Chương 2: Chapter 1: Gideon

Gideon was born into the kind of life most people envied, though it had never felt as full as it looked from the outside. His parents had clawed their way up from nothing into the upper tier of American corporate life. They liked to tell their story in fragments over expensive drinks with other business leaders. Stories about sleeping in cars. About running on caffeine and four hours of sleep. About working three jobs and still barely scraping by.

Every inch of their success had been taken through sheer determination, and they expected their son to carry that legacy forward. They did love him. They simply didn't know how to balance that love with the ambition that drove them forward. His mother kissed his forehead on her way to the airport. His father gave quiet nods of approval whenever Gideon brought home perfect grades. They never yelled, or acted cruelly. They simply weren't present enough to raise him themselves.

A rotation of nannies, tutors, housekeepers, and drivers tended to most of his needs. They were kind and professional, but they were never truly family. Gideon grew up in a beautiful home in Madison, Wisconsin, yet the marble floors and wide hallways always felt strangely empty.

When it came time for school, his parents made a decision they believed would help him understand real life. They refused private academies and sent him into public school. They wanted their son to be grounded and not sheltered by wealth. Their intentions were good. The result was not. Kids noticed everything. His shoes were too clean, his backpack was too new.

His lunches were made by a nutrition-aware housekeeper, not a hurried parent who slapped together whatever was in the fridge, and his ride to school was a driver in a spotless Mercedes. He became "the rich kid" almost immediately. At first, he tried to fit in. He joined games at recess and laughed at jokes even when he did not understand them. He invited classmates to his home. The few who came stared in wide-eyed confusion at the giant living room and polished floors.

They stiffened when a housekeeper offered them snacks on a tray. They were polite, but they never returned. After that, whispers followed him everywhere.

"He thinks he's better than us."

"Look at his house."

"Look at his stuff." He had, of course, never said anything of the sort. His silence became interpreted as arrogance. The distance widened each year. Kids avoided sitting near him. They mocked him for answering questions too quickly in class. They took his pencils, called him names, and blamed him for things simply because a teacher liked his work. They didn't see Gideon, the boy who wanted friends. They only saw the kid who wrecked the curve.

The one who made teachers say, "Look at Gideon's work if you're not sure what I mean." Gideon quickly learned to just keep his head down and wait for the day to end. He wasn't always alone, however. Not quite. Max found him first. Max was bigger than every other kid in their grade. He looked like he should have been the toughest kid in school, but he was clumsy enough that people laughed every time he tripped over his own feet.

He had a gentle face, a softer way of speaking, and a kindness that made him easy to take advantage of. That made him a target too. They met in first grade. Gideon was hiding in the library with a book that no six-year-old should have been able to read. Max wandered in looking for quiet, not literature, and sat quietly at the same table. They didn't talk that day or the next day either. They simply kept choosing the same table, the same corner of the library, the same quiet.

Eventually, sharing a table became sitting side by side. Then exchanging comments about the weird kids in their class. Then arguing about which superhero would win in a fight. Their friendship didn't begin with a dramatic moment. It simply grew, steady and natural, until they were inseparable. They were still both social outcasts. Gideon annoyed people without trying because he was too smart and too quiet. Max annoyed people without trying because he was too big, too awkward, and too easy to push around.

They were the wrong size and shape for the social world around them. But together, they made the world a little more bearable. They bonded over novels and video games, then fantasy stories, and eventually tabletop roleplaying. Gideon introduced Max to dice and character sheets. Max introduced Gideon to shooters that required instinct and reflex instead of planning. As they grew older, they moved deeper into the library. Gideon spent entire days buried in history books.

He devoured everything about the legions of Rome, about Alexander and his phalanxes, about Greek hoplites, and about Persian logistics. He became fascinated with how armies were structured, how food was moved, and how people built civilizations that lasted centuries. Max often joined him with a comic book or a simple fantasy novel, just keeping him company. They were always together, even when they were in different worlds. Teachers loved Gideon for his intelligence.

Kids continued to resent him for the same reason. Max protected him when he could, and in return, Gideon helped Max study and stay afloat academically. They complemented each other in small but vital ways. By middle school, the librarian knew Gideon's reading habits better than anyone. She saw him tear through massive books shelved for much older students. One afternoon, she placed a colorful brochure in front of him.

"I think you would like this," she said.

"A medieval fantasy camp. Real survival skills. Combat practice with safe weapons. History lessons. It's your kind of thing." She was absolutely right. Gideon begged his parents that night to let him go. They agreed immediately, almost too easily, as if paying a fee was simpler than saying no. He was buzzing the next morning when he told Max at school until Max's smile faltered. Max's parents couldn't afford the price. Gideon didn't understand money well enough at the time to grasp what that really meant.

He only understood that something cool was happening, and his best friend wouldn't be there. So, he begged his parents again. This time for Max. His parents hesitated. They worried about crossing boundaries. They worried about pride, about obligation, about being the kind of wealthy people who bought loyalty without meaning to. But, they had watched the boys grow together. They had seen how Max steadied Gideon in ways they could not. In the end, they agreed to pay for both boys if Max's parents accepted.

Max's parents initially refused out of pride and discomfort, but Gideon's parents insisted that it was fine. They wanted the boys to experience something magical together. When Max heard the news from Gideon, he became so excited that his parents found themselves smiling despite themselves. In the end, they relented. The camp was everything the two of them had hoped for. They learned to start fires, build simple shelters, navigate forests, and weave rope.

They ran teamwork challenges, mock battles, and obstacle courses. The instructors taught the kids basic archery, spear drills, staff techniques, and sword forms. Everything was safe, foam and padded weapons, blunted tips, strict rules, but the structure was real. Stances. Footwork. Distance. Timing. The discipline of it all. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. Gideon failed spectacularly at archery. His arrows went everywhere except where he aimed.

He was miserable at sword work too, unable to find balance with the weapon, always feeling like the blade wanted to drag him around instead of the other way around. Staffs and spears, however, made perfect sense to him. The long reach. The angles. The stances and footwork and precise point control. It clicked in a way nothing else did. Meanwhile, Max excelled at the sword work almost immediately. His strength and eagerness made him a natural.

Even with safe training weapons, he moved like someone born to swing steel. He was still clumsy sometimes, still too big for his own body, but the moment he had something to hold, something with weight and purpose, he stopped looking awkward and started looking dangerous. They returned to the camp every year they could. Each summer added another layer. More time in the woods, more drills, more muscle memory.

By the time they reached high school, they were good enough to help the younger kids set up shelters and tie knots correctly, good enough to recognize bad footing before it became a rolled ankle, good enough to understand why the instructors cared about distance and control even in fake combat. The camp became part of them. It wasn't just a fun experience. It was a habit they grew into, a baseline of competence they carried without thinking about it. High school put everything into a sharper focus.

Gideon kept thriving academically. Max kept his grades steady with Gideon's help, grinding through concepts that didn't come easily until they finally stuck. Gideon made sure Max didn't fall behind. Max made sure Gideon wasn't left alone when someone decided the rich kid needed reminding where he stood. It didn't stop the bullying. It just kept most of it from becoming worse. Gideon still got shoved in hallways, mocked in classrooms, and cornered whenever someone thought they could get away with it.

Max took his own share of it too, too big to be harmless in anyone's eyes and too gentle to use that size the way other people expected him to. They made an odd pair. The skinny quiet kid with the perfect grades, and the broad-shouldered giant who looked like he should have been terrifying but mostly just wanted everyone to leave them alone. Most days, having each other was enough. Then one afternoon behind the gym, a group of boys decided to take it further.

They caught Gideon alone after school, where the brick wall of the gym blocked one side and the dumpster enclosure blocked another. Someone yanked his backpack off one shoulder. Another flicked the frames of his glasses hard enough to make them jump on his face. The usual pointless little ritual. Noise. Posturing. Smiles that weren't really smiles.

"Rich boy," one of them said.

"Think you're better than us?"

"I literally didn't even say anything," Gideon replied. The shove came before the last word fully left his mouth. He stumbled sideways into the brick wall, shoulder hitting hard enough to make his teeth click together. Someone laughed. Another boy stepped in close, filling the little space Gideon had left, daring him to do something stupid. Gideon looked down at the concrete.

"Just leave me alone, man." That was the wrong thing to say. A fist caught him across the side of the head. White light flashed through his vision. His glasses went crooked. Before he could reach for them, another hit landed, clumsy but heavy, driving him back into the wall again. Gideon brought his arms up, forearms crossed in front of his face, chin tucked the way the camp instructors had taught him years ago. It helped less than he wanted it to. His heart hammered so hard it made him lightheaded.

Then the pressure suddenly vanished as Max hit the group from the side like an avalanche. One boy went down at once, knocked off his feet by the impact. Another stumbled away, swearing. Max planted himself between Gideon and the others, broad and solid, arms spread as if he could make a wall out of his own body.

"Back the fuck off!" Max shouted. He shoved one of them in the chest. The kid tripped and landed hard on his backside. Max pushed another away too, not swinging, not chasing, just forcing space between them and Gideon. For one second, it almost worked. Then one of the boys hit him. The punch cracked against Max's cheek with a sharp, ugly sound. His head snapped to the side. He grunted, more startled than hurt, and turned back with his hands still open. That was when the noise finally drew attention.

Students rounded the corner of the building, pulled in by the shouting and sudden motion. They arrived to the chaos already unfolding. A loose ring formed fast, voices overlapping, phones half raised.

"Fight!"

"Holy shit!"

"What happened?"

"Is that Max?" Another punch came in before Max could answer anything. It caught him low on the face and rocked him back a step. Someone grabbed his hoodie from behind. Someone else rushed him head on. Max stopped retreating. He surged forward instead, shoulder first, driving into the boys stomach hard enough to force a harsh, choking gasp out of his lungs. The kid folded around the impact but still tried to swing. Max hit him in the stomach.

The boy doubled over, breath gone, hands dropping too late to protect himself. Then Max hit him again. There was no technique to it, not really. Just Max's fist crossing the short space between them and landing with a sound that made the whole crowd flinch. Blood burst from the boy's mouth. He collapsed hard, hands flying to his face as a high, panicked scream tore out of him. The crowd erupted.

"Jesus—""Oh my god!"

"Call the nurse!" Max froze. His chest heaved. His fists stayed clenched at his sides, knuckles already swelling, his eyes fixed on the boy curled on the concrete in front of him. He didn't go after anyone else. He didn't even move. The others backed away from him anyway. Teachers forced their way through the crowd moments later, shouting for students to move back, grabbing shoulders, breaking through to find the fight already over. Someone pulled Max away.

Another person knelt beside the boy on the ground, who was still bleeding through his fingers. An ambulance was called. Gideon slid down the wall and sat on the concrete, shaking. One lens of his glasses was cracked clean through. He stared at Max, unable to reconcile the person he had always known with what he had just seen him do. They were separated and taken inside. The school administration treated it like a disaster. Every student who had been anywhere near the fight was pulled into the office.

Stories conflicted. Nobody agreed on what had started it. The boys who had cornered Gideon talked loudly and over each other.

"He just snapped."

"He came out of nowhere."

"He's huge. He lost it." From the outside, the situation looked simple. A big kid had sent another student to the hospital. Zero tolerance policies were cited. Violence on school grounds. Setting an example. They talked about suspending everyone involved, including Gideon, and expelling Max. Max tried to explain.

"They were hitting him," he said, voice hoarse.

"I told them to stop. I tried to push them away. But they kept coming. I was only defending myself." The administrators listened with skepticism. Then Gideon's parents arrived. They moved through the office like they owned the space. They listened. They asked questions. Then they requested to see everything the school had. That was when someone remembered the camera. The one mounted under the eave behind the gym. The footage played without commentary.

It captured Gideon being cornered, the first punch landing, and Max arriving moments later. It showed him shoving people away, taking hits himself before ever striking back. It showed the instant restraint failed and survival took over. The room was dead quiet. Gideon's mother's hand tightened reassuringly on his shoulder. His father didn't raise his voice when he spoke, but the words landed hard anyway.

"If you expel the student who defended my son from a group assault, caught on your own security footage no less," he said calmly, "we will involve our attorneys. We will sue the school district immediately, and this will become something much bigger than it needs to be." The conversation rapidly changed tone as the principal backpedaled. Expulsion for Max vanished from the table. Suspension remained, but only for a few days, paired with mandatory counseling and careful language about escalation and responsibility.

The boys who started it were punished more severely. Nobody said the word lawsuit again, but it hung in the air all the same. Max went home with a swollen cheek and aching knuckles. The boy he hit came back a week later with a wired jaw and a story he didn't like telling. Max didn't talk much for the rest of the day. He flinched the first time someone raised their voice near him. The reality of what he had done, what he had been capable of, sat heavy in his chest.

The following afternoon, they were in Gideon's room. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, catching on tall shelves packed with books and game cases. A controller clicked softly in Max's hands while Gideon sat cross legged on the floor, back against the bedframe, eyes on the screen. The TV hummed with music and sound effects, the volume turned low. Both of them were technically suspended, technically supposed to be in trouble, but neither set of parents seemed especially interested in enforcing it.

They played for a while without talking. The familiar routine did some of the work words could not. Eventually, Gideon paused the game.

"Hey." Max glanced down at him.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks," Gideon said, not looking away from the screen.

"For yesterday." Max shrugged, eyes back on the screen.

"You'd have done the same for me." Gideon didn't answer right away. He looked at Max for a moment, then looked down at himself, at his thin arms, his wiry frame, and the controller resting loosely in his hands.

"You sure about that?" Max snorted before he could stop himself.

"Okay, yeah. Fair."

"I mean," Gideon said, deadpan, "I'd have meant well. Maybe swung a book at them." He paused, considering.

"A heavy book."

"That counts for something," Max said.

"You could provide moral support. Tactical commentary."

"I'm excellent at commentary." Max laughed, real and unguarded, then shook his head.

"Point is, man, I wasn't really even thinking about it. That's just what you do for a friend." Gideon swallowed, then nodded.

"Still. I appreciate it." Max waved it off.

"Don't make it weird."

"I wasn't."

"You were about to."

"Maybe a little." Max smirked.

"Figures." Gideon unpaused the game. The menu music cut out, replaced by familiar sounds and movement. They played for a few more minutes before Max spoke again, quieter.

"Gid."

"Yeah?"

"You alright?" Gideon nodded.

"Yeah. I think so."

"Good. Because I really don't wanna do that again." Gideon smiled faintly.

"That makes two of us." They kept playing. Controllers clicked. The room settled back into something normal.