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Tell me, does any teacher at your university know how to invent a miniature fusion reactor?
Tell me, does any teacher at your university know how to build powered armor that can fly and burrow underground?
Tell me, does any teacher at your university know how to develop a serum that dramatically enhances the human body?
Tell me, does any teacher at your university know how to build sentient machines with genuine intelligence?
Tell me, does any teacher at your university know how to synthesize an entirely new element?
These five questions, each one bordering on openly unfair, had the quality of something the entire senior leadership of Hartwell University had sat down and workshopped together. Whenever they appeared in public alongside Grandfield University, the Hartwell people would, without fail, find a way to work the five questions into the conversation, and leave the Grandfield delegation with nothing to say.
It had reached the point where the professors and administrators of Grandfield University developed an immediate headache at the mere mention of attending an academic conference or forum, and began inventing all manner of excuses to decline.
The ordinary excuses, illness, a critical experiment, were at least plausible. What was more remarkable was the professor in his fifties who had begged off a symposium on the grounds that his wife was giving birth.
Still fathering children in his fifties. Vigorous in his old age, evidently.
But the leadership of Grandfield University understood perfectly well that the root of their suffering was that one deeply abnormal young man.
Which was exactly why the Vice President of Grandfield had traveled across the country to Ashford City in person.
"Mr. Mercer, Grandfield University regards this matter with the utmost seriousness," Kingsley pressed. "We have not only put forward our highest tier of talent-recruitment benefits. We have specifically prepared three laboratories of varying scale for you, one each in our School of Biology, our School of Physics, and our School of Chemistry. They will be yours, fully resourced, the day you sign."
Seeing Ethan's unmoved expression, the old scholar dropped his next inducement.
"Furthermore, Mr. Mercer. If I recall correctly, Hartwell only granted you the title of lecturer. For a talent of your standing, that is, frankly, a little stingy. Grandfield is different. The moment you sign this appointment, a faculty profile for Professor Ethan Mercer goes live on our official website. Professor. Not lecturer."
Watching the fifty-something scholar work the pitch this hard, Ethan found it, despite himself, a little funny.
By any objective measure, the terms Grandfield was offering were substantially better than what Hartwell had given him.
But Ethan had no intention of jumping ship.
There was his relationship with Hargrove, for one. And he still had a class of students at Hartwell, students he had committed to, and abandoning a commitment halfway through was simply not in his character. Most decisively of all, a significant portion of New Future Technology Energy's core team was made up of his fellow Hargrove pupils, who were Hartwell people. If Ethan defected to Grandfield now, it would inevitably plant a seed of resentment in all of them.
With that, his decision was made.
---
Walking out of the café and watching the Vice President's car pull away, Ethan, holding the appointment documents, could only smile ruefully.
He had finally seen, firsthand, how relentless these scholarly types could be.
Back in that private room, if Ethan had not eventually softened his posture, if he had instead flatly refused on the spot, the fifty-something old scholar looked as though he might have hanged himself from the rafters in despair right there.
So Ethan had not refused outright. He had said only that he would go home and consider it.
As for the outcome of that consideration. Well.
---
By the time he drove to the Holloways' house, it was evening.
He had given them advance notice, so the moment he stepped through the door, the smell of cooking went straight to his nose. He was starving. He curled his lip anyway.
"Aunt Linda. Your favorite nephew finally comes home for once, and this is the spread you put out? Isn't this a little shabby?"
In the kitchen, still busy at the stove, Linda shot him a sharp look.
"You ungrateful brat. You're lucky there's anything on the table at all. One more word and there won't be. Go on, get out, go home and feed yourself."
Ethan was long since immune to Linda's sharp tongue. He strolled to the dining table as though he owned the place, pinched a slice of sausage between two fingers, and lifted it toward his mouth.
Before it got there, a pair of chopsticks cracked across the back of his hand.
"Didn't you just say you weren't going to eat my cooking? And grabbing it with your fingers, no manners at all. Go wash your hands. Now."
Seeing the spatula already waving in Linda's other hand, Ethan laughed sheepishly and beat a quick retreat.
On the sofa, Frank, who had been reading the newspaper, watched Ethan stir up the household within seconds of arriving and let a trace of weary resignation cross his face. Then he set the paper down and got up to help set the table for dinner.
Within a few minutes, the last dish came to the table, and the meal officially began.
"Sweetheart, stop studying and come eat."
Watching Linda call toward the inner room, a look of surprise crossed Ethan's face.
"Chloe's home? She's off today?"
"There's a teacher certification exam these next couple of days, so the school adjusted the schedule," Frank explained, setting down the last pair of chopsticks.
As they spoke, the bedroom door opened slowly, and Chloe Holloway, who was normally the most carefree and fiery person in any room, came out with none of her usual fire. She walked over with her head slightly down, looking, of all things, a little shy.
Ethan was puzzled by it, but he was far too hungry to investigate. The instant Chloe sat down, he picked up his bowl and began shoveling rice into his mouth.
"I heard about the Hidden Dragon program. Well done," Frank said. "Talent alone only makes people envious. Doing real, practical things for ordinary people, that's what earns genuine respect. Back in my day, your old uncle here, let me tell you, when I was working the line, we..."
Watching Frank settle into the opening movement of a long-winded reminiscence, Ethan did not sit idle. He kept his chopsticks moving, transferring food steadily into his own bowl.
The ribs.
If he remembered correctly, the ribs were Frank's favorite dish. He would clear them out first, and see how long his uncle's sermon survived the disappearance of his favorite food.
Watching his beloved ribs dwindle steadily toward the bottom of the plate, Frank, mid-reminiscence, finally cracked.
"You brat. Have you not eaten in eight lifetimes? Can you not leave a single bite for me?"
And with that, he abandoned the speech entirely, picked up his chopsticks, and joined the battle for the ribs.
Linda, watching from the side, was speechless.
One of them was nearly twenty. The other was nearly fifty. And the two of them were squabbling over a plate of ribs like a pair of children. Heaven, she reflected, was deeply unfair. How had it managed to saddle a gentle, patient, virtuous woman like herself with these two idiots?
Across the table, Chloe watched the two of them go at it with a wounded expression of her own. Fight all you like, the look said, but could you leave a little for me? Given her mother's frugality, who knew when ribs would appear on this table again.
And so, in a warm and noisy atmosphere, the family finished dinner.
---
Afterward, Chloe retreated to her bedroom to study.
Ethan and Frank cleaned up the battlefield together.
While they were washing dishes, Ethan glanced around to confirm no one else was near, then leaned in conspiratorially.
"Uncle Frank. Is Chloe getting bullied at school? She's a lot quieter than usual this time around. It's not like her."
Frank nearly dropped the plate in his hands.
His daughter's temper was a precise copy of Linda's.
"Bullied? Chloe?" Frank recovered the plate and gave Ethan a look. "If she's not out there bullying somebody else, I'm already counting my blessings."