. The moment he stepped beneath the canopy, the city sounds fell away. Cicadas hummed in the distance. The air was cool, damp, and smelled of cedar, pine, and moss. His mother clasped his hand and told him to breathe in deeply. His father actually turned off his work phone for the first hour, which was practically a miracle by itself.

They walked along the narrow path surrounded by towering trees, sunlight slipping through the leaves in scattered gold patterns. Gideon felt his entire body relax. Back home, he spent months reading about Shinto traditions, forest therapy programs, and studies on how nature reduced human stress responses. His parents noticed and filled his shelves with books about Japan, happy to see him so passionate about something.

In Italy, they wandered along ancient Roman roads and past the remains of amphitheaters that had stood for thousands of years. His father talked about durability and legacy as they stood beneath giant arches that had survived empires. Gideon ran his fingers across the grooves worn into the stones by the wheels of long vanished carts. In the Colosseum, he stopped moving entirely and stared up at the tiers of seating that once held fifty thousand people.

He imagined the roar of crowds, the clatter of armor, the shaking ground when gates opened and gladiators stepped into the light. When they returned home, he devoured books about Roman engineering. He learned how aqueducts maintained pressure, how legions were structured, how supply lines worked, and why Roman soldiers were trained the way they were. His parents noticed the spark of obsession and bought him a massive illustrated atlas of ancient Rome that he treasured for years.

In Greece, he climbed the steps of the Acropolis and stood before the Parthenon, glowing white in the Mediterranean sun. The wind carried the smell of olives and warm stone. His mother took photos while Gideon stared at the marble columns as if they were alive. He imagined philosophers debating below, hoplites marching to war, and playwrights performing for thousands. Museums showed him pottery painted with myths, bronze armor reconstructed from fragments, and tablets carved with laws from early democratic periods.

That night in the hotel, instead of sleeping, he read until sunrise about city states, hoplite formations, ancient philosophy, and the mechanics of early democracy. His parents found him asleep on top of his book the next morning and could only laugh. They bought him more books at the airport, happy as always to see him so passionate. In Turkey, they walked through ancient markets and ruins layered from multiple civilizations. Hittite walls, Greek foundations, Roman columns, Byzantine carvings, Ottoman fortresses.

It felt to him like standing on top of the world's memory. One afternoon they climbed a low hill overlooking the remains of ancient Persian administrative buildings. Their guide explained how the Royal Road had once allowed couriers to outrun entire armies, carrying messages across thousands of miles. Gideon listened so intently, and asked such focused questions that the guide asked if he wanted to be a historian someday. Back in Madison, he fell into months of reading about the Achaemenid Empire.

He studied how Persia organized its satrapies, how tribute systems worked, how they built roads that connected continents, and how they controlled such vast territories without modern technology. His parents encouraged the fixation and bought him a detailed book on the Persian Empire. Each trip gave him a new perspective and world to study. Each place added to the growing web of knowledge he built in his mind, shaping the way he saw systems, power, people, and history.

He was still lonely, still awkward, still a social outcast at school, but in those moments abroad, he felt like he belonged to something bigger than himself. His parents noticed that too, even if they rarely said it out loud. He didn't just quietly file the trips away as memories though. He turned them into projects. He wrote papers for school about Roman logistics, Japanese cultural traditions, Greek military formations, and Persian administration.

Teachers were always surprised when he handed them in, since they were not assignments but voluntary work he simply wanted to explore. Some taped his papers to their bulletin boards. Others used them as examples in later classes. A few even asked if they could keep copies for future students. His parents noticed the praise during parent teacher conferences and always smiled, pleased that their son's enthusiasm had become something measurable and respected.

These deep dives paired well with the other skills Gideon picked up during high school. He took health and first aid courses as electives, recognizing that practical knowledge mattered just as much as academic knowledge. He learned CPR, splinting techniques, wound binding, and the basics of emergency response. Those classes were hands on and demanding, and they forced him out of his comfort zone more than almost anything else in school. Surprisingly, he found that he actually enjoyed them.

The skills felt real and useful in a way that connected directly with the survival training he loved so much from the fantasy camp. He saw how everything fit together, from treating injuries in the wilderness to understanding how ancient armies handled medical crises in the field. It all became part of the same pattern. Gideon studied because he cared, because the world fascinated him, and because he wanted to understand how things worked at every level. It didn't make him popular, but it made him feel grounded.

By senior year of high school, Gideon had a GPA that made his counselors beam. Colleges reached out to him. UC Berkeley offered the best scholarship package, helped along by his academic achievements and his parents' influence. Max and Gideon had long planned to attend university together. Through Gideon's help and his own hard work, Max had maintained good grades throughout middle and high school. They had applied to the same colleges, and although his grades were good, they weren't Gideon's.

Max received several partial scholarship offers, but none covered enough to let him attend without taking on student loan debt. He was disappointed, but ultimately accepted that he would have to attend community college in Madison, then transfer to join Gideon later. It was practical, but it broke Gideon's heart. Gideon's parents had always expected, or hoped, that Gideon would take the corporate route. University, then internships, followed by eventual absorption into the family business.

The empire needed an heir. They never said it outright, but the assumption lived in the silence between their conversations. When they finally sat him down in the study to discuss his future, it was done carefully. His father wore his usual suit. His mother perched on the arm of his chair instead of sitting across from him. It was meant to feel casual. It didn't. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"So," his father said, folding his hands together, "we should probably talk about next year."

"Sure, dad."

"You'll attend business school," his father continued.

"We can fast track you into one of the better programs. Connections are already in place." Gideon paused before responding. He could have said yes. It would have been easier. As his father said, the path was already laid out for him. Instead, he shook his head.

"No." The word landed heavier than he expected. Silence followed. His mother blinked, then sighed quietly.

"I figured." His father glanced at her, then back at Gideon, expression unreadable.

"I don't want that life," Gideon continued. His voice stayed calm, but his chest felt tight.

"I don't want to do what you do." His father exhaled slowly as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Then what do you want to do?" he said, careful to keep his tone neutral.

"I want to go to college on my own terms, and study the things I'm interested in." He hesitated, then added, "Berkeley offered me a full academic scholarship. I've been looking into it." His father's jaw tightened, but he didn't raise his voice. He never did.

"Berkeley has an excellent business school," he said after a moment.

"I'm aware," Gideon replied. He had expected that line.

"And if you're worried about flexibility," his father continued, "you could double major. Or minor in business. Keep your options open."

"I already know what I want to study."

"Which is?"

"History," Gideon said.

"With a focus on ancient and global histories." His mother shifted slightly on the chair, hiding the small smile on her face from her husband. His father leaned back, fingers tapping once against the armrest.

"History is… quite broad," his father said carefully.

"That's the point. But it's how I understand the world." His father studied him.

"Explain." Gideon took a breath.

"History isn't just dates and stories. It's patterns. What works, what fails. How people organize, adapt, and survive over time." He chose his words with care.

"Empires, cities, armies, economies. They're all systems. I want to understand how those systems hold together, and why they collapse."

"And what do you plan to do with that?" his father asked.

"I don't know yet," Gideon said honestly.

"But I know I don't want to inherit something I don't believe in. I want to build my own understanding first." Another quiet beat passed.

"You understand what you're walking away from," his father said.

"Yes," Gideon said.

"I also understand that if I step into your world, I'll be miserable. And I'll make everyone around me miserable." He met his father's eyes.

"You always told me honesty mattered." His mother spoke then, softly.

"You've always been a bit stubborn." Gideon almost smiled at that. They argued for a while, but quietly. It was less a fight than a negotiation. Questions. Concerns. Reframing. His parents pushing, Gideon holding his ground without raising his voice. In the end, they accepted it. Reluctantly, but they did. They made him a deal. They would cover his rent and basic expenses if he promised three things: he would keep his grades up, he would keep them updated, and he wouldn't vanish entirely.

It was more mercy than some parents would have offered, even if it came wrapped in pragmatism. In private, however, they still worried. Gideon was smart, brilliant even, but he wasn't exactly socially gifted. Everything outside of books and screens was difficult for him. They knew that. Which led to another discussion.

"What about Max?" his mother asked one evening over dinner.

"You trust him. You rely on him. You must have made some plans together." Gideon explained Max's situation. His parents exchanged a look of understanding and a small almost imperceptible nod.

"He's been good for you," his father said.

"And we would feel better knowing you aren't doing this alone."

"We can cover the remainder of his tuition," his mother added, as if discussing a line item in a budget.

"Housing, food, books. Whatever his scholarship doesn't cover, we can." Gideon opened his mouth, but his mother continued before he could speak.

"Before you argue, just know it isn't a burden for us, especially if it ensures you have support." Gideon stared at them incredulously.

"You would pay for Max to go to Berkeley?"

"We're already paying for half the university board to keep calling us," his mother muttered.

"Covering one more student is nothing." His father nodded.

"It's not charity. Call it an investment. In you. And your best friend." He paused a moment before continuing, "He's a good kid. He deserves it." The offer sounded insane to Gideon, but to his parents it was just pocket change that bought them peace of mind. Max, however, didn't take it nearly as easily. They met at their usual booth in a diner near Max's house, a place that smelled permanently like fries and coffee. Gideon laid out the situation as simply as he could. Max stared at him.

"Dude, no. That's… no way man."

"Why not?"

"Because your parents aren't my parents. They don't owe me anything. I can't just let them buy me a degree. That's kinda messed up."

"They're not buying you a degree," Gideon said.

"You still have to earn it on your own. You earned the partial scholarship Berkeley offered. My parents are just… filling in the cracks." Max shook his head hard.

"Nah, man. I was going to hit community college for a year or two, save up, and transfer later. I'll figure it out. I don't need your family's money."

"It's not about need. It's about us not splitting up across the country because college is so stupidly expensive in America. It's not fair, and you know it." Max looked away, jaw tight.

"I don't want to owe them. Or you."

"You wouldn't. Look, they're not going to hang it over your head. They genuinely just want me to survive out there. You help with that. They know it." Max gave a short, humorless laugh.

"Yeah? And what happens when they decide they want something? When they decide I'm in the way? When they decide I'm not useful anymore?"

"That's not how they're framing it," Gideon said carefully.

"That's how I'm hearing it," Max shot back.

"An investment. In you. That means I'm a tool. A safety net. Something they can buy." Gideon's throat tightened. He stared at the laminated menu like the words might rearrange themselves into something easier.

"You're not a tool. You're my best friend." Max didn't answer right away. He just stared at his coffee, fingers tapping the edge of the mug hard enough to rattle the spoon.

"I want to do this right," Max said finally.

"I want to be able to say I did it. Me. Not because your parents wrote a check."

"You did do it," Gideon argued.

"You got in, and earned that scholarship. They're just making sure you don't have to chain yourself to debt for the next two decades." Max's eyes flicked up.

"It still feels like I'd end up owing them." Gideon leaned forward.

"Then don't owe them. Go there and work your ass off. Be so solid they never get to think you're anything but my equal. Look man, if I'm being honest I don't necessarily like it either. I don't like that they throw around their money and influence like that, but that's the reality we live in. Might as well take advantage if it benefits us." Max's jaw clenched, and Gideon could see him thinking it over. Later that day when the two of them shared the offer with Max's parents, they weighed in as well.

Gideon had been over at their place often enough that they knew him almost as well as their own son. They had watched the two boys grow up glued to each other's sides. When Max told them about the offer, expecting them to shut it down, his mom put a hand over her mouth.

"Oh, Max. That's incredible." She hugged Gideon right then and there.

"Mom, it's weird," Max protested.

"It's their money. I don't want to be a charity case."

"It's not charity. Well, it is, but think of it instead as an opportunity," she said firmly.

"It's incredibly generous of Gideon's parents to offer. Do you think most kids like you get something like this? You worked hard. You earned that scholarship. If his parents want to help with the rest so you two can stay together and both get a shot at an amazing school, that isn't wrong. That's kind." His dad nodded slowly.

"You would regret saying no, son. You know you would." Max frowned.

"It's not that simple."

"It is," his mom said.

"You're thinking about pride because you're scared. And you're allowed to be scared. But don't pretend this is about anything else." Max looked away, cheeks going red.

"I don't want to be some charity case," he repeated.

"You're not," his dad said.

"And even if you were, you think that makes you less? You think taking help when it's offered makes you weak? It doesn't. It makes you smart enough to take the chance you earned." Max didn't respond. He just sat there, shoulders tense, like he was trying to hold himself together by force. It still took time. Late-night calls. Half-joking arguments. Gideon pushing, and Max resisting. The same loop, over and over, until the resistance stopped being about logic.

"Come on, man," Gideon said one night over Discord.

"What are you going to do, stay here and work at Target while I'm drowning in Berkeley lectures all alone?" Max snorted.

"You'd drown even if I was there."

"Yeah, but at least I'd have someone to complain to while I'm drowning. You're my best friend, man. I don't want to do this without you." The line was quiet for a few seconds.

"That's dirty," Max said eventually.

"Using feelings."

"Is it working?" Gideon asked. A long sigh came through the mic.

"Fuck you."

"Good," Gideon said.

"I can see your stupid grin from here," Max muttered, but Gideon could hear the smile in his voice.

"Fine. Fine. Fuck it. I'll go. I'll take their money. Tell your fancy parents they're stuck with me too."

"Attaboy."

"Fuck you." They moved to Berkeley that fall. Their apartment was small, loud, and probably haunted, but it was theirs. Gideon took a graveyard shift job at a gas station convenience store, mostly because he hated sitting still and wanted money that was his, not something that was quietly deposited into an account by his parents. Max meanwhile found a warehouse job a few miles from campus that paid well enough for him to contribute to the shared expenses.

They studied, worked, gamed, bickered, stressed over exams, and cooked meals in a tiny kitchen filled with mismatched pans and store-bought ingredients. They lived on cheap coffee, instant noodles, and the constant sound of keyboards. Their days found a rhythm. Classes, shifts, late nights, early mornings, cheap meals stretched further than they should have been able to stretch, and quiet hours spent half-studying, half-recovering on the battered couch they had dragged home from a curb two blocks away.

For the first time, they were living beyond the reach of old expectations. No parents down the hall. No familiar streets waiting outside. No one else deciding what their lives were supposed to become. It wasn't glamorous, and it wasn't easy, but it was theirs. Their names on the lease. Their bills to pay. Their mistakes to make. Their home, however small and imperfect, had finally become something they chose.